Revenant Eve (30 page)

“Everybody will be wearing jewels, and you’ll be surrounded by the Consular guard,” I said. “You should be safe.”

As soon as I said the words, I thought about those fae, but they, too, were far from here. And though I’d seen plenty of ghosts, I didn’t think revenants would have any interest in jewels, magical or not.

Aurélie beamed with pleasure as she clasped the necklace around her neck and turned this way and that to admire it.

Seen in the bright candle light, it was undoubtedly ancient. The gold was smooth from countless generations of women wearing it then handing it down, so the carvings had become faint and difficult to make out. Set against the classical lines of the gown, it was the perfect touch. She fingered it, whispering, “I wish you could see me now, Nanny,” but broke off when a footman out in the hall shouted for everyone to get to the coaches.

Only Josephine’s and Hortense’s carriages were pulled by six horses,
although the carriages with the lesser ladies were just as fast, and the distance was not much more than a stone’s throw. They reached the Théâtre des Arts, an enormous building lit up as well as they could be in those days.

The vast space was packed.

The Bonapartes sat in the Consular box, which was royal in everything but name. All eyes turned up that way almost as often as they took in the stage below.

Napoleon was the center of attention, of course, Josephine at his side, dressed in white velvet with a green overskirt, trimmed with golden embroidery set with emeralds. A headdress very like a princess’s coronet threaded through her soft dark curls.

A military accolade brought everyone to their feet, and Napoleon smiled broadly left and right, his eyes wide, his whole being radiating pleasure at the volume of nearly three thousand people cheering.

As soon as he sat down, the opera began, and the audience’s attention shifted to the stage. The ladies-in-waiting sat elbow to elbow in little gilt chairs behind the Bonapartes—Napoleon; his thin, intense brother Lucien (who I knew would be in exile within two years, disgusted with his brother’s imperial ambitions); Hortense; and Josephine on one side of Napoleon, while on his other side, obvious in their dislike of Josephine, two of Napoleon’s sisters. They whispered incessantly, the younger one leaning out with her fan up to make absolutely sure that Josephine saw that she was excluded.

Behind the ladies in waiting stood a number of Napoleon’s officers, and guards surrounded them all. Napoleon wasn’t watching the stage as much as he was the box seats. From time to time he beckoned to his aide-de-camp, who would bring one or another officer forward to converse with him.

I was distracted by a figure who strolled in, solitary and grave. At first I took it to be a woman, but that perfect face could also have been male. He—she—ignored the aide-de-camp, who did not appear to see anything amiss. The being had deep-set eyes, fine-boned pale features, and long black hair worn loose so that it blended into the filmy black
cape draped over the shoulders. The clothing was like vapor, the same ivory shade as the being’s skin. I thought, this has to be a woman.

She reached Napoleon’s side and glanced down at him with a faint smile, but he was busy whispering to a tall, severe-looking man who bent to listen, then withdrew without looking at anyone else.

The woman turned her head. Eyes the color of topaz reflected the light from the crystal chandelier. She smiled dreamily my way. Her eyes reflected a brief, startling crimson glow, the way cats’ or dogs’ eyes will sometimes do if the light is right. Then with deliberate steps, she somehow mounted the low balcony without bending.

The black cape lifted into wings, vaporous and shadowy, creating a multiplicity effect, as if she had not two wings, but six.

For a heartbeat she stood there, black hair flying in no wind that I could feel, her gown shimmering, framed by the astounding tower of black wings. Then the wings came down all at once, lifting her upward toward the chandelier…the hundred tongues of flame glowed through her, then she shot skyward and vanished into the shadows obscuring the ceiling.

In ones and twos, other winged beings shot upward from all around us, but no one seemed to see them.

I looked at Aurélie to see if she, at least, had noticed, to discover her bent a little forward, gazing at the boxes on the other side of the theatre.

He was instantly recognizable: tall and blond, his cleft chin shorn of whiskers, Jaska was dressed in a fine brown velvet coat cut high and tailored sharply back, his cravat almost up to his chin.

And he was staring across the sea of faces into the Consular box, not at the mysterious winged beings, or the soon-to-be emperor, his beautiful wife, his generals or their ladies, but at one petite young lady dressed all in white and gold.

W
HEN THE OPERA WAS OVER,
Aurélie and the lesser ladies were whisked to the Tuileries to ready themselves for the gala, while Napoleon and his entourage made their stately way to a waiting carriage—royal in every way except for coats of arms on the doors, though the drivers and footmen all wore the new green and gold livery.

As soon as they reached the Tuileries, the servants zoomed around putting the finishing touches on things. The homely lanterns were removed when all the chandeliers were lighted at the last possible moment, so the candles would be tall. Someone went around on a last check of the flowers to make sure none were wilted, a little girl following with a flat basket full of blossoms to replace the rejects. Food and drink were brought out, fresh and ready.

And the musicians all took their places.

Aurélie had been assigned to one of the salons away from the Gallery of Diana, which was the main reception room and contained the professional orchestra from the opera, also whisked away to perform yet again.

The farther salons all had at least a trio stationed in them, the idea being that guests would hear music no matter where they wandered in that long string of rooms.

Aurélie was playing on a beautiful Pascal Taskin harpsichord that someone had managed to save from the revolutionary mobs. Later, I
overheard Marie say that the Versailles servants and their counterparts in Paris had melted away when the troubles began, knowing that no one would defend them, though the poor Swiss Guards had stayed to the end, ripped apart by the murderous horde. Many of the escaping servants had saved what they could, including musicians who dismantled the better instruments to hide in barrels and boxes until the troubles were over. Throughout Paris these treasures were slowly making a reappearance.

Playing with Aurélie were two other young women, one with a cello, and the other on a clarinet.

In the distance trumpets blared. “They’re here,” hissed a maid, scurrying with her tray, the dishes rattling.

Aurélie settled on her stool, exchanging excited, frightened glances with her trio, none of whom was any older than she. Then came the noise of arrivals, and the pretty room filled with people in fashionable new clothes, talking and laughing as the many candles gave off waves of heat that I could see in flushed faces, busy fans, and wilting flowers, even if I couldn’t feel it.

The trio at first played nervously. They smoothed it out, playing beautifully, though they could have been banging away on washboard, kazoo, and cowbell for all the attention guests paid them.

But they played womanfully on, and when Napoleon marched through with a comet tail of hangers-on and petitioners, they gained a nod of approval from him.

It was later, probably about three a.m., when Hortense appeared, leading a tall, handsome young man with blond hair neatly pulled back, and light brown eyes.

Jaska.

“Aurélie, this envoy wished to be introduced to the player of such charming music. Monsieur Dsaret, may I present Mademoiselle Aurélie de Mascarenhas? Monsieur Dsaret is from, what was it? Poland, via the Swedish legate?”

Dsaret?

He’s the guy
, I shrieked, though I didn’t dare touch Aurélie.
Jaska is the guy!

“It is close enough.” Jaska spread his hands.

“You said you are also a musician?” Hortense asked him.

“I play a little,” he said modestly, as I was thinking,
It’s him! It’s him! Light brown eyes, blond hair…Dsaret! Why isn’t he telling them he’s crown prince of Dobrenica?

Because maybe he wasn’t?

They chattered a little about music, then Hortense said to the trio, “You may take a little time for refreshments.”

This was generous, since they’d been told they were expected to play until dawn. The cellist and clarinetist walked away. Hortense caught sight of another guest and left the two alone.

“I had to see if it was really you,” Jaska said.

Aurélie ducked her head. “I hope you will forgive me for the deception.”

Jaska raised a hand. “I comprehend that we were honored with a Chevalier d’Eon when I assumed a disguise of necessity.”

“You guessed?” She flushed with embarrassment.

“I was not so sure at first.” He glanced to the side, then said in a low voice, “When I was young. My sister and I…” He trailed off.

Aurélie didn’t prompt him for more. “Does Mord know? About me?” She looked past him and asked, “Where is he? Is he in Paris, or did he return to Poland?”

His face smoothed into polite reserve. “Mord never guessed. You must remember he has difficulty seeing things close by without his spectacles. Do you wish me to be the bearer of a message to him?”

Aurélie fingered her necklace, then quickly dropped her hands. “Oh, no. I—I merely miss his violin playing.” She seemed to feel how inadequate that sounded and blushed again.

Jaska’s expression cooled from polite to inscrutable as he bowed. “I will convey your words.
Au revoir,
Mademoiselle.” He walked off, leaving me face-palming metaphorically, since I didn’t have face or palm. For the first time, Jaska had mentioned his family, but Aurélie (quite naturally, if you’re crushing on someone else) galloped right past.

My soaring hopes smashed, leaving me depressed and even desolate.
Alec seemed farther away than ever, his very existence threatened by my inability to
act
.

Aurélie was awakened a few hours after she went to sleep.

I came out of the blur, determined to do
something
. Whether or not Jaska Dsaret was Aurélie’s future prince, at least he was from the right family. It’s progress, I told myself firmly. I had to make certain the two met again.

Hortense stood there as Aurélie blinked at the window in the mid-morning light. Hortense was still in her gala gown, though somewhat rumpled.

“Have you been to bed at all?” Aurélie asked, sitting up.

“I am going now. Listen, I promised I would find a way to introduce you to Talleyrand, which has puzzled me exceedingly. I hoped to bring him to you last night, but he was in the Gallery, surrounded in a positive crush. I could not get him away, or you, without causing a deal of talk. It will probably always be that way at galas, for your duties will keep you in one place, and Bonaparte often keeps Talleyrand at his side.”

Aurélie got out of bed, and Hortense followed her to her little
salle de bain
, still talking. “And I cannot take you to his house, which is a shame, as he gives the very best parties in Paris. Bonaparte has taken against Madame Grand, Talleyrand’s hostess.”

Aurélie paused in washing her face and blinked in surprise.

Hortense sighed. “It is vexatious. Bonaparte now wants all his principle leaders married, you see, but he does not approve of Talleyrand marrying Madame Grand. But however, I think mother will have her way there, for she is always tender-hearted.”

“I do not understand.”

“Alors!”
Hortense waved her hands. “That is not what I came to say. The important thing is, Talleyrand comes to Bonaparte every morning, that is, morning as he sees it, midday at least. You must catch him on the way in.” As Aurélie brought her hands up in apprehension at the idea of
trying to corner one of the most famous men in France, Hortense said, “He is very polite. Even if he refuses, you will not know it, I assure you. And he may agree to send your letter. He can be very kind, even when it is not required. Especially to a pretty woman. But it is best to catch him coming or going, or you will be kept waiting forever. If you were to volunteer to take Fortuné II into the square for his morning walk, you could watch for Talleyrand while the dog is about his affairs.” And she gave a quick description of the famous minister.