by Sarah Ash
Again he felt a sudden stab of aethyric energy, faint as a pinprick, yet infused with an intense, radiant power. “The Imperial Theater,” he murmured aloud and set out, threading his way through the troikas.
“Where are the silver sequins?” Yelena's voice, shrill and vexed, pierced the seamstresses’ gossiping. “Well? Don't tell me we've run out!”
One by one, the women looked up from their work and shook their heads.
“Oh, that's wonderful. And only seven more costumes to complete!” Yelena opened her purse. “Maela, go round to the draper's on Khazan Prospect and buy more sequins.” She tossed her a coin. “That should cover it.”
Celestine deftly caught the coin.
“Wrap up warmly; it'll be dark soon. And don't dawdle!”
Well muffled in her thick cloak, Celestine hurried out into the twilight. The quickest way to Khazan Prospect was to take a shortcut through a winding alley around the back of the theater. The sun was setting and the alley was unlit. She hesitated. But what had she to fear? The Faie would protect her if anyone tried to rob her.
There it was again—but stronger this time. Linnaius retreated into a doorway and watched. In the purple dusk he saw a cloaked woman emerge from the stage door and, after a quick, nervous glance around, scuttle away into the night.
He followed. She was moving much more swiftly than he and in the twists and turns of the foul-smelling alley, he almost lost her. He emerged, wheezing for breath in the sharp cold of the night air, on one of the main thoroughfares of the city, in time to see her going into a little shop.
He would just have to wait and detain her when she came out…
It was dark when Celestine left the draper's, the silver sequins wrapped in a twist of paper. The troika horses’ hooves struck sparks off the icy cobbles as the sleighs swished past. She shivered.
What was that unsettling sensation? She glanced around, suddenly wary. Another frost haze was settling over Mirom as the temperature plummeted. It must just be the intense night cold, she told herself as she entered the unlit alleyway. She would soon warm up again by the stove in the snug workroom.
Silver eyes glimmered in the darkness.
She stopped, backing away.
“Wh—who's there?” she called, her voice trembling. She was too far along the alley to run back to the busy street. And if she called for help, who would hear her cries?
“I've been looking for you, Celestine.”
Another shiver ran through her body, so intense that she feared she would not be able to stop shaking. Those eyes of silver ice, so chill, so inhuman. Now she knew who was blocking her way. And he had trapped her.
“Kaspar Linnaius!” she cried, as she felt her fear turning to anger. “Show yourself!”
“I mean you no harm, Celestine,” came the hateful voice from the shadows. “I only want to talk with you.”
“He's lying.”
The Faie had awoken to the danger.
The Magus came toward her, one hand extended. The hand that could summon storm winds with the slightest flick of finger and thumb.
Celestine continued to retreat until she felt her back graze against the blank tenement wall. There was nowhere else to go.
“What is there to talk about?” She kept her voice low in the hope that she would not betray how terrified she felt. If he had intended to kill her, he would have struck before she even knew he was there. So what did he want from her?
“I merely wish to communicate with your guardian spirit, that's all.”
“No!” The Faie hissed her refusal before Celestine could react. “I tell you, Magus, that we have nothing to discuss.”
“Even though it's a matter of the greatest importance?”
“Leave now—while you can.”
Still he came on and Celestine raised her right hand in a vain gesture to keep him at bay.
“Leave me alone.” She felt the Faie's power rushing through her, from her mind to her outstretched hand, concentrating in her fingertips. Every vein in her body burned with luminous energy. “Stay back!”
In the frosty gloom of the filthy alley, Linnaius saw Celestine's eyes begin to glimmer.
Pure white sparks of aethyrial energy shot from her outstretched hand. He snatched the ghost of a breeze from the night, twisting it around himself to repel the attack. But he was too slow to deflect the full force and the bolts sizzled through his defense, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. Fighting for breath, dizzy, he tried to force himself to get up, slipping on the slime of ice and mud, only to drop back again.
Azilis blazed a vicious warning.
“Leave—us—alone.”
Celestine saw the Magus stagger and fall. This was her chance to escape.
“He'll only come after us again.” The Faie's fury still burned in her brain and she felt a second burst of fire welling up within her. “Finish it now, once and for all.”
As the power coursed through her body, Celestine saw Linnaius push himself up on one hand, turning to her with a look so confused, so imploring, that it almost made her stay her hand.
“This is no time for weakness!” The Faie's rage possessed her and she flung another glittering bolt at him. Linnaius fell back. After one convulsive shudder, he did not stir again.
Is it all over at last? Have we destroyed him? Her fire-dazzled mind could only think of escape. She gathered up her skirts and began to run, expecting at any time to feel a flesh-shredding blast of wind catch her. “Must get away from here,” she kept repeating to herself. “Must get the sequins back to Yelena. She'll be cross if I'm late.”
But at the entrance to the alleyway, all the strength drained from her body and she fell, clutching at a doorpost to support herself.
“Faie, what's wrong?” This was unlike any weakness she had ever felt before, emanating from deep within her. “Did Linnaius put a glamour on you?”
For a moment the Faie did not reply and when she did, her words sounded distant and bewildered. “What's happening to me? Why am I…so… weak?”
The bright presence within her dimmed, like a candleflame blown out in the wind, and the reassuring, familiar voice fell silent.
“Where have you been, you wretched girl?” Yelena rose, staring severely at Celestine over the top of her pince-nez. “You're late! Now we'll all have to work past midnight—” She broke off. “Why, what ever's the matter? You're trembling.”
“I—I was attacked.” Celestine's teeth chattered. She was still shaken to the core by the unexpected encounter with Linnaius. Even enduring Yelena's wrath was preferable to what she had just experienced. “In the alley.”
“Are you all right?” The other seamstresses crowded around to fuss over her. “Were you robbed?” “Did you see his face?”
“I got away.” She pulled out the twist of paper containing the precious sequins and held it out to Yelena. Yelena gave a fastidious little sniff but accepted it nonetheless and unwrapped the sparkling contents.
“Go and warm yourself at the stove. Drink some tea. And don't go by that alleyway again after dark.”
Celestine saw Grebin coming along the passageway toward her, carrying the dancers’ flowing headdresses. “They won't do,” he said, plumping the bundle of buckram and tangled ribbons into her arms. “The ballet mistress says they're too long and they get in the way. Tell Yelena they must be altered. We need them in half an—” He stopped, gazing at her quizzically. “What have you done to your hair, Maela? Bleached it? I liked it better brown.” And he passed on down the passageway.
My hair bleached? Celestine stood in the dim light with her arms full of dangling ribbons and laces, not knowing quite what to do first. Is my disguise slipping?
This thought was so disturbing that it sent her running to the nearest empty dressing room, dumping the offending headdresses over a hanging rail and leaning close to the mirror to check her reflection. Even in the gloom, she could see that her hair was fast reverting to its natural shade of pale gold. And he
r eyes were blue as cornflowers once more.
“Faie?” She began to wind her fair hair up into a knot, desperately casting around for a piece of scrap material that she could use as a headscarf to hide it. “Faie! What's wrong with you?” There was no reply. “Answer me!”
The seamstresses stayed up all night to finish the dancers’ costumes. Celestine, her hair still covered by a tightly bound headscarf, was relieved not to have to leave the theater again. The women took it in turns to sleep and sew, drinking strong tea from the samovar to keep awake. As Celestine sat slowly, mechanically stitching a seam, her eyelids began to droop, only to start awake as she saw again the Magus's face, lit by the stark, pure light of the Faie's attack.
Is Linnaius really gone at last? She had thought she would feel triumphant in the knowledge that she had destroyed him. But all she felt was emptiness. She had ruthlessly pursued her quest to avenge her father, abandoning her career, her country, even her dearest friends.
Faie? There was still no answer. Celestine's heart ached. Suppose in protecting her from Linnaius, the Faie had given up the last of her aethyrial life force?
Am I all alone now?
CHAPTER 10
The plans for rebuilding the damaged wing of Swanholm Palace lay spread out over the Emperor's desk. Eugene, in company with his architects, was comparing them with the original designs when a discreet knock announced the arrival of his secretary, Gustave.
“I wouldn't have interrupted you, imperial highness, if it were not a matter of the utmost gravity.” Gustave bowed as he presented Eugene with a folded paper.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Eugene went to the window to read by the clear snow light while Gustave hovered, waiting for a reply.
It was a transcript of a Vox message from an agent in the port of Haeven:
Unconfirmed reports received from clippers on their way back from
the Azure Ocean of a devastating typhoon or tidal wave that has
wrecked many ships and wreaked havoc in the Spice Islands.
Eugene looked up, staring out over the snow haze blanketing the valley, yet seeing a distant shore where, were it not for the merciless heat, the sand was so white it could be mistaken for snow. “Enguer-rand,” he murmured. “Aude. Andrei.”
He had left the rebel princes behind on Ty Nagar, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and his children. When Linnaius had returned to rescue Lord Gavril, he had offered to take Lady Aude too but she had refused, insisting she would stay with Enguerrand. And that was the last he had heard.
He looked up to see Gustave and the architects watching him cautiously. “Has anyone else seen this intelligence?” he asked.
“I believe that news may have leaked out—” began Gustave.
“Eugene!” Astasia came running in. “What's this rumor I've been hearing?”
Gustave nodded to the architects, who bowed and hastily made themselves scarce.
“A tidal wave in the Spice Islands? All the ships in the area feared wrecked?”
“There are no details yet—” Eugene began.
“Why didn't you send Linnaius back to rescue him?” She launched herself at him, beating her fists against his chest. “You left my brother marooned there. You left him there to die!”
Eugene stared at his wife, taken aback by this furious outburst. He caught her by the wrists, pressing her clenched fists against his breast. “You know well enough why I didn't bring Andrei back.”
“He wasn't in his right mind, Eugene; he was possessed by that— that Drakhaoul.” Her eyes burned with angry tears yet she didn't break down. “Andrei would never have done those terrible things. I was there. I saw him. It wasn't Andrei who stole our son. The daemon forced him to do it.”
There was much that Eugene had not told his wife about that last, desperate battle at the Serpent Gate. Only Gavril Nagarian knew how close they had all come to annihilation and the part that Andrei had played. He looked at Gustave above Astasia's dark head. “Has anyone seen the Magus recently, Gustave?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
“No, imperial highness.”
“Then send word to all our ships in the southern quadrant to start to search for the Empress's brother and his companions. And I want to know which vessels have survived this catastrophe unscathed.”
Linnaius was the only one capable of effecting a swift rescue mission. But Linnaius had disappeared. From the elegiac tone of their last conversation, Eugene feared that the old Magus was ailing and had gone to some desolate place to die. He had even set his affairs in order, initiating Professor Kazimir in his alchymical secrets so that he could continue his work for the New Rossiyan armies.
“If you can still hear me, Kaspar,” he said, gazing out at the wintry sky, “I really need your help.”
* * *
A soft, chill sensation brought Linnaius slowly back to consciousness. He was still lying in the alley, and flakes of snow were falling on him, forming a soft white coverlet. He managed to push himself up to his hands and knees, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort.
Azilis could have killed me. But here I am still…frozen to the bone, and more likely to die of exposure to the cold than a bolt of aethyric energy…
Slowly he crawled forward until he reached the shelter of a doorway.
So why am I still alive? He brushed the snow off his robes. Has she put all her energy into protecting Celestine? Or has she been too long away from the Rift, the source of her powers?
Linnaius leaned his throbbing head back against the rotting doorpost and watched the snowflakes silently falling, transforming the shabby buildings with their crystalline sheen.
She had defeated him this time, yet he was determined not to give up. He would need time to heal. But so would Azilis.
“Hey! Old man! You can't sleep here!”
Linnaius came back to his senses to see two constables of the watch standing over him, shining a lantern in his face.
“Had a few too many, grandpa?” One of them bent down and eased him up into a sitting position. “Time to go home. You'll catch your death lying in fresh snow.”
“D'you think you can make it on your own?” Between them, they hauled him to his feet, propping him up. Linnaius felt a fool. But he was still too weak from Azilis's attack to do anything but accept their help.
“Where's your house?” the first constable asked loudly. Linnaius waved one hand vaguely toward the square.
“Better take him down to the constabulary.”
Lying in a cell, Linnaius stared up at the cracked ceiling. If he had not felt so feeble, he would have smiled at the irony. It wasn't so long since he had been imprisoned by the Commanderie and now here he was, behind bars again, for being “incapable with drink.” In truth, he was grateful to the two constables for rescuing him and giving him shelter on such a bitterly cold night. Huddled close to the little stove in the cell were three elderly vagrants and a couple of drunkards, one of them constantly mumbling to himself. The cell stank of old men's piss and unwashed bodies, but Linnaius was in no position to complain. In his weakened state, he could have frozen to death if the men hadn't stumbled across him.
Next morning, the constables spooned out a bowl of steaming hot porridge for each of the old men and sent them off into the dawn. Linnaius stood gazing up at the scarlet-stained eastern sky. The light of the rising sun had tinged the snowy rooftops a strange and bloody pink. Fortified with porridge, he set out at a dragging and unsteady pace over the frozen snow. Muscobites milled about him, all moving more swiftly than he as they hurried to work; ants, he thought, swarming past a slow, old snail. On the corner, a vendor was selling newspapers, shouting his wares aloud in a high-pitched, cracked voice.
“Tragedy in the southern quadrant! Tidal wave ruins spice trade! King of Francia lost at sea!”
Linnaius stopped. Had he heard aright? He hobbled up to the news vendor. “King Enguerrand drowned?” he said.
“I don't give
out the news for free,” said the vendor as other customers pushed in, jostling Linnaius, to buy their copies.
If Enguerrand was feared dead, what had become of Prince Andrei, his traveling companion? Eugene had no love for his arrogant brother-in-law, but he would not wish the Empress Astasia to suffer his loss a second time.
Eugene needs me. Somehow I've got to find the strength to make it back to Swanholm…
Yelena sent Celestine back to the draper's to buy turquoise thread and ribbons.
Even though she knew she should not, Celestine retraced her steps to see if the old Magus's body was still lying where she had left him the previous night. The alley was covered with a thick fall of fresh snow, but all that she could see were the delicate prints of birds’ wiry feet.
A sudden sound made her jump. Heart thudding, she looked round to see crows watching her from the fence; more were lining up on the lopsided gable of a nearby tenement. She remembered Jagu's fear of birds. She remembered the soul-stealing magus who had taken Henri's soul and his hawk. She began to back away. Could the magi use crows as their familiars?
“He's gone.” The Faie's voice echoed, feeble but distinct, in her mind.
“You're all right!” Celestine crossed her arms over her breast, hugging herself with relief. Her breath steamed on the frosty air.
” We're safe—for now.”
“But Linnaius is still alive?”
“Forgive me, Celestine, I left you unprotected. I was just…so very… weary.”
Linnaius arrived at Swanholm as the palace was waking to a dark and dreary dawn. He entered the palace by the secret passage that led directly to the Emperor's private apartments, passing bleary-eyed maids, who stared at him in surprise as they lugged heavy baskets of logs and coals to make up the fires.
He found Eugene already at his desk, going through a pile of dispatches.
“I came as soon as I could,” Linnaius announced.
Eugene hurried toward Linnaius and took him by the arm to steady him. “Magus,” he said, “please sit down. Let me pour you a drink. Aquavit?”