Linnaius had suspected that might be the case. "We're talking of prodigiously powerful daemons here. I've never attempted anything this dangerous before."

"The only way to fight fire is with fire," said Eugene stubbornly. "And the only way to defend the empire is to set free my ancestor's Drakhaoul, the Drakhaoul of Helmar."

"But the other five? 'Seven, they were Seven, the Dark Angels of Destruction,'" Linnaius quoted from the ancient curse he had uncovered in the monastery library in Azhkendir. "If they are all let loose through the Serpent Gate, they could bring about the end of the world."

"As I said before"-and Eugene placed one hand on Linnaius's shoulder- "I have complete confidence in you to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring."

"I appreciate the compliment, Eugene, but we are about to open a gate that leads to the Realm of Shadows. Even if it's only for a few brief seconds, we must prevent even the smallest trickle of darkness from leaking through into our world. Who knows what nameless horrors lurk near the Gate, waiting for just such an opportunity?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Eugene burst into laughter. "A search for a fabled island far beyond Serindher; an Emperor's rubies; it's the stuff of legends, Kaspar. How soon can we leave?"

CHAPTER 8.

Celestine's little entourage took rooms at an inn in the village of Helmargrd, which lay close to the Swanholm estate. The construction of the palace had attracted many craftsmen to the area and they in turn had brought their families, so that what had once been a huddle of farm cottages around a wooden church had grown into a bustling and prosperous small town.

It had been Celestine's inspiration to invent the role of concert manager for Andrei, and Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard supplied the necessary papers for "Mr. Tikhon." The concert manager's first task was to send a letter informing the palace majordomo that Celestine de Joyeuse had arrived at the Empress's request and was awaiting further instructions. But when Celestine saw how poor his skills were, she composed the note herself, adding-at his request-an enigmatic postscript in Francian which she hoped would pique Astasia's curiosity.

The reply, which came promptly, was delivered by a neatly dressed flunkey wearing the blue-and-grey livery of the House of Tielen.

I regret to inform you that Princess Karila has been taken ill and so the birthday recital may have to be canceled. However, her imperial highness, while aware that you have postponed engagements abroad at her request, would not wish you to have been inconvenienced. She requests that you visit the palace at your earliest convenience to discuss rescheduling the concert.

Lovisa, Countess of Aspelin ***.

The carriage began the long, winding descent into the valley, and Celestine let out a little gasp of delight as she caught her first glimpse of Eugene's palace. From the limpid waters of the lake in the landscaped park, to the geometrical designs of the formal gardens set out in the Francian style, all had been executed to impress. Even the carriage drive had been cleverly designed to reveal Swanholm's splendors to the visitor from different perspectives. But it was the facade of the central building, with its two subtly asymmetrical wings, that impressed her the most. Clean lines, the sheen of steel-grey slate tiles, and the many windows offsetting the soft pallor of the stone, with little ornamentation save the tall pillars supporting the magnificent portico, each one as smooth and slender as the birch trees in the surrounding woodlands.

And yet all this elegance conceals a malevolent and dangerous canker: the Magus's laboratory. Is he here, I wonder? Can I sense his presence? Or... can he sense mine? The thought sent a little frisson through her. The thought sent a little frisson through her. But then why should he suspect? He has no reason to know that I am on his trail...or even that I'm still alive. I have the advantage of surprise. But then why should he suspect? He has no reason to know that I am on his trail...or even that I'm still alive. I have the advantage of surprise.

"Don't do anything rash," Jagu had said to her before she left the inn. He had stopped her, one hand on her arm. The concerned look in his eyes had startled her.

"Don't worry, Jagu, this is merely a reconnaissance mission."

"So you're the Francian singer." Eyes the frosty blue of an ice-bound lake stared suspiciously at Celestine. "My name is Lovisa. Please follow me to the music room."

Celestine curtsied. She had not missed the note of disapproval in the way the Countess of Aspelin p.r.o.nounced the word "Francian."

Alone, Celestine explored the music room. The fortepiano boasted a pretty marquetry case decorated with ornate clefs intertwined in a pattern of songbirds and lyres. When she tested a few keys and played a little run of notes, she discovered that the instrument was not just attractive to look at, it was also in tune.

The doors opened and Empress Astasia came in, accompanied by the countess. Celestine sank into a deep curtsy.

"Welcome to Swanholm, Demoiselle," Astasia said, smiling warmly.

"I am so sorry to hear of your stepdaughter's indisposition, highness. Would you prefer to cancel the recital?"

"After you have taken the trouble to alter your schedule to travel all this way? No, I won't hear of it." Astasia turned to her lady-in-waiting. "You can leave us now, Countess," she said pointedly.

As soon as they were alone, Astasia hurried over to Celestine. "You said you had something to impart to me," she said softly. "Something of personal significance."

Celestine nodded.

"I have little skill at the keyboard," said Astasia, "but if I were to attempt to accompany you, perhaps you could tell me the news you bring between verses?"

This was going better than Celestine could have hoped; her message must have piqued the young empress's curiosity. "An ingenious conceit, highness." She lifted a book of songs from the top of the fortepiano and began to leaf through the pages. "Do you know 'The Waterfall'?"

Astasia settled herself on the seat and took a look at the music. She pulled a wry face. "Too hard."

"This one is just right. 'Summer Evenings.' A beautiful melody, a deceptively simple accompaniment. And in my native tongue, which is not so familiar to the Tielens, I believe," Celestine added mischievously.

"I've never played this one before," Astasia stared at the notes, biting her lower lip as she concentrated, "so not too fast, Demoiselle, I beg you."

"In summer... when the swallows swoop overhead..." Celestine began. Celestine began. "Empress," "Empress," she sang, fitting the words to the melody, she sang, fitting the words to the melody, "your brother is alive. "your brother is alive."

Astasia stopped playing abruptly. "Alive?" Celestine saw her violet eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. "Where is he? In Francia? How is he?" She clutched Celestine's hands in her own. "And how do you know?"

"He is in remarkably good health, all things considered," Celestine said, touched by Astasia's response. "After his ship was wrecked, he was washed ash.o.r.e nearly dead and was nursed back to health by an old fisherman."

"My poor Andrei." Astasia let Celestine's hands drop. "He must think that we abandoned him." She looked utterly stricken at the thought.

Celestine could not help but feel sorry for her. "Your brother finds himself in a very difficult situation. Your husband has taken the throne of Muscobar that was rightly his. If he were to come forward now, what would the Emperor do?"

"I'm sure Eugene would welcome him to court," Astasia said, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with unshed tears. "For my sake."

"Think again, imperial highness. Some dissident elements might see your brother as a significant rival to your husband's authority." With Andrei and Jagu, Celestine had very carefully rehea.r.s.ed what she should say. "His reappearance could cause considerable damage to the stability of the empire."

"But Andrei would never do anything to hurt me," protested Astasia.

"The consequences could be disastrous," said Celestine firmly. "He was very reluctant to have me tell you the news-let alone your parents-for fear it would place you all in an impossible situation."

"So where will he go?"

"His wish," Celestine said, "is to see you once more, then to begin a new life. Far away from Muscobar."

"H-how far?" Astasia stammered.

"I have a letter for you." Celestine slid finger and thumb into her decolletage and discreetly extracted a thin sliver of folded paper from beneath her lace fichu.

Astasia opened the letter and read it; Celestine saw her wipe away a stray tear as she handed it back. "I daren't keep this, in case anyone was to find it. Especially Countess Lovisa."

Celestine nodded and swiftly slipped the paper back beneath her fichu.

"I want to see him so much." Astasia seemed to be talking to herself. "If only I could leave the palace. But I'm watched, day and night. It's just that I can't bear to think he's so close by and yet I can't, I daren't risk-" She broke off suddenly, looking directly at Celestine. "I have an idea, Demoiselle. There is to be a masked ball here at Swanholm for Dievona's Night-a Tielen tradition, I'm told. If I could arrange for you and your accompanist to be invited..."

"For Dievona's Night?" Celestine considered the proposition, wondering what plan Astasia was hatching. "Well, my next recital is to be given in Bel'Esstar. The weather is clement and the seas are calm. If we delay our departure to attend the ball, I think we shall still make Allegonde in good time."

"Would you say that we are about the same height?" Astasia asked. "And the same build?"

"Well, yes..."

"At a masked ball, everyone is in disguise. It can be hard to tell exactly who is who. If I were to provide identical costumes, we could pull off a little charade of our own."

"You-and I-in the same costume?" It was an ingenious idea- although not without its risks.

"And then you and I will secretly exchange masks for a little while, so that I can become Celestine de Joyeuse."

"Allowing us to smuggle your brother in, disguised as Jagu?"

Astasia laughed through her tears. "Just don't let anyone ask Andrei to play the fortepiano, or our charade will be discovered!"

Celestine laughed too, caught up in the Empress's infectious good humor. "And I will be Empress of New Rossiya! Or will I? For who'll be able to guess?"

"I don't know how to thank you, Demoiselle." Astasia reached out and clasped the singer's hands in her own, pressing them warmly.

"Please, highness," and Celestine pressed Astasia's hands in return, "call me Celestine."

"How did she take the news?" Andrei hurried out to meet Celestine as she stepped down from the carriage that had brought her from Swanholm; he must have been keeping an anxious lookout for her. "Was she very upset? I didn't want to upset her. But she has to know the truth about her husband."

"Let's discuss this indoors, shall we?" Celestine cast a look up and down the little cobbled street; there were many people about in the village, all employed, it seemed, on some errand to do with the ball. But even the sweetest dairymaid carrying cream for the desserts or the humblest tailor staggering beneath the weight of masquerade costumes could be one of Eugene's agents, paid to watch and listen.

"Swapping places with the Empress?" Jagu said. The shutters were closed and in the gloom, his voice sounded strangely slurred. "I think it's too risky."

Celestine had guessed correctly that he would object to the plan. "It's a masked ball. Everyone will be in disguise."

"But if you're caught, you could be charged with treason." "Why are you sitting in the dark, Jagu? It's a beautiful day." She went to open the shutters to let more daylight into the room and saw him wince.

"What's wrong with you?" She came closer, staring intently at him. "You look awful."

He sighed. "If you must know, Prince Andrei couldn't sleep again last night and insisted on playing cards into the small hours. And now I have a pounding headache."

"So you emptied a few bottles of wine at the same time? You don't deserve any sympathy." But she began to search in her reticule for a paper of powdered headache remedy.

"You try keeping his highness from leaving the inn! He's as restless as a caged beast. How much longer till Dievona's Night?"

"Drink this." She poured him a gla.s.s of water and emptied the powder into it. He looked at it suspiciously. "It's all right; it's not an alchymical potion. Just some feverfew."

"It sounds as if you've made a favorable impression on the Empress," he said, grimacing as he drank the bitter liquid.

"She's kind, trusting, and, I suspect, very lonely." Celestine took back the gla.s.s. "Why else would she confide in me?" She realized as she was speaking that she had developed a genuine liking for Astasia; she understood how her open, spontaneous nature, which set her apart from the other sophisticated and world-weary young n.o.blewomen, must have bewitched Eugene...

"Are you having second thoughts?"

Why was Jagu able to read her so accurately? "I-I feel sorry for her, I suppose. Just imagine how traumatic it would be to hear from a stranger that your husband had a hand in your brother's death."

"Isn't it better that she should know the truth, however harsh?"

"Yes, except I believe that she genuinely loves Eugene," Celestine said, pensively twisting the feverfew paper between her fingers, "and that makes this all the harder."

"Remember," Jagu said, "it's for the good of Francia."

"Demoiselle de Joyeuse?" The innkeeper put his head around the door. "A message for you from the palace."

Celestine opened the letter and read aloud, "'It is her imperial majesty's wish that you return to Swanholm to continue with her singing lessons. A coach will pick you up at three this afternoon.'" She looked up at Jagu over the crisp white paper. "What do you make of that?"

"It sounds to me as if the Empress is ready to go ahead with her plan."

Celestine nodded, although she still felt conflicted about her role in this charade. "I'd better make myself look presentable." As she pa.s.sed Jagu, he caught hold of her by the hand.

"Promise me that you won't do anything rash," he said, his voice low, intense.

"Rash?" She forced a laugh. "You know me, Jagu."

"Yes. I do. And that's why I want you to give me your word that you won't act alone. Even if you meet... a certain magus."

She looked down at his hand, which was still wrapped around hers, pressing tightly. That touch, that firm pressure stirred something buried deep within her, a memory of a time that she had snuggled close to him and felt so safe, so cherished...

He must have realized it too for he swiftly withdrew his hand and walked away. "Just be careful," he said with his back to her so that she could not see his expression.

By three in the afternoon, the day had turned unseasonably sultry. When Celestine was shown into the music room, she saw the Empress sitting by the open window, dressed in a simple high-waisted summer gown.

"Your highness looks so charming in that sprigged muslin," Celestine said. "I'm sure you'll start a new fashion at Swanholm."

"Thank you! Countess Lovisa told me that it was demode and inappropriate. But it's too hot today to wear a formal court dress. And as we'll be trying on costumes a little later, I thought there was little point in being laced into a boned corset. Now, what shall we play?"

"I've brought this song for you to try; it's an old love song from Provenca..." Celestine placed the accompaniment to "O Mon Amou" "O Mon Amou" on the music stand of the fortepiano. on the music stand of the fortepiano. If the Empress has something to confide in me and anyone walks past, they'll a.s.sume that we're discussing the music. If the Empress has something to confide in me and anyone walks past, they'll a.s.sume that we're discussing the music. "Shall we give it a try?" "Shall we give it a try?"

They managed a page and a half until Astasia lost control of the keyboard part and broke off, laughing helplessly. Celestine sang on for a bar or two, then joined in the laughter, leaning on the forte-piano to support herself.

Suddenly Astasia started up from the keyboard, staring out onto the terrace. "Hush," she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "we have an audience."

Celestine glanced around.

An elderly man stood outside the open window, his wisps of white hair and beard tousled by the breeze. He bowed but not before Celestine had seen the wintry glint in his pale eyes.

It's him. It has to be.

"Beautiful music, ladies," he said. "I must congratulate you." And he continued on his way along the terrace.

"There is no privacy to be had in Swanholm," said Astasia and all the merriment had gone from her voice.

Celestine felt as if a pit of shadows had opened at her feet. "Tell me, highness," she whispered, "who was that ancient gentleman we saw just now?"

Astasia pulled a grimace. "The Magus? His name is Kaspar Linnaius. He's a scientist, I believe, though he has an official court t.i.tle like 'Royal Artificier' or some such."

It was Kaspar Linnaius. And he stared straight at me. If he recognized me, he gave no sign of it. "He looks at least a hundred years old!" "He looks at least a hundred years old!"