I wasn’t ill; I was filled with such joy I wanted to dwell on it without distraction.
Erland, here in the Palace! It could only mean that he had been following me all this time, had managed to trace me here without being discovered himself, would rescue me before I was forced to fulfill my murderous task.
I only had to wait and he would find a way to reach me, I was sure of that.
Erland, my faithful love.
36
Late in the afternoon before the supper dance, the chaperone brought in the new clothes I was to wear: a simple silk gown in soft sage green, high-necked and long-sleeved, as I had requested; a small matching hat covered with tiny rosebuds, swathed with a veil; cream silk slippers.
She tried to take my old black felt hat from me and sucked her teeth when I would not let her have it. “I’m ashamed to show my scars,” I said.
She gave me a sharp look. “In my time I’ve seen everything, Miss. I’ve even seen those suffering from the Miasma. The pustules usually appear in the armpit and groin.”
“I was lucky. Perhaps that’s why I survived.” I sent a quick apology heavenward for my lie.
Later, I dressed alone in my chamber, trembling with anticipation as I pinned my hair up beneath the little hat and pulled the veil down so it hid my eyes. The dress had been made to my measurements. It was the first to fit me properly; the first that had not been passed on to me, though I could not call it truly mine. I dropped the amber stone down safe beneath the bodice.
I gazed at my reflection in the little mirror from my box: my face scarcely visible, mysterious, unfamiliar. Who would guess that my heart was bursting with hope?
All day I had been waiting for Erland to seek me out. I did not understand by what miracle he was there in the Palace, and yet I knew it had been him I’d seen. He must have planned my rescue—he must!
“Why aren’t you wearing your new slippers?” asked Nate when he came to fetch me and saw them beneath a chair. He was very fine himself, in a silk jacket that matched my green dress and with his curls subdued by water.
“They are uncomfortable.” I sent up another prayer.
“My boots don’t show, do they?”
“They are quite hidden. Indeed…,” he added with a gallant effort. “The whole of you looks uncommon pretty.”
“And you look quite the gentleman.”
“You think so?” I could see he meant: Will Leah think so? He was in a fidget, his mind elsewhere: on Miss Leah or his music or, possibly, his stomach. His cheeks had a green tinge, as if he were about to be sick.
“I hate performances,” he hissed to me as we left the apartment and set off down the passage. “What if they don’t like All’s Right in the Heavens’? It will not please Miss Leah—I’m sure of that—for it is not merry. The Protector won’t like it, for it’s neither a frippery nor a chorus piece.”
“It has a good melody running through it,” I said, for his face was so glum. “And you are a wonderful musician.”
“You think so?” he said, a little brighter. “I wish Miss Leah thought so.”
“I do, and so will others.”
He looked gloomy again. “We’re only the prelude before the quartet takes over and the dancing begins. They’ll be too busy drinking and talking to listen to us.”
I prayed they would be, for I wanted to draw as little attention to myself as possible.
The supper dance was to be held in the gardens behind the Protector’s chambers. We had been ordered to be there before the guests arrived, for Nate was to play his ratha as they progressed along the path beneath rose-covered arches and on to the main lawn. Later we would perform the song cycle.
My heart was thumping; I forgot all about my task, even about Erland.
“What if my voice dries?” I whispered.
“It won’t.” Nate took my hand. Our palms stuck together: we were each as nervous as the other.
It was a windless evening, warm, with a low sun slanting hazily across the lawns and shimmering through the white linen of the pavilions erected on the grass; the light caught the gold emblems of the Eagle that decorated the draped entrances and turned them to fire. Somewhere birds sang, hidden by the thick leaves of summer. The guards, with their grim, intent faces and dark uniforms, blurred into the shadows between the trees.
Those who were performing the Illustratives were already arranging themselves around the edge of the lawn, and would not move for several hours. They were to represent significant events from the Divine Book: the Laying of the Great Egg, the Battle of the Birds, the Great Betrayal, the Anguish, the First Wedding. There was no Illustrative of the avia story, since it is not included in the accepted scriptures and would have shown little tact on this occasion.
I stared at them, those strange human statues, their bird costumes vivid against the darkening grass, and I saw their eyes blink. A shiver went through me; I touched the amber stone at my breast and looked around for Nate.
I found him in the supper pavilion, absently wandering between the embroidered screens and the couches plumped with silk cushions. Around him, fountains sent sprays of shining drops into the scented air; honeysuckle and pale pink clematis twined up the tent poles.
“We shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “This is for the guests!”
“We’re better than any of them, Scuff. Anyway, no one’s here yet.” He grabbed a crystal glass, bubbling with a pale yellow liquid, from under the outraged eye of a footman, and took an enormous gulp. “It’s the best seccer,” he whispered wickedly, like a naughty child at a grown-ups’ feast. “Try it!”
“I daren’t,” I said, and dragged him away.
There was a murmur of voices along the path behind us, and we separated quickly, Nate to his ratha playing. I had a last glimpse of his face, greener than ever, as he disappeared beneath the roses. The seccer had been a mistake.
We were to perform on a raised circular stage on the lawn, beneath a delicate, trellised roof covered with white flowers. A footman had begun to light the tiny lamps that hung from it; already moths flickered around the points of light.
I knew where I was to wait: behind an ivory screen that stood on the grass to one side of the stage. Someone had thoughtfully arranged some gilt chairs and music stands here, perhaps for the quartet that was to perform after us. I sank down and tried to breathe calmly.
At first, I could still hear birds singing their evening songs and, very faintly, the plaintive notes of the ratha. I grew calmer.
Soon after, the voices grew louder; there was laughter, some of it very close to where I sat hidden. After a while I risked a look through the fretwork border of the screen. The shadows were longer. Twilight had fallen and the colors glowed against the dark grass: the long shimmering gowns of the ladies, the rich velvet of the gentlemen’s jackets. I was looking for Erland, but I didn’t expect to see him in this company, for why should he expect to find me here?
And yet he was the first person my eye lit on, walking alone beneath the last rose arch, between the lanterns on the path.
My heart leapt like a fish. He was coming toward the guests on the lawn—toward me.
But then he lingered; he stopped. I saw him bow several times in a most accomplished fashion; he conversed with several people. His hair was unpowdered, but he wore a blue silk frock-coat that looked very elegant. He walked over to the Lord Protector and his son, Caleb, and Miss Leah, who were standing together to receive the guests. I could not see their faces for their backs were to me, but I saw Erland bow to Miss Leah—they did not speak—but then he bowed to the Lord Protector, and the Lord Protector shook his hand most heartily.
What could it mean? My Erland from the Wasteland on such easy terms with these people?
I sank down on the chair again. I think I put my hands to my face. I was trembling all over.
Shortly after that, Nate came around the screen. “No more time to be nervous, we’re on!” He pulled me to my feet and gave my hands a squeeze. “C
ourage, Scuff!”
“I cannot sing,” I whispered.
“The show must always go on. Come, the Protector’s about to announce us.”
Somehow he pushed me up onto the stage, up some little steps at the side. Although the lamps had been lit, no one had yet noticed us. I was scarce aware of the crowd of guests drinking and talking as if we didn’t exist; their faces were blurred.
Then the Lord Protector stepped up and went to Nate’s side. I stood by a marble pedestal that held an urn of pale pink lilies; in the dusk, their fragrance was sickly sweet.
The Lord Protector clapped his hands. Instantly, there was silence. Faces turned, eyes fixed on him. Everyone was looking, now.
I heard the Protector say “… great cause to celebrate… especially composed for this historic occasion… the Protectorate’s very own Composer and Musician…” The words in between were lost to me.
And then the slab of his hand landed on my silken shoulder: “… and introducin’ a new young singer to you all, a little maid who has a big future here in the Palace.”
There was muted applause. The Protector stepped down. Nate sat gingerly on the fragile gilt chair set there for him, and tuned his ratha.
Time seemed to slow. Faces came into focus through the twilight—Leah’s white and miserable above her dark gray silk, her hair severely pulled back so that her nose seemed more prominent, her beauty destroyed. I knew she’d done so deliberately. Caleb Grouted, next to her, drinking too heavily, his handsome face flushed beneath his wig. He threw an arm around her shoulders, but she flinched away.
And Erland? I did not look for him.
Halfway through the song cycle the guests began talking. Quietly at first, then louder. I saw Nate’s face, and sang my best for him. The cycle ended; there was some desultory applause, people moved into groups and the talking began again, louder than ever. Nate slumped over his music stand, and I moved to comfort him.
And then I saw Erland come out of a pavilion, hover on the edge of the lawn, talk to a man whose white wig caught the last of the dying light.
I will make him notice me, I thought.
I opened my mouth and the sound came out by itself. I began to sing “I Left My Love by the Amber Gate.”
Nate looked up at me, startled, and then he began to play softly behind my singing, for he had a gift for picking up melodies when he’d heard them but once. I heard my voice soar, true and sweet, as if it did not belong to me at all, but was a bird, flying through the air, delighting in its freedom. I did not think about the words, but I know they came out right.
The guests were silenced, utterly silenced. And I saw Erland stop talking to his courtier friend and look over at me.
37
I waited, but he did not seek me out.
A footman brought us food and drink behind the screen while we heard the orchestra tune up for the dancing, which was to take place in the largest pavilion. I tried to cheer Nate, but my own heart was heavy, my thoughts churned.
“Be careful what you sing in public, Scuff,” he said unexpectedly, “particularly when you sing for the Lord Protector. The ballad you sang about the Amber Gate… he might think you know more.”
“But the song’s mere fancy, Nate! I was sung it when I was small.”
“The Protector has searched for the Gate in secret for years—to fill his coffers.” Nate spoke bitterly. “If he thinks you have been sent to spy on him…” He stared at me, a question in his eyes.
“What are you saying?” I cried. “I am no spy!” I am an assassin.
“Hush—hush.” He shook his head, his hair no longer neat but springing back into its curls. “I’m sorry. It is only that you are so—secretive. You have told me so little.”
Seeing me still disturbed, he added with a wry smile, “At least the ballad made them listen, which was more than my music did.”
“Miss Leah listened to you, I’m sure of that.”
“You think so?”
Silence fell between us, for I could think of nothing more to say. Beyond us, we could hear muffled farewells as guests began to leave. We looked through the screen and saw the Lord Protector leave, with his guards, Mather and Chance, slipping behind, almost invisible in the night in their dark gray uniforms. It was still warm; the temperature had scarcely fallen.
Nate said, “I’m returning to the apartment. Will you come, Scuff?”
“I’ll stay a little,” I said.
He looked anxious, even put out. “You’ll stay without me?”
I felt a spark of anger. “I’ll be safe enough on my own, Nate. Don’t concern yourself. Go.”
He went, but I had no time to feel contrite. I must find Erland, I thought, since he has not found me.
I stood up and peered again through the fretwork of the screen. The lawn was deserted, even the Illustratives long gone. There was still music coming from the largest pavilion, where the dancing was taking place; there must be a few guests remaining in there.
I had no care for my safety; I was determined. I took off my hat and loosened my hair so that it fell down around my shoulders. Though younger than most, I might be any guest in my elegant green dress.
I set off across the lawn, the sheathed dagger in my boot pressing into my ankle. My silk skirts swished about my legs, hiding my inappropriate footwear. A cool dampness rose up and touched my skin, and there was the smell of cut grass in my nostrils.
The guard at the entrance to the pavilion inclined his head slightly as I walked in past him.
Then as if by magic I was standing in an enchanted forest where the air was filled with sweet music. Above my head, birds perched among the blossom; the night sky was lit by a thousand stars. In a clearing amongst the trees, dancers swayed together.
My heart pounded with shock; I clutched my amber. I put my free hand out to a tree trunk for support. And then, slowly, I realized.
The trees were cunningly made from painted paper and wood; the blossom, from scraps of silk. The starry night sky—so beautiful, so romantic—was painted canvas, covered with netting that held tiny lanterns. Even the clearing with the dancers had a wooden floor; beyond it musicians played, hidden in the trees. The birds perched on the branches would never fly; the eyes looking down on me were sightless.
It made me marvel that one could be so utterly deceived.
There were few guests remaining on the dance floor, and the candles were burning down. In the dimness I could see Caleb slumped upon a rustic bench beneath a cherry tree, his eyes closed, his wig tipping. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep but he looked the worse for wear. I looked all about for Erland, but couldn’t see him.
Someone moved close to me. At once I turned, but it wasn’t Erland. It was Mather’s bodyguard, Chance, the boy who had confronted me in Poorgrass. I’d thought him gone with Mather and the Lord Protector. I gazed at him in alarm, unable to move for terror.
But in that place and in the soft darkness between the trees he couldn’t know who I was. He hadn’t recognized me in my finery. He stared at my dress, my hair. He looked stupid—or crazed—standing before me without speaking; his features thick, his mouth half open. He was breathing fast; he smelled of sweat and seccer. He was standing too close; I thought he’d accost me.
I slid away from his wine-drenched breath, wrinkling my nose; I couldn’t help it.
“Wait,” he said, urgently. “Wait. Will you—would you—dance with me?”
I shook my head for answer, for I dared not speak. I turned my back on him and moved quickly away into the darkest. spot I could find. When I looked around he was disappearing through the opening in the pavilion and out into the night. I didn’t move. I waited apprehensively, but he didn’t return.
I would wait a moment longer, then leave myself. Erland wasn’t here.
And then my gaze was drawn to the couple dancing alone on the floor.
They moved with such perfect grace, I drew in my breath.
They were both tall, slender. Their silks
shimmered in the candlelight—cloudy pewter and sky-blue—as they curved and leaned into one another, their fair heads close together, their beautiful faces rapt and intent and strangely similar. They gazed into each other’s eyes as if no outside force could break their gaze; as if they did not know the outside world existed.
The musicians stopped playing to watch them. Voices trailed away, the few guests remaining stood silent. The only sounds were the soft click of the dancers’ shoes, the rustle and sweep of the girl’s dress over the floor.
What are you doing, Erland? I cried in my heart. You love me, not Leah!
I was forced to watch; I could not drag my eyes away. I felt such pain I thought I would die there and then.
For I saw now that all along fate had intended them for each other, Erland and Leah. It had always been so. They had been created from the same mold; I had never stood a chance. I would kill Caleb now and then turn the dagger on myself, for my own life was no longer worth living. Everything I’d hoped for—love itself—was lost.
I turned away from the dance floor. I believe I may have begun to move toward Caleb, still asleep on the bench. Behind me I was dimly aware that the music had begun again. Someone passed me; people began to talk again.
I felt a touch on my arm. When I looked around it was to see Leah.
“Stay away from me!” I said, drawing back. A cauldron of emotions churned inside me. I looked at her with a hatred that it was too dark for her to see.
“Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “Come with me, I beg you.”
Would she take me to Erland? Even then, I had some hope left.
I followed her to a darker corner of the pavilion. We were alone, hidden behind a clump of paper bushes.
“We can’t speak long,” she whispered. “The guards will notice.”
“What do you want?” I snarled in my pain. “Have you come to explain?”
“You mean to help me, don’t you?” She seemed taken aback at the expression in my voice. “I wanted to know…”
Ambergate Page 22