by Sarah Ash
The city of Lutèce was in mourning for the king. Autumn fog drifted across the squares and boulevards from the river meadows, leaving water drops glistening on every bare branch and roof tile. Shops drew down their shutters, and all theaters and concert halls canceled their performances.
There was to be a grand funeral procession, with troops of guards lining the streets. Foreign crowned heads and dignitaries would follow the king’s coffin, accompanying the members of the royal family. Celestine wondered how Adèle was enduring the loss of her father, so soon after the death of her beloved brother.
“How long will this official mourning last?” Gauzia, deprived of her nightly dose of adulation on the stage of the Opera House, restlessly paced the music room. Celestine gave a little shrug. Her thoughts were centered on the Maistre; the girls had been waiting over an hour for him to return from the palace with the music for the funeral service.
“When the late king’s father died, the theaters were shut for four weeks,” said Dame Elmire.
“What?” Gauzia let out a little shriek of horror. “I shall go mad with boredom. We’ve been rehearsing A Spring Elopement. I have a duet with Yann Kernicol—and an aria all to myself.”
“There’ll be plenty to keep you occupied,” soothed Dame Elmire. “After the funeral, there’ll be the coronation service.”
Gauzia sat down in a flounce of skirts next to Celestine. “Have you heard the rumors in the city?” she said in confiding tones. Celestine, startled out of her thoughts about the Maistre, shook her head. “They’re saying it must be a curse. A curse laid on the royal house of Francia.”
Celestine blinked.
Gauzia counted the points off on her fingertips. “First Francia was defeated by Tielen. Then Prince Aubrey was killed in a hunting accident. Now the king is dead. It has to be a curse. Who will it be next? Princess Adèle?”
“You know what Sister Noyale would say about such superstitious notions,” said Celestine sternly.
“Everyone’s talking about it. Kernicol, the tenor, reckons that it all dates back to the time when the Inquisition had those alchymists burned at the stake. He says that as they were dying, they put a curse on the royal family.”
Celestine stared at Gauzia, aghast. Those alchymists. Did she mean her father? But before she could stammer out a question, the door opened and the Maistre came in.
“I’m sorry to have kept you both waiting,” he said, putting a pile of folders on the fortepiano. He looked careworn and pale. “These sad formalities take so long to arrange. But you’ll both be singing solo again, at the princess’s request.”
“Well, thank goodness that’s over,” said Gauzia, her voice echoing around the lofty fluted columns of the side chapel.
The choirs had stood in respectful silence as, to the slow beat of muffled drums, the king’s coffin, draped in the blue-and-gold Francian flag, was carried from the cathedral. Only when the august guests and dignitaries filed out had they begun the final anthem. They had sung on until only the altar boys and sacristans remained.
“Hush, Gauzia!” Angelique gave her a severe look but Gauzia continued, regardless.
“How long was that? Three and a half hours?”
The Maistre appeared in the doorway, the smallest choristers of the Chapelle Royale milling around him, tugging at the long sleeves of his gown.
“Maistre, you promised us a treat if we behaved.”
“You promised us cinnamon doughnuts.”
“And hot chocolate.”
“All in good time,” he said, smiling at them. He’s so patient with the children, Celestine thought fondly. And they adore him.
“Thank you, sisters,” continued the Maistre above the little boys’ clamor. “As ever, your contribution was exquisitely beautiful. I’ve heard that his majesty will soon be making a visit to the convent to thank you in person.” The nuns glanced at each other in surprise. Celestine heard Sister Marthe whisper delightedly to Angelique, “King Gobain would never have troubled himself to visit us. But young Enguerrand has different priorities, it seems.”
“So here you are, surrounded by all your little ones!” A woman, dressed in a cape of midnight velvet, came up to the Maistre. “Come, boys, follow me! We’ve laid on a fine spread for you in the vestry.”
The choristers let out a cheer and surged around her as she led them into the side aisle.
“They’ll love you forever, Aurélie.” The Maistre took her hand in his.
Aurélie? Celestine saw the woman shake the hood from her head, revealing glossy black curls.
“Cupboard love?” The diva began to laugh, a throatily seductive sound. “You boys are so fickle!”
“No doughnuts for us, then?” said Gauzia in disappointed tones.
Ruaud was setting out the books in his study in readiness for his weekly tutorial with the young king, when the door opened and the queen entered.
“Your majesty, this is an unexpected honor.” Ruaud bowed. When he looked up, he saw Aliénor regarding him coldly.
“I’ll be frank with you, Captain de Lanvaux. I do not approve of your influence on my son. It’s not healthy for a sixteen-year-old to spend so much time secluded with monks and priests. A king should take an interest in the welfare of his people. He should set a good example!”
Since Gobain’s death, Aliénor had made no secret of her dislike for Ruaud, taking every opportunity she could to challenge him.
“With respect, majesty, what better example could a young king set? He’s devout and God-fearing.” Ruaud knew he was treading on thin ice but could not resist adding, “Would you rather he spent his days gambling and drinking like so many of his peers?”
“Please don’t patronize me, Captain. Of course I don’t approve of the lax behavior of our younger nobles. But it wouldn’t hurt Enguerrand to take up tennis…or hunting, a healthy outdoor sport. A young man should take plenty of vigorous exercise. I don’t have to remind you what unhealthy urges can dominate the thoughts of boys his age. And what is this nonsense about going on a pilgrimage to the Birthplace Shrine? I absolutely forbid it. Enhirre is a dangerous, unstable country—you should know so better than most. And if you persist in encouraging this ambition, I shall be forced to intervene.” The queen stared at him as though daring him to defy her, and Ruaud realized that he had no choice this time but to capitulate.
“Maman, what are you doing here?” Enguerrand appeared in the doorway.
“You’re not a child, Enguerrand. Will you please address me as ‘madame’?” Aliénor swept past her son, pausing in the doorway to add, “And you’re not going to Ondhessar. You’re staying here to ensure that your sister makes a good marriage. I’ve made my decision. And that’s an end to it.”
Enguerrand stood motionless, head bowed. When Aliénor was out of earshot, he said quietly, “I may be only sixteen, but I am king. And when I attain the age of majority, I won’t let her tell me what to do anymore.”
“The theaters will be reopening next week!” Gauzia’s triumphant shriek cut across Celestine’s vocal exercises. The next instant, Gauzia flung open the music room door.
Dame Elmire looked at her reprovingly. “Have you forgotten your manners, Demoiselle? I am coaching Celestine. Your lesson is not until four o’clock.”
“But it can’t be,” Gauzia said breathlessly, “because they’ve called a rehearsal at the Opera House. With only a week to go, there’s so much to do! Oh, and by the way, I’m going to stay with Louise and Marcelle. Their apartment’s so much closer to the Opera House!” The door slammed shut and she was gone again.
“Well!” exclaimed Dame Elmire. “A ‘thank you, Dame Elmire’ would have been appreciated. But theatrical people nowadays…”
Celestine said nothing. Gauzia had not even acknowledged that she was there.
“Not quite the glorious homecoming we’d planned, is it?” Kilian shaded his eyes as the sea mists parted to reveal their first glimpse of the distant coast of Francia.
Konan�
��s Guerriers stood in subdued silence on the deck, watching the pale sun rise over the waters. Jagu shivered and pulled up the collar of his army greatcoat.
“It’ll take a while to get used to the damp and cold again,” said Kilian with a wry smile.
“What will they do with us? Punish us?”
“Demote us, most like.”
“There is no rank lower than cadet,” said Jagu dejectedly.
“Then it’s the salt mines for you. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Jagu. Must you believe everything I say?”
“It was the same mark, Captain.” Jagu rolled up his sleeve and thrust his wrist in front of the captain’s face. “The one that the magus put on me at Saint Argantel’s.”
Captain de Lanvaux leaned closer to Jagu over the desk. “Are you sure?”
Jagu grimaced. “How could I forget? There has to be a link between that magus and everything that’s been happening in Ondhessar.”
The captain sat back in his chair, pensively turning his pen over between his fingers. Suddenly he said, “How would you like to work for me, cadet?”
Jagu felt as if the clouds that had been dampening his spirits had suddenly lifted. He glanced up eagerly. “You’d take me on, Captain? In spite of what happened at the Shrine?”
“I’ve read the reports, and you acted honorably in difficult circumstances. I want you to join my personal staff as adjutant. You’ve developed some unique observational skills, and I want to put them to good use. Welcome on board, Adjutant de Rustéphan.” He put out his hand and Jagu gripped it enthusiastically.
“Thank you, Captain.”
Outside the captain’s office, Jagu saw Kilian sitting on a bench, grinning at him.
“You, too?”
“Call me lieutenant now, Adjutant Rustéphan!”
“Damn!” cried Jagu. “You’re always one step ahead of me.”
“Are you sure this is where Captain de Lanvaux wanted us to meet?” Jagu murmured to Lieutenant Friard as he followed him down into the cold, musty air of the crypt of Saint Meriadec’s.
Candles had been lit in the dusty alcoves; by their uncertain light, Jagu recognized the captain, Kilian, and old Père Judicael, flanked by two older Guerriers he had not met before.
“I’ve summoned you here because it’s one of the few places we can be sure of privacy,” said the captain, glancing at each man in turn. “There’s been rather a puzzling turn of events in Enhirre. Lieutenant Kilian, would you explain?”
“The Rosecoeurs have taken back Ondhessar,” said Kilian. “But they have stripped the contents of the Shrine and shipped them to Bel’Esstar.”
“That’s vandalism.” Jagu was disgusted.
“The Arkhan has already expressed his displeasure to Prince Ilsevir,” said the captain. “However, I’m surprised that our own leader, Maistre Donatien, has not registered an official protest at this act of violation.”
“Ghislain,” said Jagu, remembering the smartly turned-out young officer they had met in the foothills. He looked up. “We failed you, Captain. We let the Commanderie down. If we’d stayed, we might have prevented this.”
“What happened to your regiment, Jagu, was another in a series of escalating attacks against Francia,” said the captain. “I have reason to believe that this is all the work of the magi of Ondhessar.”
“As to who is using them…” added Père Judicael.
“I want you all to be doubly vigilant. Your first duty is to protect the royal family. But I fear that there may also be a schism developing within the Commanderie. It may be that the magi are playing on our suspicions, setting one against the other.” Jagu caught Kilian’s eye. “But without the Angelstones to protect us, we are vulnerable. We have to rely on officers like you, Jagu, who have a sixth sense when it comes to mage-mischief.”
A carriage was waiting outside the Maistre’s house when Celestine arrived for her weekly lesson.
“Do you mind waiting, my dear?” Dame Elmire hurried out to meet her, bustling her with almost indecent haste into the salon next to the music room. “The diva has decided to pay him an unexpected visit.” The dame then disappeared, muttering about fetching tea for their guest; Celestine perched on the edge of a fauteuil and tried to order her thoughts, which had been plunged into utter disorder by this news. Why had Aurélie Carnelian come to visit the Maistre? Was it to rehearse…or for quite another reason? Celestine did not hear a single note of music through the thin wall.
“I want you to come with me on this tour of Tourmalise, Henri.”
Tourmalise? Against her better judgment, Celestine moved closer to the wall, to try to catch more of what was being said. What am I doing, spying on him?
“No one understands my voice as you do.” The diva’s perfect enunciation made every word audible, even through lathe and plaster. “We have a unique rapport, don’t we?”
“You always know how to make a man do exactly what you want, don’t you, Aurélie?” Celestine had never heard the Maistre use that tone of voice before; there was an intimate, teasing quality that implied a relationship far more close than that of singer and accompanist.
He’s in love with her. He’ll do anything she asks. She waited in growing dismay for his reply.
“But I have commitments in Lutèce. I can’t just go off for a month, two months, and leave my choirs without their director.”
“You have assistants. Let them take over. And you’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break. You don’t want to make yourself ill.” Aurélie’s voice was so soft, so coaxing; how could he refuse? “Composers can burn out if they push themselves too far; you remember what happened to poor Capelian? You can relax at the spa in Sulien; I have a little villa there, overlooking the city. A rest will do you good.”
Celestine heard the Maistre give a gentle, indulgent laugh. “It’s impossible to resist you, Aurélie.”
“So you’ll come!” Celestine did not miss the triumphant ring in the diva’s voice, which was interrupted by the silvery tones of the little clock in the hall striking the half hour.
“Goodness, is that the time? I have a student waiting. Forgive me.”
“You see how busy you are, Henri? You must be more kind to yourself.”
Celestine guiltily darted away from the wall and busily began to shuffle through her sheets of music as the salon door opened and the Maistre appeared. Behind him, Celestine glimpsed Aurélie in a tight-fitting traveling costume of mulberry, her glossy black hair elaborately curled and arranged.
“Demoiselle Celestine, please go on through to the music room.”
Why was he speaking so formally to her? Was it because of Aurélie? Eyes downcast, Celestine had almost reached the door when Aurélie suddenly let out a little cry of vexation. “What am I thinking of? I’m leaving without the very piece I came to collect. Henri, would you be so good as to bring me a copy of Faded Petals?”
“By all means.” The Maistre went back into the music room; Celestine went to follow him, only to find Aurélie blocking her way.
“So you’re Henri’s latest protégé?” The diva gave her a hard, appraising stare. “Ah yes, I believe I heard you sing in the cathedral. A sweet voice, but lacking any real substance.” She stopped suddenly, gazing challengingly into Celestine’s eyes. “I saw the way you looked at him. You’re utterly smitten with him. It’s written all over your face. So let’s get one thing straight: Henri is mine. I understand his needs. An inexperienced child like you could never hope to satisfy him.”
Am I that transparent? Celestine took a step back, dismayed that her rival had read her so accurately. Are my feelings for the Maistre so obvious?
“Besides, you really don’t want to make an enemy of me, my dear. I have influence in every opera house and concert hall in the quadrant. I can put an end to your career before it’s even begun.”
Celestine was unprepared for such a blatant challenge. Even if she had found her voice, she would not have known what to say.
“And now th
at we understand each other,” said Aurélie with the sweetest smile curving her red-rouged lips, “I trust I will never have to raise this delicate issue again.”
“Here it is.” The Maistre reappeared, waving a folder which he handed to Aurélie; Celestine noticed how the diva closed her hands over his as she took it, caressing his fingers. “Let me escort you to your carriage.”
Celestine still stood in the hall as Aurélie stalked past her, leaving a waft of exotic perfume in her wake. As the Maistre opened the door, Aurélie flashed her a triumphant glance from beneath her strong, black brows.
She sees me as her rival! And she’s so famous, so influential, what chance do I have, competing with her for the Maistre’s affections?
Gauzia came clattering down the stair into the hallway, clutching her score.
Aurélie glanced around and saw her. Her expression altered, her tone became sweet and indulgent. “Why, if it isn’t little Gauzia!”
“Aurélie!” Gauzia replied, with a winsome smile.
“Are you on your way to the rehearsal, my dear? Let me give you a lift in my carriage.”
All three swept out of the house, the two women chattering animatedly about the Opera House. Celestine stood in the hall, feeling as if life had just passed her by.
CHAPTER 27
Garlands of fresh spring flowers were draped over every lintel and window of the Palace of Plaisaunces. All the drab, funereal hangings had been taken down and the courtiers had put aside their black clothes the instant the Queen Regent announced that the official period of mourning for her husband was at an end. Evenings that had been filled with contemplative readings from the Holy Texts by Grand Maistre Donatien and the hushed strains of slow and solemn music were free again for cards, masquerades, dancing—and for entertaining foreign royalty. The palace was abuzz with rumors about the splendid banquet that Queen Aliénor had arranged: The guest list read like a gathering of all the crowned heads of the western quadrant. It was little surprise that Prince Eugene of Tielen had declined to attend, as he was still mourning the death of his young wife—and, besides, Francia had not forgiven the House of Helmar for inflicting such a crushing defeat in the Spice Wars. And it was generally held (though no one said it aloud) to be a relief that the warlord Volkh of Azhkendir would not be making the long journey from his remote kingdom in the far north.