Masks and Shadows (44 page)

Franz slammed into von Höllner and fell with him to the gold-dusted wooden floorboards of the stage, letting out a muffled groan as his back hit the ground and the half-healed scabs split open. He hadn't fought since he was a boy; he barely even knew how to fight. All he could do was clamp his arms around von Höllner's, pinning them down, and commit all his strength to trying to roll the other man away from his point at the pyramid's base. The leader of the Brotherhood screamed orders and imprecations from the top of the balcony above them. Franz ignored him.

“Have you gone mad?” von Höllner grunted, as he struggled against Franz, fighting to free his arms.

“We can't do this,” Franz panted. “You have to see that. It's—”

“It's too late!” Von Höllner pushed him back, holding them still at the pyramid's base. “Do you want to be arrested? Tortured? Executed?”

“There are hundreds of people here! We can't—”

“Are you just too stupid to see the truth? It doesn't matter anymore!
Nothing matters
!”

Fräulein Dommayer's screams filled Franz's ears, rising above the roar of the flames and von Born's shouted threats. Franz looked into the other man's bloodshot eyes, a bare inch from his own. Their arms were locked; their weights, equal.

“Some things still matter,” Franz said. “Even now.”

“Oh, God, please wake up!”

Anna sobbed as she shook the Baroness's shoulders. The flames rose high around the royal box. How long until this strange spell broke and they swept inside?

“Her Majesty!”

The soldier behind her had finally reached the open door. He threw himself at the line of flames—and rebounded as though he'd hit a wall. He landed, stumbling, two feet back from the line of fire. His clothing wasn't even singed.

“What the hell?” He stared at Anna, panting, eyes wild.

“Help us!” she screamed. “Go get help. They're all sleeping. I can't—”

Through the open door, she saw him turn away, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Above them, hidden by the back wall of the royal box, she could hear Herr von Born still shouting threats at the men who fought onstage. The soldier set his jaw and started up the steps.

“No!” Anna yelled. “Get help! Go—”

But it was too late.

The thin sword hissed free of its casing. The bottom of von Born's walking stick clattered to the ground. He raised his sword and smiled down at the approaching guardsman.

“Yes? You had something you wished to say to me?”

The soldier pulled out his own sword, his face pale. “Sir, I hereby arrest you in the name of Her Imperial Majesty and her co-regent the Emperor.” He swallowed. “And I order you to dismiss this black magic.”

Von Born's gaze flicked to the stage and back. He shrugged. “If you want to arrest me, you'll have to come and take my sword.”

The soldier took the last four steps in a run.

Swords met and sparked.

Metal clattered to the ground.

The soldier's sword had fallen from his hand. He lunged forward to retrieve it—

—But the tip of von Born's sword darted forward to rest against his throat. The soldier froze, panting.

“I'm terribly sorry,” von Born said. “But I really can't leave this spot.”

He thrust the sword straight through the other man's neck.

Anna fought against every instinct that had been trained into her.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

She slammed the flat of her hand against the Baroness's smooth face. A red mark blossomed on the Baroness's powdered cheek. The Baroness's eyelids twitched—and opened. She blinked. Her lips moved.

“Anna?” she croaked. “What—what's happening?”

“It's not too late,” the leader called. “Pichler, think what you're giving up, you fool! Don't you even want a future? A
life
?”

Franz didn't bother to shout out a response. All his effort was concentrated on the grim, silent struggle he fought. If he could only move von Höllner by an inch . . .

“Very well, then. You've made your choice.” Von Born's voice filled with venom. “Von Höllner—just kill him and get him out of our way.”

Sensation tingled back into Charlotte's arms and legs. She took a deep breath, turned—and screamed.

“Fire!”

Flames crossed through the top corners of the royal box and swept in diagonal lines down across the auditorium below. Why did the flames not move? Why hadn't they spread?

“You were so sound asleep—you all were. I didn't know what to do! Herr von Born led it all. I couldn't stop it, I was too late . . .”

Anna broke off, but Charlotte barely heard her. Next to her, Signor Morelli sat barely a foot and a half away from the line of flames that blocked the open door, yet his smooth, curving face was set in peaceful repose. His eyes were closed. The moment the flames moved toward them, he would die.

“Signor!” Charlotte flung herself at his chair and seized his hands. “Signor, please—Signor Morelli—Carlo!”

Anna spoke behind her. “Madam, it won't work. With you, I had to—well . . .” She paused and cleared her throat. “I'm sorry, but I had to slap you.”

“Anna, you're an angel. You did exactly right. I'm so grateful—if we escape this, I'll prove it to you, I swear.” Charlotte took a deep breath. “Now if I can only be as strong as you . . .”

She slapped Signor Morelli's cheek, as if to wake him from a faint. His eyes moved beneath his closed eyelids, but his expression didn't change.

“It didn't work.” Panic sucked away Charlotte's breath, leaving her reeling. It wasn't too late for him. It couldn't be. Not now, not when she'd wasted so much time already.

Hadn't she decided to fight for what she wanted, after all, earlier tonight?

Steeling herself, she drew back her arm . . . and this time, she hit him with all her might.

His face jerked back, and she cringed with sympathetic pain . . . but a moment later, his eyes flickered open, pupils dilated. He blinked, and focused on her face with a visible effort. “Baroness? What—”

“Move!” Charlotte said. “I beg you. We are in desperate danger.”

But it already seemed to be too late.

None of the others would wake, despite all of their attempts. Von Born's shouted instructions carried on throughout, growing angrier and more desperate. His own subordinates seemed not to be responding to him, either. It was the only source of satisfaction that Carlo could find in the whole nightmare.

“It's useless,” the Baroness said, at last.

She stood over the Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, whose face was red from slaps. Next to them, the Baroness's former maid shook the shoulders of the Emperor, whose head rocked limply back and forth. The girl's face was streaked with tears. She'd shown remarkable bravery, Carlo thought, but she wasn't stupid; she must know by now how useless that, too, had been. Were these tears of fear, or of regret?

“The others must not have fought so hard against Radamowsky's mesmerism,” Carlo said.

“The Princess, surely—”

“The Princess had not experienced it once already, as we had. She must have been less prepared for it.” Carlo shrugged, swallowing bitterness. “I swore I wouldn't give in this time, and yet . . .”

“I did the same.” The Baroness sighed. “At least it was enough that we could be woken.”

“So that we may stand and watch the fire overtake us? At least the others are saved that fate!” Carlo spun around. Rage coursed through him but found no outlet. The Prince, the idiot who had allowed and abetted this, was unconscious; Radamowsky . . .

“Radamowsky could wake them,” he said.

“But he's gone.”

“Then I'll find him.” Carlo looked at the line of flames, nearly eight feet high, that filled the open door. He set his teeth and looked back at the two women. “I swear we will not die in this box!”