Part 29 (1/2)
”Yet you were born to a mortal woman?”
”And because of my father's blood, I lived many years beyond the mortal span. And when, at length, my body became too weak and old to sustain me, this aethyrial form, that you see now, remained ...”
”Didn't you lock up yesterday, Nicolai?” The Tea Pavilion staff must have returned. ”The door's ajar. Has someone broken in?”
In a panic, Celestine hurried to the back door and let herself out into the chill morning, hiding in the reeds. But the hungry ducks spotted her and set off, paddling toward her across the murky waters of the Lake, filling the air with their strident, greedy quacking. She fled, hurrying over to the gazebo, hoping that no one had noticed her.
In the clear autumn dawn of a new day, she saw her predicament all too clearly.
What a mess I've made of my life. The Drakhaouls are gone. Kaspar Linnaius is free. But I'm a fugitive, with nowhere left to run.
She slid down onto the bench, hugging her arms to herself against the chill.
”Was Linnaius telling me the truth?” she whispered. ”Have I been pursuing the wrong man all this time? Was he really my father's mentor and friend? Have I thrown away everything-and all for nothing?”
Don't do this to yourself, Celestine, Jagu had begged her. Jagu had begged her. Don't perjure your immortal soul. Don't perjure your immortal soul.
Why did her heart ache when she thought of him? He had tried to stop her, and she had refused to listen to him. A bitter yearning swept through her, so strong that her blood seemed to burn.
”I hate you, Jagu de Rustephan, for always being so insufferably, d.a.m.nably right!” she cried aloud. ”And now I've lost you forever. I can never go back to Francia. I have to make a new life for myself. I have to reinvent myself. I can never be Celestine de Joyeuse again.”
”Take a look at yourself,” urged the Faie. urged the Faie.
”You've changed me?” Celestine slowly raised her head. ”But how?”
”Maela,” said Celestine, staring down at her altered reflection. It was disorienting to catch sight of herself in the gla.s.sy lake and see a stranger staring back. ”I shall become Maela Ca.s.sard, after my mother. I always thought it would make a good stage name.” It wasn't the first time she'd had to learn to live with a new name, after all. She scrutinized her new features critically. The blue of her eyes was now the warm brown of amber, framed by darker brows and lashes, and her hair was no longer gold but a glossy chestnut. Even the tone of her skin had altered from palest porcelain to a more healthy, glowing complexion.
”How have you done this, Faie?” she asked, amazed. ”Is it permanent? Can you change me back?”
”Does it displease you? I was remembering how I...” The Faie's soft voice trailed away.
”How you you looked?” Celestine was wondering what the Faie meant. ”Was that you in my dream, Faie? Did you show me your memories?” looked?” Celestine was wondering what the Faie meant. ”Was that you in my dream, Faie? Did you show me your memories?”
”But that was a long, long time ago...”
Celestine went back to the gazebo. There was no one about yet, not even a gardener, but she judged it wise to collect her little bag of possessions and move on.
If only I had something else to sell. She had p.a.w.ned all her jewelry but one piece to pay for her pa.s.sage to Mirom. Her fingers closed around the last remaining item, which she had pinned to her dress: the jet mourning brooch given to her by Princess Adele. She had p.a.w.ned all her jewelry but one piece to pay for her pa.s.sage to Mirom. Her fingers closed around the last remaining item, which she had pinned to her dress: the jet mourning brooch given to her by Princess Adele.
But it's my lucky charm. I can't p.a.w.n this, it's too precious.
The sky craft skimmed on above the Azure Ocean toward the western quadrant. The last smudges of darkness leaking from the Realm of Shadows had cleared, leaving the sky a radiant blue once more.
Kaspar Linnaius summoned the calmest, gentlest winds to bear his precious cargo back to Muscobar, and he concentrated his mind on weaving one breeze smoothly with another to steer them home. Beside him sat the Emperor, one arm around his daughter, Karila, his baby son, Rostevan, clasped close in the crook of his other arm. Like her brother, Karila had fallen into an exhausted sleep, her tousled fair head pillowed against her father's broad chest. Linnaius a.s.sumed that Eugene was also asleep; his bruised face was pale and his head drooping. But after a while, Linnaius became aware that the Emperor's blue-grey eyes were fixed on him, keen as a wintry sky.
”You came to our rescue again, Kaspar,” he said, his voice slurred with weariness. ”How can I ever begin to thank you?”
”These last years that I've spent in your service have been the happiest of my life.” Linnaius busied himself with adjusting the tiller. Never easy with expressing his feelings, this was proving even more difficult to say than he had antic.i.p.ated. ”But I have unfinished business that I must attend to urgently. I do not know how long it will take me... or indeed if I will ever return.”
A long silence followed. Linnaius glanced up, wondering if Eugene had even heard him. And then a sigh escaped the Emperor's lips. Eugene was smiling at him-a sad, regretful smile. ”I've been so fortunate to have you at my side all these years, old friend,” he said. ”But I've always known that this day would come, sooner or later. Go and with my blessing. G.o.d knows, I'll miss you...” His gaze s.h.i.+fted from Linnaius's face, staring beyond him into the vastness of the sky above and beyond. ”And remember, there will always be a place at my court for you if ever you choose to return.”
Linnaius bowed his head in thanks. Eugene's words had moved him more deeply than he cared to admit.
What is the matter with me? Why do I have so little control over my emotions since I returned from the Jade Springs? This is a weakness I can ill afford, when there is so much to be done.
The craft dipped suddenly and he forced himself to concentrate on the weaving of the soft, southern breezes with the fresh, lively winds that had begun to blow from the east as they flew on toward Muscobar. He was struggling to maintain control. Since boyhood he had been able to summon the translucent dragons of the air, the fierce and wayward wouivres, wouivres, and bend them to his will. Now they were resisting him. It was taking all his energy to keep the craft aloft. and bend them to his will. Now they were resisting him. It was taking all his energy to keep the craft aloft.
”Your powers-and mine-have begun to diminish.” Anagini's warning thrummed repet.i.tively on, like a melody that would not leave his brain. Anagini's warning thrummed repet.i.tively on, like a melody that would not leave his brain.
I'll become a street singer. Celestine had been walking the pavements of Mirom all day and she was exhausted. Celestine had been walking the pavements of Mirom all day and she was exhausted. It's that or sell my body. And who would pay good money for such a sweaty, unwashed piece of flesh as I? It's that or sell my body. And who would pay good money for such a sweaty, unwashed piece of flesh as I?
There were prost.i.tutes in plenty in Mirom; Celestine could not help but notice the ragged girls with hollow cheeks and dead eyes haunting the taverns by the quays, rouged and painted like dolls. Here, in the more prosperous quarters of the city, there were courtesans, immaculately dressed, flaunting their charms more discreetly as they strolled in the vaulted shopping arcades.
Do I have the courage to do what they do? Could I endure the intimate caresses of a stranger? The touch of a man's hands on my body? She shuddered. She had heard that men who paid for s.e.xual favors often used their women badly, beating and tying them up, forcing them to perform obscene acts ... She shuddered. She had heard that men who paid for s.e.xual favors often used their women badly, beating and tying them up, forcing them to perform obscene acts ...
Celestine stared down at herself; she looked like a vagrant. Her only dress was stained and filthy from tramping the streets of the city, the hem caked with mud, and her shoes were scuffed and worn.
”If only you could be like the faie in the fairy tales and wave a magic wand to change my rags into elegant clothes,” she said silently to the Faie. ”And I could really do with a bath.” The Muscobites favored communal bathing and Mirom had many luxurious public baths for men and women. ”But cleanliness comes at a price here, and I don't have a sou to my name.”
A carriage rattled by, splas.h.i.+ng her with puddle water.
”Hey!” she cried, shaking her fist in vain as the driver continued, impervious. A gilded crest on the rear of the carriage caught the sun; it was the emblem of the Francian amba.s.sador.
”Fabien d'Abrissard.” She tried to squeeze the water from her dress. He wouldn't even recognize me... He wouldn't even recognize me...
She sank down on a doorstep, weak with hunger and despair.
Is it time to stop running? To go back to Francia and throw myself on the Commanderie's mercy?
For the fifth time that day Celestine pa.s.sed the impressive pillared facade of the Imperial Theater. Built in the days of Grand Duke Alexei's father and renowned throughout the quadrant for its lavish productions of opera and ballet, the theater now displayed the gilded swan of Tielen entwined with the double-headed sea eagles of Muscobar. Around the back, the vast building was far less imposing-a brick sh.e.l.l stretching to the edge of a huddle of tenement buildings. And the artists' entrance was such an insignificant little door that Celestine pa.s.sed by it twice without even noticing it.
She steeled herself and was about to knock when she heard raised voices inside. A stout woman stormed out, shouting furiously back over her shoulder in the Muscobite tongue and shaking her clenched fist. From within, a man's voice answered, equally heatedly. The woman turned and stamped away, muttering and shaking her head. Celestine understood well enough what must have happened. Is this my chance? Is this my chance?
She put her head around the door and gazed down the pa.s.sageway; like so many theaters, the backstage area was shabby, with peeling paint and bare floorboards.
”What do you want?” a surly voice demanded in the common tongue. Celestine saw a balding little man peering at her over the top of his half-rimmed spectacles.
”Work,” she said, giving him her most appealing smile. ”I'm a singer.”
”I'm not hiring.” He made a dismissive gesture. ”Get out.”
”At least let me sing for you-” Celestine tried to hide the desperation in her voice.
”Didn't you hear me? Unless you're good with a mop and a broom, I'm not interested.”
”I'm good with a mop.” The woman who'd just walked out must have been a cleaner. ”I grew up in a convent. I know how to work hard.” She was so desperate that she no longer cared what she did as long as she had enough money to keep from starving or selling her body.