by Sarah Ash
“I don't want a riot on my hands, ladies, no matter how strongly your admirers feel about your relative charms. Riots are expensive!” Grebin glared at them both. “And of course I would have to withhold your fees to cover the cost of repairs to the theater.”
There were only eight more performances to be endured before Gauzia and her entourage were due to travel on to Tielborg. Celestine couldn't wait to be rid of her. Although once Gauzia was gone, there was no guarantee Grebin would give her a part in the next opera. It was rumored that Anna Krylova was making a good recovery, so Celestine fully expected that she would be demoted to the chorus once more.
She unlocked the door to her little room then stopped on the threshold. The figure of a man was silhouetted against a skim of pale moonlight. A burglar? She felt the Faie tense, ready to defend her.
The intruder turned toward her and she took a step back as the uncertain moonlight brightened, revealing the soft grey eyes and honey-fair hair of her dead lover. The cats turned tail and fled down the stairs.
“Henri?” she said, retreating. “What are you doing here?” It couldn't be Henri; Henri was dead. Unless this was…
” Who are you?” He stared at her. “You sound like my Celestine… but I don't recognize you.”
“Faie!” Celestine cried. “Change me back.”
“Be careful, Celestine; this is nothing but a revenant, a mere shadow of your lost love—”
“I don't care. Change me back now.” And as the Faie's glamour fell away from her, she saw his bewildered expression fade and alter, smiling as he recognized her. He held out his hands. She started forward, only to feel the Faie check her.
“Don't go to him. Don't go any closer.”
“Henri? What are you doing here?” Celestine ached to run into his arms.
“I had to see you. I had to know that you were all right. There's so much I need to tell you.”
And suddenly she knew that she could not bear to hear it. It had taken so long to heal the wounds left by his death and just the sound of his voice made the desolation of loss wash over her once more. “No,” she whispered. “No, this can't be happening. You're a dream. The dead don't return.”
A cloud passed across the face of the moon, casting the attic into sudden darkness. When the moonlight brightened again, the revenant had gone. But a faint, charnel taint lingered in the air that reminded Celestine of the damp crypt of Saint Meriadec's. She lit the little lamp, hoping that its glow would chase the lingering shadows from the room. Yet as its wavering flame burned more brightly, it brought her no cheer or consolation. She noticed that the table on which it stood was covered in a layer of gritty dust, as if the landlady had not cleaned in weeks. Celestine ran her finger along the wood and, as the fine particles sifted through her fingers, she heard the Faie murmuring over and over to herself, “No. This can't be happening.”
“What is this dust, Faie? Tell me. No matter how horrible it is, I need to know.”
“This dust has blown in from the Realm of Shadows. When the soul leaves the physical body behind, it's imprinted with its last, strongest emotion. Imprinted, almost always, with the feelings that mortal person bore for another: child, parent, lover…”
Celestine nodded. A terrible sadness had begun to well up within her.
“And those feelings are often mixed with regret. A life cut short before its time, words left unsaid, yearnings never adequately expressed. That was why I sang. I sang to ease those regrets, to soothe those unfulfilled hopes and dreams, to take away the bitterness and reveal the way through the shadows to the light beyond.”
“‘Blessed Azilia, let thy light shine through the darkness and show us the way to paradise,’” whispered Celestine. It was the ancient Vesper Prayer of the Knights of the Commanderie. Never, until now, had she understood the profound implications of those simple words.
“Who are you, Faie? Are you Azilis? Was Linnaius telling the truth after all?”
“There has been no one to sing for the dead since Linnaius took me away from Ondhessar. And in that time, so many souls have become lost in the Ways Beyond, held back by their regrets and their unfulfilled dreams.”
“So Henri came back to me, because he's become a lost soul?” The thought caused her so much heartache that she could hardly articulate the words. “I hoped that—at least—he might be at peace. I can't bear to think that he's been suffering all this time. I have to help him; I can't leave him wandering like this.” As she was speaking she had begun to realize the sacrifice she might have to make for the sake of her dead lover. “Faie—if you returned to Ondhessar, would you be able to set Henri's soul free from wandering this world? And all those other lost souls?”
The Faie was silent a long while. “But if I return to the Rift,” she said eventually, “I won't be able to protect you anymore. Let me stay with you a little longer.”
Celestine gazed into the translucent eyes of her guardian spirit. In all the years they had been together, she had never imagined that one day they would have to part. But even though the thought of having to live alone and unprotected terrified her, the wish to bring peace to Henri's wandering spirit was stronger.
“I want you to help me to lay his ghost,” she said. “And if that means going to Ondhessar, dear Faie, then I'll find a way to take you there.”
“Let me stay with you just a little longer.” Azilis's voice become so soft, so persuasive, that it was like a mother's caress. “Let me know that you, my dearest child, have found fulfillment… so that when I have to go back into the darkness, I have happy memories of my time here with you to sustain me.”
Celestine felt her will wavering. Azilis must be using her powers to influence her. Had she become too attached to the mortal world? Had she found the brief second taste of life too seductive, too tasty, to give up? Every night that Celestine went out onstage to sing, she had sensed Azilis wake within her, living the music, experiencing every note, every nuance of feeling, as if it were her own. “Then I'll wait until the final performance of A Spring Elopement is over,” she promised her, knowing full well how hard it was going to be to say farewell to her dearest Faie.
CHAPTER 16
Spring had come early to Francia, and as the royal coach bearing the Prince and Princess of Allegonde entered the long avenue leading up to Plaisaunces, pale petals drifted down from the cloudy sky, borne on the breeze from the walled palace gardens.
Adèle raised the blind of the carriage and gazed out. The people had gathered to watch the procession but they were silent, standing behind the cordon formed by the soldiers of the palace guard.
On his side of the carriage, Ilsevir waved his hand, but no cheers arose to greet him.
“They seem rather subdued, my new subjects,” he observed in a dejected tone that Adèle knew meant that his feelings were hurt.
“They're still in mourning for my brother,” she said diplomatically. “I'm sure they'll cheer loudly enough after the coronation.” But she had noticed the significantly high numbers of guards lining the route; Chancellor Aiguillon must have anticipated trouble. The vague feeling of unhappiness that had been troubling her since they crossed the mountains and entered her home country increased. They had not even smiled at her, and she was a princess of the realm, Gobain's daughter. Did they resent her as much as her husband?
Queen Aliénor was seated on a dais in the Salle des Chevaliers, beneath the brightly colored shields and banners of the four ancient duchies of Francia. All the ministers were gathered around her, including at her right hand, Adèle noticed, Hugues Donatien, reappointed
Grand Maistre of the Commanderie. In stark contrast to the vibrant banners, all were soberly dressed in mourning black.
Trust Maman to turn our arrival into a theatrical performance, she thought, wincing as trumpeters appeared on the musicians’ gallery to blow a deafening fanfare. All she wanted was a cup of tea and a long bath to soak away the stiffness of travel.
“Welcome, your majesty.” Ali�
�nor rose to greet them and as all the dignitaries bowed low, Ilsevir went up onto the dais to kiss his mother-in-law. Adèle dutifully followed.
“You look peaky, Adèle,” Aliénor said as she brushed her cheek with her lips. “You'd better sit down.”
“It's been a long journey, Madame,” said Adèle, forcing a smile, but she sat beside her mother, hoping that Aliénor would focus all her attention on Ilsevir, giving her a little time to recover.
“The plans for the coronation are ready for your approval, your majesty.” Chancellor Aiguillon bowed to Prince Ilsevir as he held out a bound folder.
“Let's see.” Ilsevir took the folder and opened it, leafing through the pages. “The procession to the cathedral will begin at nine in the morning…”
Adèle half listened as Ilsevir read aloud the order of service. She was lost in a memory of Enguerrand's coronation, and the recollection of her brother—his bespectacled face earnest and radiant, as the archbishop placed the crown on his dark head—made her eyes sting with tears.
Why did you have to go so far away to carry out your charitable good works? Why couldn't you have stayed here, safe in your own country?
“And while the bishops and other priests process up the aisle carrying the crown, the choir will sing,” Ilsevir was saying. “An anthem by Talfieri, Adèle? Or one of your Francian composers?”
“Surely a Francian would be best,” she said swiftly. And then, lost in the memory again, “with a Francian soloist. I'd love it if Celestine de Joyeuse…” Her voice faded out as she became aware that all the ministers were looking at her oddly.
“Your highness may not be aware that Demoiselle de Joyeuse is a wanted criminal,” said Maistre Donatien coldly.
Adèle stared at him. “You must be mistaken, Maistre,” she said. “Celestine is a good and loyal friend of mine.”
“I fear that even good friends may be swayed by the lure of the Forbidden Arts. The demoiselle has been practicing dark magic.”
“That must be slander! Vicious slander put about by one of her jealous rivals.” Adèle was incensed that Celestine's reputation had been tarnished by such ugly rumors.
“We have proof, your highness.”
Adèle turned her head away, determined not to listen to Maistre Donatien any longer; he was her mother's confidant and, she was certain now, not to be trusted.
“Official mourning for Enguerrand will end in a week's time,” said Aliénor. Adèle stared at the floor. How could her mother speak so calmly and coldly about her son's death? Even hearing the words had brought the tears to her eyes again and she was fighting to hold them back, willing herself not to weep in front of Aliénor and the ministers.
There came a sudden clatter of hooves outside and the sound of shouting shattered the awkward silence.
“I demand to see my cousin! Let me through!”
The great doors at the far end of the Salle des Chevaliers burst open. The guards thrust their halberds across the opening, creating a barrier. A grey-haired, broad-shouldered man strained against them.
Aliénor rose. “Raimon?” she said in a voice sharp as steel. “What are you doing here?”
Ilsevir retreated behind his wife's chair. “Who is this rude man?” he whispered nervously in her ear.
“The Duc de Provença,” Adèle whispered back. She had not seen her father's cousin in many years.
“Where's my daughter? Where is Aude?” bellowed the duke.
“Captain, would you be so good as to let the duke through?” Aliénor said to the captain of her guards.
“First you tell me, Aliénor, that Aude has run away to Serindher with your son.” Raimon de Provença strode toward the dais, loudly enumerating his grievances. “Second comes the news of this tidal wave or typhoon. And then—here are the Prince and Princess of Allegonde, and talk of a coronation. I need to know: Is my daughter alive or dead?”
The raised voices, the growing sense of unbearable tension, mingled with grief for her brother and fatigue after the journey… Suddenly the salle began to swim before Adèle's eyes. She heard Ilsevir cry out her name. And then a roaring sound, as if of an incoming tide, rose to drown out everything else and she went under into blackness.
* * *
“Have you been eating properly?”
Adèle closed her eyes wearily as her mother started on one of her lectures again. “A glass of strong red wine a day, with a spoonful of phosphorus, will be good for your constitution. We can't have you fainting at the coronation. And we need you for the fitting of the robes tomorrow.”
“Yes, Madame…” If only Maman would let her alone to rest.
“She looks very peaky, Ilsevir. I'd like my physician to take a look at her.”
“I'm sure Adèle is just fatigued after the journey,” she heard Ilsevir say and smiled to herself, touched that he had dared to defend her against her mother. If only he would stay and talk with her. He was spending so much time these days with Girim nel Ghislain and the clerics that she felt neglected.
“Nevertheless, I'm going to call in Doctor Vallot.”
“Vallot? In spite of all his experience, he couldn't save my father.” In the shocked silence that followed, Adèle realized that she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
“Well, I must go and meet with Maistre Donatien,” said Ilsevir, retreating hastily.
“They just stood there,” said Adèle when he had gone. “They stood in silence. Watching.”
“What are you babbling about? Are you feverish?” said Aliénor sharply.
“The people. They don't want Ilsevir as king. They don't want Francia and Allegonde to be united.”
“What do they care as long as the taxes don't rise too high and there's enough bread to fill their bellies? Francia alone is weak, but Francia and Allegonde united present a strong front to resist the Emperor.”
Adèle lay back, knowing there was no point in arguing with her mother. But Aliénor was blind. That silent protest was a sign of a deeper malaise. Resentment was brewing in the city and could erupt at any moment into open rebellion.
The morning of the coronation, the skies filled with clouds and rain began to fall over Lutèce.
“What luck we chose the closed carriage,” said Ilsevir, gazing out at the raindrops running down the windows.
“Yes,” said Adèle. She felt sad and subdued. Was the wet weather an ill omen? “You look lovely,” Ilsevir said softly.
“Do I?” She looked at him, surprised yet touched by the compliment. “Thank you.” All the while her ladies had been dressing her in the heavy gown of blue and gold brocade, the colors of Francia, her mind had been elsewhere, wondering why she, of all the three children of Gobain and Aliénor, should be the only one still alive.
As they climbed down from the carriage, equerries hurried forward to shield them from the rain. Adèle noticed how few had gathered outside the cathedral to cheer for their new king and queen. An honor guard lined their way up the wide steps and into the cathedral: all Allegondan Rosecoeurs, she noted sadly.
And then a fanfare blared out to announce their arrival and the long procession set off. Adèle sighed. Everything in the gloomy, drafty cathedral reminded her of what she had lost: a father and two beloved elder brothers.
If only you were here to sing for me, Celestine. I think I could endure this with fortitude if I could hear your sweet voice and know you were here to cheer my spirits afterward…
“Ready, my dearest?” Ilsevir whispered and, looking up at him, she saw how pale he looked. She had been so bound up in her own feelings that she had neglected to notice that her husband was suffering from nerves. Ilsevir needed her support as never before. She put the past from her mind and smiled bravely up at him as she placed her hand firmly on his.
“I'm ready,” she said.
CHAPTER 17
Jagu disembarked at the Mirom docks under a yellow-grey sky that threatened more snow. The crew had already begun to unload casks of wine from the hold, rolling them down onto t
he quayside with much raucous shouting and swearing. Merchants from Khitari in their high-collared jackets had gathered in a huddle to check on boxes of tea, and an argument suddenly broke out as one discovered a fractured seal. Wagons clattered over the cobbles, as traders in fur coats and fur-trimmed hats arrived to haggle over the Dame Blanche's cargo.
The sea journey to Mirom had taken much longer than Jagu had anticipated. Winter storms in the Straits had twice driven Captain Peillac to seek shelter in little ports on the western coast of Muscobar. Cut off from any news, Jagu had fretted away his time ashore, even setting out to travel overland by sleigh. But severe blizzards inland drove him back to the ship. By the time they reached the Nieva estuary, the river had frozen over and they had to wait for channels to be cut through the thick winter ice by Tielen ships with specially designed metal prows.
Having secured lodgings, Jagu presented himself at the Francian Embassy. While he was waiting in the entrance hall, he couldn't help noticing that all the ambassador's staff were wearing black mourning bands.
“I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Lieutenant de Rustéphan.” An earnest-faced young man came out to greet him, ushering him swiftly into his office. “My name is Roget de Corméry, secretary to Ambassador d'Abrissard.”
“Has the ambassador suffered a bereavement?” Jagu asked, seeing that Corméry was also wearing a mourning band.
“My dear lieutenant, haven't you heard the terrible news? The king has been lost at sea.”
Jagu stared at him, dumbfounded.
“It seems that his majesty was visiting a distant mission in Serindher when a tidal wave or typhoon struck. The reports are still vague. And it's rumored—but please may I count on your discretion here—that Prince Andrei may have been with him.”