CHAPTER 28
“Why an alliance with Allegonde, Grand Maistre?” asked Ruaud. “Muscobar will not react kindly to this snub.”
Donatien gave Ruaud a shrewd look. “I’m only complying with the queen’s wishes. She feels that Ilsevir will make a much better match for Adèle than Andrei Orlov. He’s older, more levelheaded—”
“The queen’s wishes?” Ruaud was becoming increasingly irritated by Donatien’s smug attitude. “What about the king?”
“Oh come now, Ruaud, would you trust an unworldly sixteen-year-old to make such an important decision? One that will affect the future of Francia?”
Ruaud remembered his last conversation with Gobain. The late king’s predictions were proving disturbingly accurate. “And the princess’s wishes?”
“Princess Adèle will do as her mother commands.”
Ruaud felt a faint flicker of panic; Allegonde would prove a weak and ineffectual ally if the recent intelligence about Eugene of Tielen was true. A brilliant military strategist, the young ruler was pouring funds into training his armies and constructing a second impressive fleet of warships. “But if Adèle were to marry into the Orlovs, we would have a strong ally against Tielen.”
“Ally? Watch what you say, Ruaud. Anyone overhearing this might think you were planning military action against Prince Eugene.”
Was Donatien reprimanding him? What was his real motive in following the queen’s wishes? Well, Ruaud could play mind games as well. “So what advantages will a match with Allegonde bring us? I hear Ilsevir is more interested in music than his armies.”
“It’s not your place to question the queen’s wishes.” Donatien’s eyes had hardened. “And may I remind you that if you had brought Kaspar Linnaius to justice, he would no longer be supplying the Tielen armies with alchymical weapons.”
Rieuk gazed down on the tall, slender trunks of eternal trees in the Rift, ghostly foliage wreathed in drifting mists, lit by the light of the emerald moon. It seemed an eternity since Imri had brought him up here to seek out Ormas. In the distance, he glimpsed a flock of shadow hawks skimming gracefully above the trees. Their wild cries carried back to him over the velvet darkness of the forest and he felt Ormas’s heart quicken with longing at the sound.
“Not yet, Ormas, it’s not yet time.”
“Rieuk…”
That voice. Rieuk gripped the parapet rim. He had been thinking of Imri as he climbed the endless stair. Had he conjured a spectre from his memory? Here, in the Rift, anything might happen.
“Rieuk, I’m cold…”
Rieuk slowly turned around. There, in the gloom behind him, stood Imri…or a semblance of Imri, his black hair loose about his shoulders, his face half-veiled in shadow.
“Imri?” Rieuk stood, staring. “Is it you? Is it really you?” He had wanted to see him so much…yet now this felt terribly wrong. “What have they done to you?” Yet even as he reached out to the revenant, it began to fade, leaving him clutching empty air.
Rieuk found Lord Estael conferring with Aqil and Oranir over a detailed plan of the citadel of Ondhessar.
“Well, Rieuk?” he asked, looking up.
“Was it your doing?” Rieuk demanded. “Was this some illusion you conjured up? Or was it really him?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Lord Estael coldly.
“Imri came to me. In the Rift. I saw him. He spoke to me.” Rieuk shivered, rubbing his arms. Since the encounter he had felt chilled to the bone and could not get warm again, in spite of the fierce sun outside. He sensed Oranir’s dark eyes regarding him curiously, but the reserved young magus said nothing.
“A trick of the Rift.” Lord Estael shrugged. “We had hoped you might have made some progress in your search for Azilis…But your arrival is timely; the Arkhan has fresh instructions.”
“What new mission has the Arkhan devised for me?” asked Rieuk wearily. It seemed that the more he did in the name of the magi of Ondhessar, the more the Arkhan required of him.
“The situation has become rather more complicated than we anticipated. The Allegondan Commanderie has removed the last of the relics from the Shrine. They have taken the statue of Azilis and are transporting it to Bel’Esstar. The Arkhan has already made a formal protest to Prince Ilsevir, but the prince has refused to listen.”
“You’re not expecting me to bring back a statue?”
“The Arkhan has asked us to teach the prince a lesson he will not easily forget,” said Magus Aqil. “And the Guerriers who desecrated the Shrine will pay dearly. We are traveling to Bel’Esstar, Rieuk. To attend a royal wedding.”
“It’s been too long since we talked together,” said Captain de Lanvaux as he and Celestine entered a shady alley, dappled with shifting sunlight filtering through the acacia leaves. The sound of hoeing came from a distant flower bed; they passed a gardener wielding his topiary shears with dexterity, clipping fresh growth from the box and yew.
“I’ve followed your career with great interest. And I’ve noticed that the princess is fond of you.”
She had not expected the conversation to take this turn. “She’s been very kind to me.”
“So the feeling is mutual?”
Celestine nodded. “We understand one another.”
“What if I were to ask you to go to Allegonde with her?”
“Leave Lutèce? For good?” The thought of being separated from the Maistre was intolerable, even if she could never be his. “Oh no, I couldn’t—”
“The princess is apprehensive about the coming wedding. I thought it might help ease her into her new life if a few friends accompanied her to Bel’Esstar. I’m sure that a recital or two could be arranged. Bel’Esstar is famous for its opera houses and concert halls—but I’m sure you know more about that than I do,” he added, with a smile.
Celestine felt emboldened enough by that kindly smile to dare to ask, “But a singer needs a sympathetic accompanist. Could—could you arrange for Maistre de Joyeuse to come, too?”
He paused, glancing around them as if checking to see if they were alone. “Have you seen the striped roses in the knot garden? They’re at their best.”
She followed him down the gravel path, thinking how incongruous it was to hear the captain talking like a keen gardener.
“We used to grow moss roses like these at Saint Azilia’s.” She bent to inhale the rich perfume exuding from the crumpled petals of damson purple. “The scent is heavenly, but the thorns are vicious!”
He drew closer to her, as if to smell one of the moss roses, and his voice dropped to a more intimate pitch. “We’ve learned of a threat against the royal couple’s lives.”
Celestine stared at him in alarm. “But who—?”
“Enhirran extremists, maybe…The Rosecoeurs’ act of vandalism in stripping the Shrine of its treasures has provoked much anger in Enhirre. What better way to draw attention to the Enhirran cause than to disrupt a royal wedding? Or it may be from quite another source. The point is that we can’t take the risk. That’s why I’m asking you if you would help protect her.”
“Me? But I have no training.”
“I want to pair you with one of my agents.” The captain kept his voice low, speaking urgently. “He has the experience, you know the princess; together, you should make a formidable team. What do you say?”
To Celestine’s surprise, she heard herself answering, “I’ll do it. For the princess’s sake.”
He straightened up as the sound of clipping shears came closer. “Good. Let’s move on, shall we?”
She looked quizzically at him. “We’re being observed? Even here?”
He nodded. “You’re learning fast.”
“I’d like to introduce you to your partner for this mission, Demoiselle. Although, I believe you already know one another.” Was there a hint of a smile in Captain de Lanvaux’s voice, Celestine wondered, as he opened the door to his study. A black-haired Guerrier rose from his seat and turned to face them.
“Jagu!” Celestine stopped in the doorway, staring. Jagu took a step back, gripping at the top of his chair to stop himself from tripping.
“B—but I thought you were in Enhirre,” she stammered. She did not know if she was pleased to see him again, only that she had felt her heart beat faster at the sight of him.
“My detachment returned some weeks ago. Since then Captain de Lanvaux has been kind enough to make me his adjutant.”
“Jagu served with great distinction in Enhirre,” said Captain de Lanvaux, crossing the room to put his arm about his new adjutant’s shoulders.
Jagu stared at the floor, evidently embarrassed by the captain’s praise.
“But on to more pressing matters.” Ruaud de Lanvaux gestured to them to sit. “The princess’s wedding.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from a drawer and spread them out on top of the desk.
“Is the threat to the princess, or Prince Ilsevir?” asked Jagu.
“We believe Prince Ilsevir to be the main target, but our intelligence suggests that his bride, Princess Adèle, is equally in danger.”
Celestine tried to repress a shiver. The thought that any insurgents, no matter how desperate their cause, should regard sweet-natured Adèle as a target made her feel sick.
“And this intelligence comes from the Allegondan Commanderie?” Jagu’s habitual scowl seemed to have deepened since his time abroad. She wondered what had happened to him in Enhirre. “Served with distinction” implied that he had seen action. Had he fought and killed the enemy?
“From several sources,” said the captain enigmatically. “But you won’t be traveling as Guerriers of the Commanderie. You’ll be billed as two of Francia’s most celebrated musicians. You’ll be singing at the wedding ceremony, then at the reception afterward. But you’ll also be there to protect the princess. There’ll be other Francian agents to back you up, but you’ll be in a unique position.”
“Do you have any idea yet what kind of attack might be launched? Are we talking of a grenade? Or a sniper?”
The captain’s eyes darkened. “The only information we have is that there may be magi involved.”
“Magi?” Celestine echoed. Did he mean Kaspar Linnaius? Beside her she noticed that Jagu had tensed, as if steeling himself to take a blow.
“It’s not common knowledge, but I head a small elite squad within the Commanderie, established to hunt down and destroy anyone rash enough to practice the Forbidden Arts. That’s how I first met Jagu.”
Celestine did not miss the look that passed between the two men. “His best friend was murdered,” the Maistre had told her. “Murdered by a magus.” She wanted to learn more about the terrible event that had scarred Jagu’s early life. But the captain was already filling in more of the details of their mission and she forced herself to concentrate. “There will, of course, be all the usual bodyguards in attendance to protect her royal highness. But you two will be trained to identify the unusual, the unexpected, that others might disregard.”
“The unusual?” Celestine echoed.
“And if we identify the presence of a magus,” said Jagu, “how do we protect the princess?”
“I’m going to introduce you to Père Judicael. He taught me the skills of exorcism.
“If me, why not send Kilian too?” Jagu demanded.
“Because you, Jagu, already have a sixth sense when it comes to mage-magic.”
“And why me?” asked Celestine warily. She was not sure that she wanted to meet Père Judicael. If he was so clever an exorcist, wouldn’t he be able to detect the Faie’s silvered aura clinging to her? Suddenly the prestigious mission didn’t seem such an attractive proposition, after all.
“Of course, if Lieutenant Guyomard had even half as pretty a singing voice as Demoiselle Celestine, I might have seriously considered him,” Ruaud said, laughing. Celestine saw for a moment Jagu’s stern expression soften and the hint of a smile made his face look younger, more relaxed.
“Kilian sings like a bear,” he said. “Even at Saint Argantel’s, he could never hold a tune.”
“Does that answer your question?” Ruaud was still smiling as he looked at her. There was something in the fond way he looked at her sometimes that reminded her of her father. How could it be that he, who should by all reasoning, have been her enemy, had not only saved her life but watched over her all these years? She returned the smile even though there was pain in her heart. For if Père Judicael discovers my secret, then we will be enemies.
The Inquisition archives were housed in an unremarkable building on the right bank of the river, overlooking the Forteresse.
“I want you to research the magi,” the captain had instructed her. “Find out everything you can, so that you are well armed against them, in case they strike in Bel’Esstar.”
Celestine stood on the steps, waiting for her knock to be answered. She was dressed in regulation black, her new uniform, especially adapted by the military tailors, with a long riding skirt instead of the usual breeches worn by the men. They had even sewn on little gold buttons with the emblem of Sergius’s crook. The irony of the situation did not escape her; a quarter of a mile away lay the Place du Trahoir, where her father had been executed.
Eventually the door opened and the Archivist appeared.
“What do you want?” he asked, peering at her over his pince-nez. “I’m very busy.”
“I’ve come to do some research,” she said. “For the Commanderie.”
“A woman? In the Commanderie?” He clicked his tongue in disgust.
“Here is my letter of introduction, signed by Captain de Lanvaux.”
The Archivist scanned the letter. “Well, your papers seem to be in order. You’d better follow me.” Shaking his head disapprovingly, he led her into the archives. As they passed stack after stack of meticulously ordered black-bound volumes, each one with the year and title tooled in silver, she felt a strange, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “The trial of the heretics from the College of Thaumaturgy…” He muttered to himself as he searched along the shelves, stopping at last to pull out a thick volume.
“You’ll find what you need in here. These records are very expensive to produce. Please treat them with care.”
The sick feeling grew more acute as she turned the pages. The records of the trials were meticulously hand-scribed and arranged in date order, so she soon came upon the one she was looking for. There was her father’s name, Magister Hervé de Maunoir, written alongside the other alchymists accused of heresy and practicing the Forbidden Arts: Goustan de Rhuys; Deniel; Gonery. Some dispassionate secretary had sat in court noting down every question posed by the Inquisitors, every halting response given by men whose limbs had been twisted in the Inquisition’s torture chambers until they could hardly stand upright.
The words blurred before her eyes; she hastily wiped away tears, glancing around to check that the Archivist was not spying on her.
What was their crime? To have studied the science of alchymy in a country where free thought was held to be dangerous? Again and again, the Inquisitors referred to the magisters’ experiments as “heretical” and “going against the natural order.” And one name recurred: Kaspar Linnaius.
“What are you doing here?” A soberly dressed man stood staring down at her.
She forced her most detached expression as she snapped the book shut. He must have moved as stealthily as a cat for her not to have noticed him.
“Research. For Captain de Lanvaux.”
The Inquisitor gazed coldly at her. “A young woman? Since when have women been members of the Commanderie?”
“I am one of his special agents,” she said coolly. “And you are?”
“Haute Inquisitor Visant,” he said, equally coolly. Now she recognized him—and now she knew that he was the one who had engineered the fall of the College. “I see you’ve been researching the trial of the magi of Karantec. May I ask why?”
“The captain has asked me to find out all I can about Kaspar Linnaius.”
“And what makes you think, Demoiselle, that you will succeed where so many experienced Inquisitors have failed?” The suggestion of a sneer passed across his otherwise expressionless face. “No one is more eager than I to bring Magus Linnaius to justice. But he’s snug and safe under the protection of Prince Eugene. No one can touch him in Tielen!”
“Tielen?” Celestine repeated the name rather more forcefully than she should. At last I have a lead to pursue. Then she noticed the curious way Visant was looking at her and forced herself to master her feelings. This was the man who had tried and condemned her father to death; she must never let her guard slip in his presence again.
“Then we will just have to find a way to tempt him out,” she said levelly.
A carriage was waiting outside the Maistre’s house. Celestine hesitated as she turned the corner, recognizing it as Aurélie Carnelian’s. So the lovers had returned from Tourmalise.
“Shall I see you at rehearsals tomorrow, Henri?” Celestine drew back, hearing Aurélie’s rich voice floating across the garden. Hastily, she hid in a recessed archway in the garden wall.
“I’m not sure what my plans are yet.” The Maistre appeared at the garden gate, ushering the diva through. Celestine shrank into the archway, wishing she could make herself invisible. But the two seemed too involved in their own conversation to notice that she was there.
“Don’t leave your work in the hands of that new repetiteur; he doesn’t understand the way you compose. He mangles the rhythms.” Was there a forced brightness in the diva’s tone?
“But I have commissions to complete. I can’t attend every single rehearsal, Aurélie.”
“Must you work so hard? We’ve only been back a couple of hours.” Aurélie wound her arms around the Maistre and, pulling his face down to hers, kissed him. Celestine turned her head away. She could not bear to watch. When she dared to look round again, she saw that Aurélie was leaning out of the coach window, kissing her fingers to the Maistre, as the carriage rolled away. He stood watching until it turned the corner of the street. Then he turned and went back inside.
So that’s the way it is between them. I made the right decision. At least once I’m on my way to Allegonde, I won’t have to watch them sighing over each other all the time. It’s time to break the news.
“The Commanderie?” The utter bewilderment in the Maistre’s eyes almost undid her. “First I lose Jagu, now you? What hold does Ruaud de Lanvaux have over you both?” An unfamiliar note of anger sharpened his tone.
“Captain de Lanvaux rescued me from the streets when I was sick and starving,” she said defiantly. What right had the Maistre to interfere in her life when he was having an affair with Aurélie?
“But you’re a woman.”
“There’s a special unit within the Commanderie that the captain is in charge of. A secret unit, employing both men and women.”
“Secret?” The Maistre made an exclamation of disgust. “There’s too much secrecy with the Commanderie these days. It smacks of something underhanded. Already in Allegonde they’re telling artists how to think, what to write…”
“I owe him. I owe him my life. I would have died if he hadn’t—”
“And me? Do you owe me nothing?”
Celestine stared at him. “Of c—course I do,” she began. “Without you, I’d never have become a singer, or made a career, I’d probably have taken my vows, so I’m very grateful, thank you—”
“I’m not asking for gratitude.” He moved nearer to her, looking at her so intently that she began to back away.
“Then what?”
He stopped, shaking his head. “I have no right.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “They will say that I took advantage of you. And yet, I can’t help myself—”
“Maistre?” she said softly.
“Don’t you understand, Celestine? It’s a torment to be with you; it’s a torment to be away from you.”
“Torment?” she echoed. Am I hearing you aright? Aren’t you Aurélie’s lover? And then, before she knew what was happening, he had caught her in his arms, crushing her close to him.
“You can’t imagine how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured into her hair. Celestine, pressed tight against his body, felt his heart beating fast close to hers as his lips touched hers, kissing her gently at first, then more urgently. This was what she had dreamed of for so long, and now that it was happening, she felt dizzy and confused with the suddenness of it.
“No, no, this is all wrong,” she cried, pushing him away. “What about Aurélie?”
“Aurélie?” His grey eyes had grown dark, unreadable.
“Don’t think you can just win me over with sweet words. You’ve just come back from her villa in Tourmalise. She told me you were lovers.”
“Aurélie told you that? I see.” He looked utterly deflated. “I had no idea she was quite so manipulative.”
“Well? Is it true?” Though she longed to let him hold her again, she had not known until now that she was so proud. She would not be second-best to Aurélie Carnelian.
“We were lovers,” he said gravely, “but it didn’t work out. Our dreams were too different. We wanted different things. And then I met you.”
What about those intimate looks exchanged with Aurélie, those lingering caresses…had they all been merely habit?
“You were so young. I tried to throw myself into my work to forget you. But it didn’t work. I just couldn’t stop myself from wanting you.”
Tears blurred her eyes. She willed herself not to cry. If she cried, he would put his arms around her again and this time she would have no willpower to resist him. “But I saw you tonight,” she said haltingly. “You were kissing her. Please don’t pretend it was just a friendly farewell.”
He turned away, hands raised in a helpless little gesture. “I’ve been a fool. How can I prove to you that she means nothing to me anymore?”
“Nothing, Maistre?” Celestine’s heart was racing too fast; she was out of her depth and drowning fast. She wanted to believe that he no longer loved Aurélie…but was he just telling her what she wanted to hear? How could he be so sure?
“What else did she tell you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She was backing away from him, even though each step was harder than the last. Every instinct made her want to feel his arms around her again, to feel that potent beating of his heart so close to her own, and to know it was throbbing so fast because of her.
“Celestine! I love you. Don’t leave me.”
She could still hear him calling her name as she left the house, and the despair in his voice almost undid her. But she forced herself to keep on walking.