Flight into Darkness

by Sarah Ash

  “Isn't this exciting?” cried Aude as the wind blew her ginger curls awry. “Almost as exciting as flying on a Drakhaoul's back… Only I'm not supposed to talk about that,” she added.

  “What shall I do? Revealing my true identity to Princess Adèle means risking everything. If she can't—or won't—offer me her protection, then I'll have played all my cards and left nothing in reserve!”

  “Well, I'm going to tell them I was rescued from the flood by a Tielen ship,” said Aude. “I can't possibly tell them the truth. They probably wouldn't believe it, anyway. This is a kind of ship, isn't it?” she said to Linnaius. “And you are its captain, so I'm not telling a lie.” She turned back to Celestine. “They'll be so busy questioning me about what happened to Enguerrand that they won't notice you, I hope.”

  “But what will you tell them about Enguerrand?”

  “Oh, I'll go quiet and look down at the floor. I'll say that I don't know where he is—which is also true, because he and the Emperor will already be en route to the port!”

  After flying high above the sea for so long, the sight of land came as an ominous reminder to Celestine of what lay ahead. She had not returned to Francia since Linnaius's trial. She glanced across at the Magus as he sat, directing and controlling the winds that carried them, and wondered if he was aware of the irony of the situation too. And then she remembered Jagu's plight, and all her other concerns seemed insignificant.

  The sun was sinking, and the farmlands and orchards below were bathed in a golden haze. The trees were covered with a dusting of snowy petals.

  “Spring,” Celestine said softly.

  It was almost dark by the time the first towers and steeples of the city appeared, black against the skyline, and the soft glow of street lanterns mirrored the stars overhead.

  Linnaius followed the winding course of the Sénon, passing directly over the looming bulk of the Forteresse. Somewhere within those forbidding fortified walls, the Commanderie must be holding Jagu prisoner.

  “Jagu,” Celestine whispered, “I'm here. I've come to get you out.”

  Yet as Linnaius brought the craft slowly down into the shadows of the palace gardens, she felt suddenly unsure and apprehensive. Adèle might have changed. She might even have fallen under her husband's influence.

  “Disguise me, Faie.” Celestine made the quiet request as she and Aude climbed out of the sky craft. And before they set out, she placed a small package in Linnaius's hands. “Take good care of this for me, Magus.”

  He looked at her questioningly.

  “It's my father's grimoire. You know what to do with it if I don't return,” she said, gazing into his eyes. A few days ago she would not have entrusted it to him. But now they understood each other so much better. He nodded and placed the precious book carefully in the pocket of his robes.

  “Be on your guard,” he warned. “From here on, you'll be fending for yourselves. The next time I return, I shall be bringing your king back to his people.”

  Jagu had never been inside one of the Inquisition's interrogation rooms before, although he knew that they were situated in the old dungeons that lay beneath the prison tower of the Forteresse. Although sometimes, as he crossed the courtyard, he had heard faint screams coming from far below—cries that had haunted him for long afterward.

  The first thing that Jagu noticed as the Rosecoeurs brought him into the room was how empty it was. His imagination had conjured all manner of gruesome images of torture: racks and iron maidens, filled with spikes to pierce the victim's body in all but the most vital organs to ensure a slow and lingering death.

  All that he could see was a table and three chairs.

  The Rosecoeurs forced him into one of the chairs and strapped him in around the waist, neck, and ankles.

  “Note the time and the date,” said Visant punctiliously, “and make sure that you spell the prisoner's name correctly.”

  There was a cold ache of dread in the pit of Jagu's stomach. Was Visant prolonging this just to make him feel more apprehensive? He hadn't been this afraid since the attack on Ondhessar—and then, irony of ironies, Kilian had boosted his failing courage.

  “You are well-known for your skills as a keyboard player, Lieutenant, aren't you? It would be a shame to bring such a promising career to an abrupt end.”

  “You already know where Celestine is to be found,” Jagu said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “Indeed. But I happen to believe that you can furnish us with the information we need to convict her of sorcery. We already have evidence from Demoiselle de Saint-Désirat, confirming that Celestine de Joyeuse is able to change her appearance at will.”

  Gauzia, again. “Firm evidence?” Jagu did not want to let Gauzia's allegation go unchallenged. “It's well-known in musical circles that Demoiselle de Saint-Désirat will go to considerable lengths to slander any potential rivals to her title.”

  “You were in Colchise, with Celestine de Joyeuse in late summer last year?”

  “I was.”

  “An apothecary told my agent in Colchise that Demoiselle de Joyeuse had purchased some expensive and poisonous herbs from him on the pretext that she was suffering from headaches. But my agent later saw her slip something into the iced tea she offered to Madame Andara, the painter. Madame Andara was later taken ill. Just beforehand, however, my agent heard the demoiselle pronouncing strange words and saw a bright light issuing from her bedchamber.”

  An agent of the Inquisition at the villa? It can only have been the maid, Nanette. He had been assuming that Celestine was still safe in Mirom. But now the thought occurred to him that they might have captured her and were deliberately withholding the fact from him, to extract enough information to convict her of sorcery. I can't take the risk. I can't betray her.

  Visant signed to the two Rosecoeurs; they placed a contraption on the table in front of Jagu which looked like one of the metal gauntlets once worn by jousting knights. Except there seemed to have been a bizarre modification. Protruding from every digit, Jagu could see screws, evidently designed to slowly tighten the fit around each finger until the tender flesh and bone inside were crushed.

  “You may have heard of the ‘Boot,’ Lieutenant? Well, we call this the ‘Glove.’”

  The two Rosecoeurs took hold of Jagu's left arm and slit open the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, and began to force his hand into the open gauntlet.

  “Wait. Show me his wrist.”

  Jagu had tensed, trying to brace himself for what was to come.

  “What's this, Lieutenant?” Visant rose to take a better look. “What is this mark of evil here?”

  Jagu looked too. The magus's mark could faintly be seen, silver-pale, against his skin.

  “Are you the member of some occult organization? You'd better confess, or it will go very ill with you indeed.”

  “This mark was put on me when I was a boy. A magus put it there so that he could control me,” said Jagu, staring coldly back at Visant. “It's all in Maistre de Lanvaux's account of the destruction of the Angelstones at Kemper.”

  Visant glanced at his secretary. “Make a sketch of the mark so that we can research its origins.” Then he turned back to Jagu. “I put it to you that you're using this mark to summon arcane help.”

  “Then if I've summoned help, why has no one come to rescue me?” Jagu almost laughed aloud at the ridiculous situation he found himself in. He had told Visant it was a warning, and yet the Inquisitor persisted in his misbegotten belief that he was the malefactor.

  “Your intransigence will do you no good.” Visant nodded to the Rosecoeurs, who proceeded to insert Jagu's left hand into the gauntlet. The unyielding feel of the cold metal against his fingers banished all other thoughts from Jagu's mind. He knew how fragile yet complicated a thing a man's hand was. Visant wanted information and he had selected the method he knew would be the most effective for extracting it.

  “And now, gentlemen, if you would be so good as to begin to tighten the screws…”


  “Kilian?” Alain Friard caught sight of a flash of pale ginger hair as a Guerrier hurried past him. His hand shot out and caught hold of him by the arm. “When did you get back from Muscobar?”

  “A couple of days or so,” said Kilian offhandedly.

  “And did you find Jagu? Or Celestine?” Friard did not relax his grip.

  A smile of irritation flashed briefly across Kilian's face. “Celestine gave me the slip. What a complicated, devious piece of work that woman is.”

  Friard heard more than irritation in Kilian's tone. He must really hate her. Whatever can she have done to cause such a bitter reaction? “And Jagu?” he asked.

  “You'll have to ask the Inquisition.” Kilian tried to shake off Friard's restraining hand but Friard was not going to let him go so easily.

  “What in Sergius's name do you mean, giving me an answer like that?” Friard pulled Kilian's face close to his. “What's come over you, Kilian? We were part of a team; we all worked together. Damn it, you and Jagu fought together at Ondhessar.” He caught hold of Kilian's jacket, tugging it open. Through the thin linen of Kilian's shirt, he could see a dark crimson mark, shaped like a rose on his left breast. “The mark of the Rosecoeurs?” So Kilian had undergone the secret initiation ceremony.

  “People change. Allegiances change,” said Kilian with a shrug.

  Friard, sobered and saddened, let go of him. “So I see.” Kilian straightened his uniform jacket, concealing the crimson mark of his new allegiance.

  Had the Inquisition arrested Jagu and put him to the question? At least I know who my enemies are. But whom can I trust?

  As they left the shadow-wreathed gardens and approached the lamplit terrace, Aude stopped and stared at Celestine.

  “Has my disguise worked?” Celestine asked anxiously.

  “It's… extraordinary,” said Aude. Then she recovered herself and said with a laugh and a toss of her curls, “But no more so than anything else I've seen in the past months.” They could see the royal guardsmen on sentry duty, patrolling up and down the terrace. She sucked in a deep breath and whispered, “Ready?” Celestine nodded.

  Aude walked straight up to the guard at the nearest entry and said in her clear, bright voice, “Good evening. I'm Aude de Provença, and I've just returned from Serindher. I'd like to speak with Queen Aliénor.”

  The sentry gazed down at Aude's face in the flickering torchlight.

  “Captain!” he called excitedly. “Over here!”

  Aude's arrival caused, as predicted, a flurry of activity in the palace. The Queen Mother, it seemed, was away from Plaisaunces. One of her ladies-in-waiting, the motherly Marquise de Trécesson, came bustling into the lofty, pillared hall to take charge of the situation.

  “Aude?” she cried and flung her arms about her. “How brown your skin is; I hardly recognized you, my dear. Thank heavens that you are alive! The duke and duchess will be so glad, so very glad.” A

  little crowd of courtiers had already gathered, all murmuring together. The rumors would soon start to spread.

  “Keep them guessing,” the Emperor had said, “for as long as you possibly can.”

  Sooner or later, Celestine thought, keeping in the shadows, someone will notice me.

  “How were you rescued?” “When did you return?” “Who brought you?” Aude was already being bombarded by questions as the press of curious courtiers increased around her.

  And Celestine, to her alarm, began to feel very peculiar. A strange malaise began to seep through her body; she sank onto a marble bench in an alcove in the great hall, gripping the sides to keep upright.

  It must be a reaction to the flight. I'm not accustomed to flying so high, that's all. This was not the time to faint and draw attention to herself. This was the moment she was supposed to slip away to find Adèle.

  Little cries of amazement arose from the crowd gathered around Aude.

  “What a miracle!” “How fortunate you were to be rescued so soon.” “But what of his majesty, the king?”

  Celestine caught Aude's eye as she tried to slip past unnoticed, and saw a sudden look of shocked surprise cross her face.

  “King Enguerrand? Ah, I wish I could tell you,” Aude said, playing her trump card.

  Why had Aude looked at her like that? As Celestine sped off into the grand mirrored corridor that led to the royal apartments, she saw why. From every side her reflection showed her Celestine de Joyeuse. Her disguise had completely vanished.

  Celestine's disguise had vanished and with it, her strength too. She felt as weak as if she had been ill for many days. Linnaius's warning kept haunting her—that she was paying the price for having used the Faie's powers for too long. Yet there was no possibility of turning back. She approached the royal apartments and noted that two of the household guards stood outside the entrance.

  I can't give up now. I'll just have to bluff my way inside.

  She unpinned the precious brooch from her dress and walked straight up to the guardsmen.

  “I wish to see Queen Adèle,” she said.

  The taller of the two looked down at her, his eyebrows raised. “Do you have an invitation from her majesty?”

  “No.” Celestine held out the jet brooch. “But if you show her this token, I think she will grant me an audience.”

  The tall guard consulted his companion with a questioning look. When the other nodded, he said, “Wait there,” and disappeared through the double doors.

  Celestine waited, head lowered, trying not to start every time a servant or a courtier went past, silently praying that no one recognized her. From time to time, she heard excited whispers mentioning Aude's name and Enguerrand's. So the rumors had already begun to spread.

  After what seemed an interminable wait, the guard reappeared and, holding open one of the doors, beckoned her inside. She hurried through and followed him past gilt-framed portraits of past rulers of Francia. At last he stopped before a paneled door, rapped softly, and opened it to admit Celestine.

  A firelit salon lay beyond.

  “Celestine? Is that really you?” came a soft, tired voice from a little sofa pulled close to the fireplace. “Come nearer so that I can see you.”

  “Your majesty?” Celestine said uncertainly. Lying back on the sofa with her feet on a little tapestry footstool was Adèle, or a pale shadow of the vivacious, pretty princess she remembered. Adèle smiled at her, lifting one hand listlessly to beckon her closer.

  “Let's not stand on ceremony,” she said. “Let's pretend we're still living in those older, happier days.”

  Celestine sank to her knees before her and took the outstretched hand in her own, kissing it. “Dear Adèle,” she said, “are you unwell? I don't want to tire you…”

  “I haven't been in the best of health of late, but I can't tell you how pleased I am to welcome an old friend! It's been far too long.” She patted the sofa and Celestine sat down beside her, wondering how to begin. “Where have you been all this time?”

  Celestine hesitated. So no one had told Adèle that she had been branded a heretic and a sorceress. There was nothing for it but to tell her the truth.

  “My life is in danger. I've come to beg for your help and protection. Not just for me, but for Jagu de Rustéphan as well.” Tears flooded her eyes, born of deep desperation. “Forgive me,” she wept. “It's just that everything has gone so badly wrong.”

  She felt Adèle's hand gently stroking her hair. “Tears, for Jagu? Can it be that the two of you have fallen in love?”

  Celestine nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. “But the Inquisition has arrested him. It won't be long before someone here recognizes me too and—”

  Adèle placed one finger over her lips. “I won't let them take you. Whatever protection I can give you, is yours. But as for Jagu, if he's already in the clutches of Inquisitor Visant, that may prove rather more difficult.”

  “There is one more mission that I have been charged to carry out.” Celestine slipped Enguerrand's l
etter out from her bodice and handed it to Adèle. “But please, dear Adèle, steel yourself, for it is extraordinary and unexpected news.”

  Adèle looked quizzically at her and unrolled the letter, smoothing it out on her lap to read it. Celestine watched anxiously, fearing that, given the young queen's fragile condition, the news might prove too much of a shock. She saw Adèle's eyes widen, then fill with tears. She gazed at Celestine. “He's alive? You've seen him? Is he well?” She wiped away a tear, laughing. “Look at us, crying like two silly schoolgirls!”

  “He's recovering from a fever, but he is well, considering how close he came to drowning,” said Celestine, joining in the tearful laughter. “But I wondered how this news might affect his majesty, King Ilsevir…”

  Adèle's expression became distant, almost wistful, and the laughter faded. “Ilsevir…” she repeated. “There cannot be two kings. What will happen now? This could lead to civil war.” She looked down at her brother's letter again. “Enguerrand asks me to say nothing of this until he makes his return. Very well. His secret is safe with me.” She scrunched the paper up into a ball and tossed it onto the logs in the grate. As it flared up, the door suddenly burst open and a white-haired man in black robes came in, followed by four armed Guerriers.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion, Maistre Donatien?” Adèle could sound just as intimidating as her mother when she chose to. “How dare you disturb me without even having the courtesy to knock?”

  Celestine instinctively moved closer to Adèle.

  “I'm sorry to disturb you, your majesty, but this young woman is very dangerous.” Donatien seemed not in the least deterred by Adèle's reaction. “I have no idea how she gained access to your private apartments, but as she is known to practice the Forbidden Arts, I can only assume that—”

  “If you mean Demoiselle de Joyeuse, then I have granted her my protection.” Adèle stared at Maistre Donatien, as if daring him to challenge her authority. “My royal protection.”

  “What's all the fuss about?” A door opened on the far side of the fireplace and Ilsevir appeared, in a robe de chambre of dove-grey brocade. Celestine instantly dropped into a deep curtsy and Donatien bowed. “Grand Maistre, why have you brought armed men into our private salon?”