"It's snowing again outside, and we're making flimsy costumes for water nymphs." Yelena tutted. "Those dancers will catch their deaths of cold waiting in the wings; the drafts blow through there like a winter wind."

"They'll bring their shawls," said one of the other seamstresses.

Celestine was just biting off an end of thread when Yelena swooped and s.n.a.t.c.hed up her work, moving to the window to examine it. She gave a sniff. Celestine waited, silently praying that she would not be sent back to the latrines. "St.i.tches small and mostly even. No snagged threads or puckering. I suppose it'll do." She pa.s.sed the garment on to another seamstress and handed Celestine another length of blue taffeta. "The same again. Only neater."

As Celestine sewed, faint strains of music penetrated the workroom. She looked up, listening intently. A woman was practicing, using vocal exercises to warm her voice. Minutes later, a fortepiano began to play and the unseen soprano began to sing to its accompaniment.

"No slacking!" Yelena was frowning at her from the opposite side of the table.

"Who is that singing?"

"One of the soloists, who knows? Get on with your work."

"Rusalka's Kiss is an is an opera?" opera?"

Yelena raised her eyes in a look of weary forbearance. "This is is an opera house." an opera house."

"Who is the composer?" Celestine could not help wanting to know more. The fragments of melody seeping in were unfamiliar yet utterly enchanting.

"Kalenik. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess Sofiya is his patron."

A Muscobite composer. That would explain why I've never heard his music before.

"No time for gossiping, ladies!" Grebin appeared, followed by half a dozen dancers. "Here are your first clients."

Yelena let out a sign of annoyance and, draping her tape measure around her neck, began to issue orders.

Celestine watched, fascinated, as the dancers stripped, shivering and giggling, allowing the costumers to fit the flimsy costumes, stoically enduring the pinning and marking with tailor's chalk, turning round and round again as Yelena surveyed the results with a critical eye. The lengths of taffeta Celestine had been hemming began to be transformed with a shimmer of green and silver sequins and ribbons artfully cut and draped to look like waterweeds. The first dancers left and more arrived. The daylight began to fade as more snow fell and Grebin brought oil lamps.

"Dress rehearsals start tomorrow at nine. You'll just have to work through the night to be finished in time," he announced.

Celestine heard the other seamstresses groan in protest and looked down at her work to conceal the smile of relief. Tonight she would be warm in the workroom. The thought of sleeping another night in the snowy Water Gardens was too much to endure. And even though Grebin's brow was more furrowed and his wig more awry each time he appeared, the stage manager had food delivered to the workroom: hot cabbage soup with caraway dumplings.

"Peasant food," said Yelena with a sniff.

Celestine said nothing but spooned down the soup eagerly. It reminded her of the food she used to help prepare at Saint Azilia's: robust, tasty, and filling. The last weeks of privation had taught her that there was much to be said for enjoying such simple pleasures.

The sky craft hovered above the city as the winter sun set, painting the snowy horizon with a lick of scarlet fire. Far below, the tiled roofs were thickly rimed with snow; even the painted tiles on the onion domes of the Cathedral of Saint Simeon were coated in white.

"So this is where you've been hiding, Lady Azilis." The Magus leaned over the side of the craft, closing his eyes as he searched for that faint but telltale aethyric current of energy he had detected. "Mirom."

Linnaius landed his craft in a deserted park. He disguised himself in the long robes and fur-rimmed hat of a merchant and took to the streets of the city, prowling from square to square, in search of that elusive presence he had sensed earlier. He had been sure that he would see concert bills advertising the arrival of the celebrated Francian singer Celestine de Joyeuse, but there was no mention of her anywhere.

Did I stay too long in Tielen? I had to honor the promise I made to Eugene. I had to make sure that everything was in order at Swanholm.

Even if his successor were a mere doctor of science without a drop of mage blood in his veins, Linnaius had to be certain that he was entrusting his alchymical knowledge to a worthy successor, one who would serve Eugene loyally.

He entered a wide and gracious square dominated by a grand building boasting an ostentatious portico. Horse-drawn sleighs crossed and crisscrossed in front of its broad steps, the air noisy with the horses' hooves and the jingle of the bells on their harnesses.

Again he felt a sudden stab of aethyric energy, faint as a pinp.r.i.c.k, yet infused with an intense, radiant power. "The Imperial Theater," he murmured aloud and set out, threading his way through the troikas.

"Where are the silver sequins?" Yelena's voice, shrill and vexed, pierced the seamstresses' gossiping. "Well? Don't tell me we've run out!"

One by one, the women looked up from their work and shook their heads.

"Oh, that's wonderful. And only seven more costumes to complete!" Yelena opened her purse. "Maela, go round to the draper's on Khazan Prospect and buy more sequins." She tossed her a coin. "That should cover it."

Celestine deftly caught the coin.

"Wrap up warmly; it'll be dark soon. And don't dawdle!"

Well m.u.f.fled in her thick cloak, Celestine hurried out into the twilight. The quickest way to Khazan Prospect was to take a shortcut through a winding alley around the back of the theater. The sun was setting and the alley was unlit. She hesitated. But what had she to fear? The Faie would protect her if anyone tried to rob her.

There it was again-but stronger this time. Linnaius retreated into a doorway and watched. In the purple dusk he saw a cloaked woman emerge from the stage door and, after a quick, nervous glance around, scuttle away into the night. Linnaius retreated into a doorway and watched. In the purple dusk he saw a cloaked woman emerge from the stage door and, after a quick, nervous glance around, scuttle away into the night.

He followed. She was moving much more swiftly than he and in the twists and turns of the foul-smelling alley, he almost lost her. He emerged, wheezing for breath in the sharp cold of the night air, on one of the main thoroughfares of the city, in time to see her going into a little shop.

He would just have to wait and detain her when she came out...

It was dark when Celestine left the draper's, the silver sequins wrapped in a twist of paper. The troika horses' hooves struck sparks off the icy cobbles as the sleighs swished past. She shivered.

What was that unsettling sensation? She glanced around, suddenly wary. Another frost haze was settling over Mirom as the temperature plummeted. It must just be the intense night cold, she told herself as she entered the unlit alleyway. She would soon warm up again by the stove in the snug workroom.

Silver eyes glimmered in the darkness.

She stopped, backing away.

"Wh-who's there?" she called, her voice trembling. She was too far along the alley to run back to the busy street. And if she called for help, who would hear her cries?

"I've been looking for you, Celestine."

Another shiver ran through her body, so intense that she feared she would not be able to stop shaking. Those eyes of silver ice, so chill, so inhuman. Those eyes of silver ice, so chill, so inhuman. Now she knew who was blocking her way. And he had trapped her. Now she knew who was blocking her way. And he had trapped her.

"Kaspar Linnaius!" she cried, as she felt her fear turning to anger. "Show yourself!" "Show yourself!"

"I mean you no harm, Celestine," came the hateful voice from the shadows. "I only want to talk with you."

"He's lying."

The Faie had awoken to the danger.

The Magus came toward her, one hand extended. The hand that could summon storm winds with the slightest flick of finger and thumb.

Celestine continued to retreat until she felt her back graze against the blank tenement wall. There was nowhere else to go.

"What is there to talk about?" She kept her voice low in the hope that she would not betray how terrified she felt. If he had intended to kill her, he would have struck before she even knew he was there. So what did he want from her?

"I merely wish to communicate with your guardian spirit, that's all."

"No!" The Faie hissed her refusal before Celestine could react. " The Faie hissed her refusal before Celestine could react. "I tell you, Magus, that we have nothing to discuss."

"Even though it's a matter of the greatest importance?"

"Leave now-while you can."

Still he came on and Celestine raised her right hand in a vain gesture to keep him at bay.

"Leave me alone." She felt the Faie's power rushing through her, from her mind to her outstretched hand, concentrating in her fingertips. Every vein in her body burned with luminous energy. "Stay back!"

In the frosty gloom of the filthy alley, Linnaius saw Celestine's eyes begin to glimmer.

Pure white sparks of aethyrial energy shot from her outstretched hand. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the ghost of a breeze from the night, twisting it around himself to repel the attack. But he was too slow to deflect the full force and the bolts sizzled through his defense, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. Fighting for breath, dizzy, he tried to force himself to get up, slipping on the slime of ice and mud, only to drop back again.

Azilis blazed a vicious warning.

"Leave-us-alone."

Celestine saw the Magus stagger and fall. This was her chance to escape.

"He'll only come after us again." The Faie's fury still burned in her brain and she felt a second burst of fire welling up within her. "Finish it now, once and for all. "Finish it now, once and for all."

As the power coursed through her body, Celestine saw Linnaius push himself up on one hand, turning to her with a look so confused, so imploring, that it almost made her stay her hand.

"This is no time for weakness!" The Faie's rage possessed her and she flung another glittering bolt at him. Linnaius fell back. After one convulsive shudder, he did not stir again. The Faie's rage possessed her and she flung another glittering bolt at him. Linnaius fell back. After one convulsive shudder, he did not stir again.

Is it all over at last? Have we destroyed him? Her fire-dazzled mind could only think of escape. She gathered up her skirts and began to run, expecting at any time to feel a flesh-shredding blast of wind catch her. "Must get away from here," she kept repeating to herself. "Must get the sequins back to Yelena. She'll be cross if I'm late." Her fire-dazzled mind could only think of escape. She gathered up her skirts and began to run, expecting at any time to feel a flesh-shredding blast of wind catch her. "Must get away from here," she kept repeating to herself. "Must get the sequins back to Yelena. She'll be cross if I'm late."

But at the entrance to the alleyway, all the strength drained from her body and she fell, clutching at a doorpost to support herself.

"Faie, what's wrong?" This was unlike any weakness she had ever felt before, emanating from deep within her. "Did Linnaius put a glamour on you?"

For a moment the Faie did not reply and when she did, her words sounded distant and bewildered. "What's happening to me? Why am I...so... weak?" "What's happening to me? Why am I...so... weak?"

The bright presence within her dimmed, like a candleflame blown out in the wind, and the rea.s.suring, familiar voice fell silent.

"Where have you been, you wretched girl?" Yelena rose, staring severely at Celestine over the top of her pince-nez. "You're late! Now we'll all have to work past midnight-" She broke off. "Why, what ever's the matter? You're trembling."

"I-I was attacked." Celestine's teeth chattered. She was still shaken to the core by the unexpected encounter with Linnaius. Even enduring Yelena's wrath was preferable to what she had just experienced. "In the alley."

"Are you all right?" The other seamstresses crowded around to fuss over her. "Were you robbed?" "Did you see his face?"

"I got away." She pulled out the twist of paper containing the precious sequins and held it out to Yelena. Yelena gave a fastidious little sniff but accepted it nonetheless and unwrapped the sparkling contents.

"Go and warm yourself at the stove. Drink some tea. And don't go by that alleyway again after dark."

Celestine saw Grebin coming along the pa.s.sageway toward her, carrying the dancers' flowing headdresses. "They won't do," he said, plumping the bundle of buckram and tangled ribbons into her arms. "The ballet mistress says they're too long and they get in the way. Tell Yelena they must be altered. We need them in half an-" He stopped, gazing at her quizzically. "What have you done to your hair, Maela? Bleached it? I liked it better brown." And he pa.s.sed on down the pa.s.sageway.

My hair bleached? Celestine stood in the dim light with her arms full of dangling ribbons and laces, not knowing quite what to do first. Celestine stood in the dim light with her arms full of dangling ribbons and laces, not knowing quite what to do first. Is my disguise slipping? Is my disguise slipping?

This thought was so disturbing that it sent her running to the nearest empty dressing room, dumping the offending headdresses over a hanging rail and leaning close to the mirror to check her reflection. Even in the gloom, she could see that her hair was fast reverting to its natural shade of pale gold. And her eyes were blue as cornflowers once more.

"Faie?" She began to wind her fair hair up into a knot, desperately casting around for a piece of sc.r.a.p material that she could use as a headscarf to hide it. "Faie! "Faie! What's wrong with you?" There was no reply. "Answer me!" What's wrong with you?" There was no reply. "Answer me!"

The seamstresses stayed up all night to finish the dancers' costumes. Celestine, her hair still covered by a tightly bound headscarf, was relieved not to have to leave the theater again. The women took it in turns to sleep and sew, drinking strong tea from the samovar to keep awake. As Celestine sat slowly, mechanically st.i.tching a seam, her eyelids began to droop, only to start awake as she saw again the Magus's face, lit by the stark, pure light of the Faie's attack.

Is Linnaius really gone at last? She had thought she would feel triumphant in the knowledge that she had destroyed him. But all she felt was emptiness. She had ruthlessly pursued her quest to avenge her father, abandoning her career, her country, even her dearest friends. She had thought she would feel triumphant in the knowledge that she had destroyed him. But all she felt was emptiness. She had ruthlessly pursued her quest to avenge her father, abandoning her career, her country, even her dearest friends.

Faie? There was still no answer. Celestine's heart ached. Suppose in protecting her from Linnaius, the Faie had given up the last of her aethyrial life force? There was still no answer. Celestine's heart ached. Suppose in protecting her from Linnaius, the Faie had given up the last of her aethyrial life force?

Am I all alone now?

CHAPTER 10.

The plans for rebuilding the damaged wing of Swanholm Palace lay spread out over the Emperor's desk. Eugene, in company with his architects, was comparing them with the original designs when a discreet knock announced the arrival of his secretary, Gustave.

"I wouldn't have interrupted you, imperial highness, if it were not a matter of the utmost gravity." Gustave bowed as he presented Eugene with a folded paper.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Eugene went to the window to read by the clear snow light while Gustave hovered, waiting for a reply.

It was a transcript of a Vox message from an agent in the port of Haeven: Unconfirmed reports received from clippers on their way back from the Azure Ocean of a devastating typhoon or tidal wave that has wrecked many ships and wreaked havoc in the Spice Islands.

Eugene looked up, staring out over the snow haze blanketing the valley, yet seeing a distant sh.o.r.e where, were it not for the merciless heat, the sand was so white it could be mistaken for snow. "Enguer-rand," he murmured. "Aude. Andrei." Andrei."

He had left the rebel princes behind on Ty Nagar, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and his children. When Linnaius had returned to rescue Lord Gavril, he had offered to take Lady Aude too but she had refused, insisting she would stay with Enguerrand. And that was the last he had heard.

He looked up to see Gustave and the architects watching him cautiously. "Has anyone else seen this intelligence?" he asked.

"I believe that news may have leaked out-" began Gustave.

"Eugene!" Astasia came running in. "What's this rumor I've been hearing?"

Gustave nodded to the architects, who bowed and hastily made themselves scarce.

"A tidal wave in the Spice Islands? All the ships in the area feared wrecked?"

"There are no details yet-" Eugene began.

"Why didn't you send Linnaius back to rescue him?" She launched herself at him, beating her fists against his chest. "You left my brother marooned there. You left him there to die!"

Eugene stared at his wife, taken aback by this furious outburst. He caught her by the wrists, pressing her clenched fists against his breast. "You know well enough why I didn't bring Andrei back."

"He wasn't in his right mind, Eugene; he was possessed by that- that Drakhaoul." Her eyes burned with angry tears yet she didn't break down. "Andrei would never have done those terrible things. I was there. I saw him. It wasn't Andrei who stole our son. The daemon forced him to do it."