Flight Into Darkness (61 page)

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 letter 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?”

“Sire, I apologize for the disturbance—” began Donatien but he broke off as Adèle suddenly sank back onto the sofa. Celestine, alarmed, rose to hurry to her side.

“Stay away from the queen!” shouted Donatien. Two of the Guerriers seized Celestine by the arms, restraining her.

“No,” said Adèle faintly. “She… is not to be… harmed…”

“Adèle, what's wrong?” Ilsevir took her hand and started to pat it ineffectually. But Adèle's eyes had closed and she did not answer his question.

Donatien turned on Celestine. “You've laid some kind of sorcery on the queen, you witch!”

“I've done nothing of the kind!” Celestine cried.

“Adèle?” Ilsevir was anxiously calling his wife's name. “Get help, Donatien! Summon the royal physician.”

Faie, help me. Help me now.
But Celestine's silent plea went unanswered and as servants came running in response to the king's cries, the Guerriers began to drag her out of the apartment.

“Demoiselle, you're under arrest,” said Donatien curtly. “Take the witch away. Take her to the Forteresse.”

CHAPTER 8

“Prince Nagazdiel is here?” Sardion's eyes glittered. Through Nagazdiel's vision Rieuk could see the dark desire burning in the Arkhan's heart. “You've brought him to me at last?” He came closer to Rieuk, his hands reaching out as if to embrace the Drakhaoul within him. “My dread lord,” he said, staring at Rieuk, through Rieuk. “At last I can bid you welcome. My family has watched over Ondhessar for centuries, waiting for this day to come.” And then to Rieuk's amazement, he dropped to his knees and prostrated himself. “I offer myself to you, my prince. Please use my body as your vessel in this mortal world.”

“Lord Arkhan, is that wise?” Rieuk began. “Is your body strong enough? Can your blood sustain a Drakhaoul?”

Sardion glared at him with his wild, hungry eyes. “You've fulfilled your purpose, Emissary Mordiern. I have no more need of you now.”

“Sardion of Enhirre, is this truly what you want?”
Nagazdiel spoke through Rieuk, his voice adding a deep, dark richness to Rieuk's natural tone.
“And once we are bonded, you will do my bidding?”

“I was born to serve you, my lord.”

Rieuk looked down with contempt at the man who had held him so long in thrall, groveling at his feet.

“Then come closer.
” Rieuk felt the Drakhaoul concentrating all his energy to transfer himself from his body to the Arkhan's. The Arkhan began to move toward him, as if in a trance, until they stood close together, forehead pressed to forehead.

The Drakhaoul's dark energy came flooding up through Rieuk, pouring out through his mouth and into Sardion's, in a hot, shimmering flood.

The instant the Drakhaoul had left his body, Rieuk slumped to the floor, drained. For a moment everything faded to a blur. Then he heard laughter; low at first, then rising to a manic pitch. Sardion had thrown back his head and was standing gazing down at his outstretched hands as if he had never seen them before, his whole body shaking with triumphant laughter. Little flickers of fiery energy crackled from his fingertips.

“This is—astounding! I feel so strong. So powerful!”

Rieuk caught a telltale flash of dark crimson in Sardion's eyes as the Arkhan flexed his shoulders, evidently relishing his newfound strength. Sardion extended one hand, pointing his index finger at a tall vase of beaten bronze, loosing a bolt of daemonic energy. The vase glowed white-hot, and suddenly collapsed in on itself, reduced to a pool of molten metal.

“This is the power I was born to wield!” cried Sardion ecstatically. “We will go to Ondhessar. We will show the Rosecoeurs who is the true master of Enhirre.” And without a backward glance at Rieuk, he threw open the doors and strode away, calling for his guards.

“My lord, be careful, I beg of—” Rieuk checked himself. Why should he care what became of Sardion? Headstrong, cruel, impulsive, the Arkhan only cared about fulfilling his own ambitions. He had sent Oranir into the Rift as a living sacrifice to Nagazdiel, not caring what became of him, as long as he achieved his heart's desire.

“Ran,” Rieuk whispered, focusing on his true purpose. He went straight to Sardion's desk, tugging open drawers, frantically searching for the ebony casket in which the Arkhan had placed the new Lodestar. He could barely detect the crystal's presence; within the gold-veined marble walls of Sardion's apartments, its clear vibrations were muted. With his good eye closed, he searched blind, relying on his senses to lead him to it, just as, long ago in Karantec, he had been drawn to Azilis's Lodestar. His heart was thudding hard against his breastbone; he could be discovered at any moment.

His fingers closed on a wooden box hidden in the depths of a drawer. He could feel the faint pulse within, shivering through the carved ebony. He drew out the box and opened it. Nestling within lay the crystal purity of the Lodestar—
his
Lodestar, that he had fashioned with such care deep in the Rift.

* * * 

A burst of aethyric fire, red as blood, lit the darkening sky above Ondhessar. Rieuk looked back over his shoulder as he made his way back to the Hidden Valley, feeling the ground trembling ominously beneath his feet.

“How long can Sardion's body sustain such an outpouring of power?” he muttered. “He hasn't a drop of mage blood in his veins.” He had to get to Ondhessar as soon as he could.

“Rieuk?” Lord Estael hurried out to greet him. Aqil and Tilath hovered in the doorway of the Tower, watching. “What's happening at Ondhessar?”

“Sardion,” Rieuk said, trying to regain his breath. “He's taking his vengeance on the Enhirrans.” He thrust the ebony casket into Estael's hands. “Please—whatever happens—guard this with your life until I return. It's the Lodestar.”

“You stole it from the Arkhan?” Estael said, frowning.

“It was never Sardion's in the first place.” Why was Estael still so obdurate in his support of the Arkhan? “Sardion has treated us all like dirt. It's time to make a stand against him. It's time to break free.”