Tracing the Shadow (38 page)

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us,” she said.

“Mère Apolline said I must choose.” Celestine continued to pack, not wanting to meet Angelique’s eyes.

“And you chose Henri de Joyeuse.”

Why did I choose to stay close to him, knowing he can never be mine?
“There are things I have to do. Things I can’t accomplish if I stay here, safe inside the convent walls.” Still she could not look at Angelique. As she struggled to fasten the strap tight around the battered leather, she felt Angelique’s arms go around her.

“There’s a shadow haunting you, isn’t there? Ever since that first day I saw you in the Skylarks’ dormitory, I’ve known. Maybe it’s what makes your singing so poignant.”

“Oh, Angelique, if only I could tell you…” Celestine closed her eyes a moment, longing to share the burden of her past. Yet if Angelique knew that she was an alchymist’s child, would she still treat her so fondly?

“Take care. And if ever you need to confide in anyone…well, you know where to find me.” Angelique kissed the top of her head and, unlacing her arms, hurried away.

The note, emblazoned with the royal crest, read:

Please wear this for the recital. It should fit, as my maid is certain that you and I are almost exactly the same size.

Your affectionate friend, Adèle.

Celestine carefully lifted the silken dress from its wrappings and held it up against her.

“The princess has an excellent eye for color!” exclaimed Dame Elmire, clasping her hands together in delight. “That deep hyacinth blue complements your eyes perfectly.”

Celestine had never received so costly a gift before; she stroked the softly shimmering material, holding it up to her cheek. “How can I ever thank her?”

“By giving the best performance of your life, my dear.”

Celestine gulped. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by nerves. “I have butterflies,” she admitted, pressing a hand against her breast.

“I would be worried if you didn’t feel a little apprehensive.” Dame Elmire helped her fold the silk dress. “I mistrust any performer who boasts that they never feel nervous. Such musicians rarely give a memorable performance—or they are consummate liars.”

“Well? How does she look, Henri?” asked Dame Elmire as Celestine came down the stair. The dress was so light that she felt as if she were floating down on a cloud.

The Maistre was sorting through his music on the hall table. Celestine was sure that he would glance up, nod abstractedly, and go back to his sorting. But instead he let the sheets of music slide. He was gazing at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time. When he spoke, he stammered. “Ce—Celestine. You look…lovely.” And then as she hastily bent to retrieve the scattered sheets, he said swiftly, “Forgive me. That must sound so lame. I never meant…”

“Let me help.” Celestine darted forward and dipped down to hand him the pages she had rescued. His fingers gently grazed hers as he took the music, and she felt herself shivering at his touch. She gazed into his eyes and saw a look so intimate, so intense, that it seemed to strip away all her defenses, laying bare her innermost feelings.

“The carriage is waiting,” said Dame Elmire, “and it really wouldn’t do to be late for this recital!”

The Salle des Chevaliers was one of the most impressive halls in the Palace of Plaisaunces. The wooden beams of the ornate plaster ceiling were intricately painted in the style of the previous century, with white and golden lilies and fire-breathing salamanders, the emblems of the royal household. Embroidered banners hung from every beam, displaying the arms of the duchies of Francia: Provença; Armel; Vasconie. The walls were hung with crossed swords and spears, battle trophies from ancient Francian victories.

“Not the most intimate of rooms for a recital,” said the Maistre, testing the tuning of the fortepiano. He took out a little tuning key and started tightening the upper strings, the sound echoing high into the vaults of the ceiling.

“And there are so many extra guards on duty around the palace tonight,” murmured Celestine, as the heavily armed soldiers standing in every doorway shuffled and coughed.

“With half the crowned heads of the quadrant here tonight, they’re taking no chances.”

The great doors at the rear of the hall were pushed open, and the courtiers thronged in, all talking loudly. Odors of herb-roasted meat and rich wine wafted in from the banqueting hall beyond.

“It sounds as if they’ve all dined well,” said the Maistre with an ironic lift of one brow. “Let’s hope half of them don’t sleep it off during our recital.”

“His majesty, the king,” announced a herald.

The whole company fell silent as King Enguerrand entered the Salle des Chevaliers. Queen Aliénor, somberly dressed in black-and-silver brocade, swept through the bowing guests toward her seat, looking straight ahead until she saw the Allegondan guests. Only then did a chilly smile of welcome appear on her face as she greeted Prince Ilsevir and gestured to him to sit beside her. Celestine, head lowered in a respectful curtsy, caught sight of Adèle’s resigned expression as she sat down on the gilded fauteuil beside her mother. Where, Celestine wondered, was the young Muscobar prince and his entourage? King Enguerrand kept glancing around anxiously, as though searching for someone.

The murmur of conversation in the room ceased. Celestine realized that all the guests were looking expectantly at her, and her mouth went dry. She sent a swift, desperate glance to the Maistre. He looked over the top of the open music on the fortepiano and smiled at her. And suddenly she knew, in her heart, that she had no reason to be afraid. She managed a shaky little smile in return and slowly inclined her head—the signal they had agreed for him to start to play.

The instant the first chords rippled out into the salle, Celestine relaxed. The audience became a blur as she drew in a breath and began to sing. The music possessed her. There seemed to be a perfect understanding between them; her voice had never soared so effortlessly before and he was always there, supporting her, matching her. This moment was theirs and theirs alone. They finished the final song. As they took their bows, she felt the warmth of his fingers touching hers. Regret flooded through her as she realized that it was over.

If only it could always be like this, just the two of us, making music together.

“My dear young lady!” A distinguished-looking diplomat came through the press of people toward Celestine, his arms open wide. She recognized Count Velemir, the Muscobite ambassador. A young nobleman wearing an immaculate white uniform was with him.

“You’ve made a conquest tonight!” exclaimed the count. He kissed her hand and, rather than relinquishing it, drew her toward him. “Highness, may I present Demoiselle Celestine, our entrancing singer tonight?”

“Andrei Orlov,” said the young man, making her a formal military bow, striking one hand to his heart.

“Prince Andrei,” she murmured, curtsying. She recognized those dark curls from the portrait Adèle had shown her. The portraitist had not flattered him; he was every bit as handsome in the flesh.

“To be honest, I’m no connoisseur of the arts, Demoiselle, but I really enjoyed your performance.” There was the slightest hint of a roguish glint in his dark eyes. “I think my sister, Tasia, would love to meet you; she’s much more artistic than I.”

“Have you ever visited Mirom?” inquired the count pleasantly.

“No,” said Celestine, trying to make polite conversation, “although I hear it can be very cold in winter.”

Prince Andrei burst into laughter, and his laugh was so warm, so charming, she could not feel offended at his response. “You should come visit us in the spring, Demoiselle, when the snows melt and the frozen rivers thaw.”

“I shall speak with Maistre de Joyeuse,” said the count, raising his glass to Celestine, “and see if we can arrange a little tour. Although I have every hope that you will be invited to perform at a royal wedding before too long—”

“For heaven’s sake, Velemir, let’s not jump the gun!” Celestine could not help but notice the angry color that darkened Prince Andrei’s cheeks at this suggestion. “I haven’t even been properly introduced to the girl yet.”
He doesn’t look so keen at the prospect of marriage
…

Another Muscobite, a soulful-eyed young man in naval uniform, approached and murmured in Andrei’s ear. The prince nodded and bowed to Celestine before following his countryman toward the princess’s chair.

“Hobnobbing with royalty again?” said a voice in her ear. She jumped and, turning, saw the Maistre standing behind her, smiling. “We must talk,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

She took his arm and for a while they walked in silence, Celestine moving as if in a blissful dream, oblivious to the jeweled and powdered courtiers, content to be so close to the Maistre. It was not so crowded at the far end of the great Salle, as most of the guests were milling around the princess, eager to see which suitor had attracted her attention.

“We’ve both been so busy,” began the Maistre. “And what with all the rehearsals, there just hasn’t been time…” What was he struggling to say to her? “I’m leaving Lutèce tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” The dream shattered. “Where are you going?” Although she feared she knew the answer to the question already.

“To Tourmalise. The diva has asked me to accompany her on a recital tour.” He was not looking at her as he spoke; he obviously felt ashamed to be breaking the news to her so late.

“How—how long will you be away?”

“Five, six weeks, maybe longer. I can’t be sure. It depends.”

“Oh.” To her shame, she felt tears filling her eyes. She turned away from him, willing herself not to cry.

“My aunt will continue to coach you, as usual.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had been so blissfully happy a few moments ago and now he had spoiled it. But then, she had no right to expect anything; he was Aurélie’s lover.

“What’s this? You’re not crying, are you?” he said gently.

“There’s a speck of dust in my eye,” she said angrily, blinking, as if to dislodge the imaginary speck.

“Celestine—” he began. A Guerrier hurried up and saluted. “Captain de Lanvaux presents his compliments, Demoiselle. He wanted to congratulate you in person, but has been called away on urgent business.” He presented her with a letter, saluted again, and sped away.

Celestine opened the letter.

“What does the captain say?” the Maistre asked.

“He wants me to meet him in the Plaisaunces Gardens tomorrow afternoon.”

CHAPTER 28

“Why an alliance with Allegonde, Grand Maistre?” asked Ruaud. “Muscobar will not react kindly to this snub.”

Donatien gave Ruaud a shrewd look. “I’m only complying with the queen’s wishes. She feels that Ilsevir will make a much better match for Adèle than Andrei Orlov. He’s older, more levelheaded—”

“The queen’s wishes?” Ruaud was becoming increasingly irritated by Donatien’s smug attitude. “What about the king?”

“Oh come now, Ruaud, would you trust an unworldly sixteen-year-old to make such an important decision? One that will affect the future of Francia?”

Ruaud remembered his last conversation with Gobain. The late king’s predictions were proving disturbingly accurate. “And the princess’s wishes?”

“Princess Adèle will do as her mother commands.”

Ruaud felt a faint flicker of panic; Allegonde would prove a weak and ineffectual ally if the recent intelligence about Eugene of Tielen was true. A brilliant military strategist, the young ruler was pouring funds into training his armies and constructing a second impressive fleet of warships. “But if Adèle were to marry into the Orlovs, we would have a strong ally against Tielen.”

“Ally? Watch what you say, Ruaud. Anyone overhearing this might think you were planning military action against Prince Eugene.”

Was Donatien reprimanding him? What was his real motive in following the queen’s wishes? Well, Ruaud could play mind games as well. “So what advantages will a match with Allegonde bring us? I hear Ilsevir is more interested in music than his armies.”

“It’s not your place to question the queen’s wishes.” Donatien’s eyes had hardened. “And may I remind you that if you had brought Kaspar Linnaius to justice, he would no longer be supplying the Tielen armies with alchymical weapons.”

Rieuk gazed down on the tall, slender trunks of eternal trees in the Rift, ghostly foliage wreathed in drifting mists, lit by the light of the emerald moon. It seemed an eternity since Imri had brought him up here to seek out Ormas. In the distance, he glimpsed a flock of shadow hawks skimming gracefully above the trees. Their wild cries carried back to him over the velvet darkness of the forest and he felt Ormas’s heart quicken with longing at the sound.

“
Not yet, Ormas, it’s not yet time.
”

“Rieuk…”

That voice. Rieuk gripped the parapet rim. He had been thinking of Imri as he climbed the endless stair. Had he conjured a spectre from his memory? Here, in the Rift, anything might happen.

“Rieuk, I’m cold…”

Rieuk slowly turned around. There, in the gloom behind him, stood Imri…or a semblance of Imri, his black hair loose about his shoulders, his face half-veiled in shadow.

“Imri?” Rieuk stood, staring. “Is it you? Is it really you?” He had wanted to see him so much…yet now this felt terribly wrong. “What have they done to you?” Yet even as he reached out to the revenant, it began to fade, leaving him clutching empty air.

Rieuk found Lord Estael conferring with Aqil and Oranir over a detailed plan of the citadel of Ondhessar.

“Well, Rieuk?” he asked, looking up.

“Was it your doing?” Rieuk demanded. “Was this some illusion you conjured up? Or was it really him?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Lord Estael coldly.

“Imri came to me. In the Rift. I saw him. He spoke to me.” Rieuk shivered, rubbing his arms. Since the encounter he had felt chilled to the bone and could not get warm again, in spite of the fierce sun outside. He sensed Oranir’s dark eyes regarding him curiously, but the reserved young magus said nothing.

“A trick of the Rift.” Lord Estael shrugged. “We had hoped you might have made some progress in your search for Azilis…But your arrival is timely; the Arkhan has fresh instructions.”

“What new mission has the Arkhan devised for me?” asked Rieuk wearily. It seemed that the more he did in the name of the magi of Ondhessar, the more the Arkhan required of him.

“The situation has become rather more complicated than we anticipated. The Allegondan Commanderie has removed the last of the relics from the Shrine. They have taken the statue of Azilis and are transporting it to Bel’Esstar. The Arkhan has already made a formal protest to Prince Ilsevir, but the prince has refused to listen.”

“You’re not expecting me to bring back a
statue
?”

“The Arkhan has asked us to teach the prince a lesson he will not easily forget,” said Magus Aqil. “And the Guerriers who desecrated the Shrine will pay dearly. We are traveling to Bel’Esstar, Rieuk. To attend a royal wedding.”

“It’s been too long since we talked together,” said Captain de Lanvaux as he and Celestine entered a shady alley, dappled with shifting sunlight filtering through the acacia leaves. The sound of hoeing came from a distant flower bed; they passed a gardener wielding his topiary shears with dexterity, clipping fresh growth from the box and yew.

“I’ve followed your career with great interest. And I’ve noticed that the princess is fond of you.”

She had not expected the conversation to take this turn. “She’s been very kind to me.”

“So the feeling is mutual?”

Celestine nodded. “We understand one another.”

“What if I were to ask you to go to Allegonde with her?”

“Leave Lutèce? For good?” The thought of being separated from the Maistre was intolerable, even if she could never be his. “Oh no, I couldn’t—”

“The princess is apprehensive about the coming wedding. I thought it might help ease her into her new life if a few friends accompanied her to Bel’Esstar. I’m sure that a recital or two could be arranged. Bel’Esstar is famous for its opera houses and concert halls—but I’m sure you know more about that than I do,” he added, with a smile.

Celestine felt emboldened enough by that kindly smile to dare to ask, “But a singer needs a sympathetic accompanist. Could—could you arrange for Maistre de Joyeuse to come, too?”

He paused, glancing around them as if checking to see if they were alone. “Have you seen the striped roses in the knot garden? They’re at their best.”

She followed him down the gravel path, thinking how incongruous it was to hear the captain talking like a keen gardener.

“We used to grow moss roses like these at Saint Azilia’s.” She bent to inhale the rich perfume exuding from the crumpled petals of damson purple. “The scent is heavenly, but the thorns are vicious!”

He drew closer to her, as if to smell one of the moss roses, and his voice dropped to a more intimate pitch. “We’ve learned of a threat against the royal couple’s lives.”

Celestine stared at him in alarm. “But who—?”

“Enhirran extremists, maybe…The Rosecoeurs’ act of vandalism in stripping the Shrine of its treasures has provoked much anger in Enhirre. What better way to draw attention to the Enhirran cause than to disrupt a royal wedding? Or it may be from quite another source. The point is that we can’t take the risk. That’s why I’m asking you if you would help protect her.”

“Me? But I have no training.”

“I want to pair you with one of my agents.” The captain kept his voice low, speaking urgently. “He has the experience, you know the princess; together, you should make a formidable team. What do you say?”

To Celestine’s surprise, she heard herself answering, “I’ll do it. For the princess’s sake.”

He straightened up as the sound of clipping shears came closer. “Good. Let’s move on, shall we?”

She looked quizzically at him. “We’re being observed? Even here?”

He nodded. “You’re learning fast.”

“I’d like to introduce you to your partner for this mission, Demoiselle. Although, I believe you already know one another.” Was there a hint of a smile in Captain de Lanvaux’s voice, Celestine wondered, as he opened the door to his study. A black-haired Guerrier rose from his seat and turned to face them.

“Jagu!” Celestine stopped in the doorway, staring. Jagu took a step back, gripping at the top of his chair to stop himself from tripping.

“B—but I thought you were in Enhirre,” she stammered. She did not know if she was pleased to see him again, only that she had felt her heart beat faster at the sight of him.

“My detachment returned some weeks ago. Since then Captain de Lanvaux has been kind enough to make me his adjutant.”

“Jagu served with great distinction in Enhirre,” said Captain de Lanvaux, crossing the room to put his arm about his new adjutant’s shoulders.

Jagu stared at the floor, evidently embarrassed by the captain’s praise.

“But on to more pressing matters.” Ruaud de Lanvaux gestured to them to sit. “The princess’s wedding.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from a drawer and spread them out on top of the desk.

“Is the threat to the princess, or Prince Ilsevir?” asked Jagu.

“We believe Prince Ilsevir to be the main target, but our intelligence suggests that his bride, Princess Adèle, is equally in danger.”

Celestine tried to repress a shiver. The thought that any insurgents, no matter how desperate their cause, should regard sweet-natured Adèle as a target made her feel sick.

“And this intelligence comes from the Allegondan Commanderie?” Jagu’s habitual scowl seemed to have deepened since his time abroad. She wondered what had happened to him in Enhirre. “Served with distinction” implied that he had seen action. Had he fought and killed the enemy?

“From several sources,” said the captain enigmatically. “But you won’t be traveling as Guerriers of the Commanderie. You’ll be billed as two of Francia’s most celebrated musicians. You’ll be singing at the wedding ceremony, then at the reception afterward. But you’ll also be there to protect the princess. There’ll be other Francian agents to back you up, but you’ll be in a unique position.”

“Do you have any idea yet what kind of attack might be launched? Are we talking of a grenade? Or a sniper?”

The captain’s eyes darkened. “The only information we have is that there may be magi involved.”

“Magi?” Celestine echoed.
Did he mean Kaspar Linnaius?
Beside her she noticed that Jagu had tensed, as if steeling himself to take a blow.

“It’s not common knowledge, but I head a small elite squad within the Commanderie, established to hunt down and destroy anyone rash enough to practice the Forbidden Arts. That’s how I first met Jagu.”

Celestine did not miss the look that passed between the two men. “
His best friend was murdered,
” the Maistre had told her. “
Murdered by a magus.
” She wanted to learn more about the terrible event that had scarred Jagu’s early life. But the captain was already filling in more of the details of their mission and she forced herself to concentrate. “There will, of course, be all the usual bodyguards in attendance to protect her royal highness. But you two will be trained to identify the unusual, the unexpected, that others might disregard.”

“The unusual?” Celestine echoed.

“And if we identify the presence of a magus,” said Jagu, “how do we protect the princess?”

“I’m going to introduce you to Père Judicael. He taught me the skills of exorcism.

“If me, why not send Kilian too?” Jagu demanded.

“Because you, Jagu, already have a sixth sense when it comes to mage-magic.”

“And why me?” asked Celestine warily. She was not sure that she wanted to meet Père Judicael. If he was so clever an exorcist, wouldn’t he be able to detect the Faie’s silvered aura clinging to her? Suddenly the prestigious mission didn’t seem such an attractive proposition, after all.

“Of course, if Lieutenant Guyomard had even half as pretty a singing voice as Demoiselle Celestine, I might have seriously considered him,” Ruaud said, laughing. Celestine saw for a moment Jagu’s stern expression soften and the hint of a smile made his face look younger, more relaxed.

“Kilian sings like a bear,” he said. “Even at Saint Argantel’s, he could never hold a tune.”

“Does that answer your question?” Ruaud was still smiling as he looked at her. There was something in the fond way he looked at her sometimes that reminded her of her father. How could it be that he, who should by all reasoning, have been her enemy, had not only saved her life but watched over her all these years? She returned the smile even though there was pain in her heart.
For if Père Judicael discovers my secret, then we will be enemies.