Part 27 (1/2)
She was desperately hungry, having spent the last of her money on paying her pa.s.sage to the city, and the only way she knew to earn a living was by her voice. Yet no one was interested enough in a shabbily dressed woman to bother to ask to hear her sing. Time after time, she was turned away at the stage door. ”We're not auditioning. Come back next month.”
If only I weren't so light-headed, I could think straight enough to work out a plan.
Around her, people were gazing up at the sky and pointing. Celestine looked up too, wondering if it might be an eclipse of the sun, not a storm after all. There was an eerie, lurid quality to the remaining daylight that made her feel uneasy. The stout flower seller on the corner of the square began to pack away, muttering as she waddled toward her cart with buckets of autumn flowers: purple asters, bronze and gold chrysanthemums. A delicious smell of frying batter drifted across from where a stallholder was cooking blinis blinis and Celestine felt her empty stomach rumble. and Celestine felt her empty stomach rumble.
”Celestine. Celestine!” The Faie was calling, the urgent voice piercing her mind like a silvered barb. Celestine looked around the wide square, wondering where she could go to speak with the Faie undisturbed. The The Faie was calling, the urgent voice piercing her mind like a silvered barb. Celestine looked around the wide square, wondering where she could go to speak with the Faie undisturbed. The blini blini stallholder had raised his eyes to heaven, one hand extended, as if he were antic.i.p.ating rain. Celestine wavered, torn between her need for food and the Faie's increasingly frantic cries. stallholder had raised his eyes to heaven, one hand extended, as if he were antic.i.p.ating rain. Celestine wavered, torn between her need for food and the Faie's increasingly frantic cries.
”The unimaginable is happening. This darkness is leaking from the Realm of Shadows.”
”The Realm of Shadows?” Celestine whispered. ”Isn't that a sign that the world is about to end?” The Holy Texts were full of warnings about the end of the world, which would be preceded by a great darkness.
”My father. Are the Drakhaouls trying to set my father free?”
Why had the Faie begun to talk of her father? How could an aethyrial spirit have a mother or a father? Celestine, head spinning from lack of food, began to wonder if she was hallucinating.
The darkness was drifting across the sky from the south, like tendrils of smoke unfurling, then merging together to blot out the sun. And it was growing colder as the light was extinguished. The Muscobites began to show signs of alarm, some running, others making the holy sign across their bodies. Celestine saw many making their way up the wide steps of the church opposite, whose bells had been ringing out so joyfully only a few minutes before. As a Guerrier of the Sergian Commanderie, her first instinct was to follow them into a holy place for protection. But, she remembered with a grimace, she had forfeited her right to be called Guerrier when she had drugged the two Inquisition officers sent to arrest her.
In the eyes of the Order, I'm now a criminal on the run. No, worse than a criminal, I'm a pract.i.tioner of the Forbidden Arts.
So she ran in the opposite direction, going against the increasing tide of people hurrying to the church as the darkness spread.
The Water Gardens were usually thronged with people at that time of day, many visiting the Tea Pavilion overlooking the lake for ices and other delicious refreshments. As it was daytime, no one had troubled to light the lamps that illumined the winding gravel paths, and Celestine had to make her way through the gathering gloom. She sought refuge in a gazebo near the pavilion. The gazebo smelled of damp and rotting wood; the autumn leaves were falling fast, clogging the still grey lake waters.
Celestine put down her little bag of belongings and sat gazing out at the darkening gardens. Her empty stomach ached.
The waitresses were leaving the pavilion, gazing up at the sky and talking anxiously about thunderstorms; a waiter stopped to lock the door before hurrying after them. Celestine crept out and tried the door handle. But as hard as she rattled it, the lock resisted all her efforts to force it. She went around the back, only to discover that the Tea Pavilion was impregnable. Built on stilts like a Khitari teahouse, with scarlet-and-black lacquered wood and a low, sloping roof, the windows overlooked the lake and were protected by carved grilles. In her frustration, she kicked at the door, bruising her toes.
She sank down on the top step, defeated, leaning her back against the unyielding door. And then she began to laugh, hard, painful, self-deprecating laughter that only made her empty stomach hurt more.
”How did I come to this?” she gasped, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. ”Where did I go wrong?”
”You're weak from lack of food,” said the Faie. ” said the Faie. ”Let me help you.” In the fast-increasing gloom, the little burst of white energy that broke the lock was bright as lightning, but no one was around to see, only the moorhens and ornamental ducks, who let out startled shrieks in the reeds below. In the fast-increasing gloom, the little burst of white energy that broke the lock was bright as lightning, but no one was around to see, only the moorhens and ornamental ducks, who let out startled shrieks in the reeds below.
There was still hot water in the samovar. With shaking fingers, Celestine eagerly filled a teapot with bergamot tea, leaving it to brew as she searched the little kitchen for food. The Tea Pavilion was famed for its ice creams, but she was too cold and weak to go down into the icehouse. But the staff had left in such a hurry that she soon found apple and plum jam and some delicious little pancakes filled with curd cheese and honey. She was so famished that she crammed them into her mouth, hardly bothering to chew, even though her empty stomach soon protested at the sudden onslaught.
As Linnaius climbed out of his sky craft onto the lawns at Erinaskoe, the Empress herself came running to meet him, her eyes reddened as if she had been weeping, her hair unbound, her clothes disheveled. ”Magus,” she said, her voice low and harsh, ”a Drakhaoul has taken my baby. It attacked me-and took Rostevan.” Tears leaked from her eyes. ”Eugene has gone after it. But I fear-”
”A Drakhaoul?” Linnaius repeated. There was a sinister pattern emerging and he dreaded to think what the outcome might be.
”It looked like Andrei. It spoke like Andrei,” she said, ”but then it changed. It killed Valery when he tried to stop it. Why would my brother kill his best friend? Why would he steal my son?”
Why indeed? Linnaius thought grimly. One Drakhaoul had already abducted Eugene's daughter, Karila, from Swanholm. Now another had stolen Rostevan. If his worst fears were correct, they must be planning to sacrifice the children at the Serpent Gate to set free their master, Prince Nagazdiel, from the Realm of Shadows. Karila was a frail, sickly child, but he cared for her, and he could not bear the thought that the daemons were subjecting her to such an ordeal, let alone her newborn baby brother.
Astasia put her hand on his. ”Magus,” she said through her tears, ”I know that I've spoken ill of you in the past. But please, if you can forgive me, go and help Eugene get our children back.”
”Will Lord Gavril come, Belberith?” Eugene whispered to his Drakhaoul as he gazed out over the rich blue of the Southern Ocean. ”Or will he side with the other Drakhaouls against us?” For every minute that he waited, the danger to his children increased, and he was almost sick with anxiety.
”He is here.”
A shadow darkened the sun. Eugene turned instinctively to see Lord Gavril swooping down from the cloudless sky to land beside him on the gra.s.sy cliff. shadow darkened the sun. Eugene turned instinctively to see Lord Gavril swooping down from the cloudless sky to land beside him on the gra.s.sy cliff.
”What do you want, Lord Emperor?”
They had been bitter enemies and there was still an unspoken tension between them. But Eugene was desperate. He said, blinking back tears, ”They've stolen my children.” And he never wept.
”They? The other Drakhaouls?”
”Help me, Nagarian. This is all my fault. I released these monsters. I have to destroy them, before they-” Eugene broke off, choking on the words. ”I want to put things to rights again.”
A glint of sapphire flame kindled in Lord Gavril's eyes. ”Before they open the Serpent Gate?”
”'Only by the sacrifice of the Emperor's children can that Door ever be opened again and the dread prince Nagazdiel released,'” quoted Eugene.
”We have to stop them,” said Lord Gavril in a low, tight voice.
”It's gone very dark.” Even as they had been speaking, Eugene had become aware of a change in the skies. ”Is there a storm coming?”
Gavril gazed upward. ”This is no storm.” The black clouds were uncoiling, like a nest of shadowy serpents spilling out across the sky. ”This is coming from the Serpent Gate.”
Eugene could wait no longer. He clapped Lord Gavril on the shoulder. ”Are you with me, Nagarian?” he cried. ”You and I, together against the others?”
And he leaped into the darkening air. As he wheeled around on outspread wings, Lord Gavril took off, shouting out, ”Do you remember the way to Ty Nagar?”
”Just steer into the heart of the darkness!”
Celestine rested her head against the window frame as the darkness blotted out the last of the sun. As she was slipping into a doze, she felt a sudden charge of wild, elemental energy in the air. She flung open the door to see the trees in the darkened gardens swaying wildly in the rush of a tremendous wind.
”Kaspar Linnaius!” she screamed into the turbulent, windswept darkness. ”Is all this your your doing?” doing?”
CHAPTER 2.
Alain Friard bowed as Queen Alienor entered the ruined interior of the Chapel of Saint Meriadec, leaning heavily on her cane. He saw her gaze at the bloodstained tiles and the colored gla.s.s fragments littering the floor beneath the broken windows.
”Where is my son?” she demanded. ”Where is the king?”
Alain Friard had been dreading this question. ”We have found no trace of the king, majesty.”
”No trace?” repeated the queen. ”Your Commanderie will have much to answer for if he's been harmed, Captain! Especially de Lanvaux; I always said that man was a bad influence on my son.”
”The Maistre was dying when we found him,” said Friard hotly. ”He said that a winged daemon had attacked him and carried off the king. I believe, majesty, that Maistre de Lanvaux died trying to protect your son.”
”Winged daemon? Oh please, Captain, don't insult my intelligence.” Alienor struck the tiled floor with her silver-tipped cane. ”Tielen agents, more likely. Where were your Guerriers when Enguerrand was kidnapped?”
Friard looked away, unable to sustain her accusing gaze. He knew it would grieve him to his dying day that he had not been at the Maistre's side to defend him and the king against the daemon.
”You will order all your Guerriers to search for my son, do you understand me? All other missions are to be abandoned until Enguerrand is found.”