There was much that Eugene had not told his wife about that last, desperate battle at the Serpent Gate. Only Gavril Nagarian knew how close they had all come to annihilation and the part that Andrei had played. He looked at Gustave above Astasia's dark head. "Has anyone seen the Magus recently, Gustave?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"No, imperial highness."

"Then send word to all our ships in the southern quadrant to start to search for the Empress's brother and his companions. And I want to know which vessels have survived this catastrophe unscathed."

Linnaius was the only one capable of effecting a swift rescue mission. But Linnaius had disappeared. From the elegiac tone of their last conversation, Eugene feared that the old Magus was ailing and had gone to some desolate place to die. He had even set his affairs in order, initiating Professor Kazimir in his alchymical secrets so that he could continue his work for the New Rossiyan armies.

"If you can still hear me, Kaspar," he said, gazing out at the wintry sky, "I really need your help."

A soft, chill sensation brought Linnaius slowly back to consciousness. He was still lying in the alley, and flakes of snow were falling on him, forming a soft white coverlet. He managed to push himself up to his hands and knees, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort.

Azilis could have killed me. But here I am still...frozen to the bone, and more likely to die of exposure to the cold than a bolt of aethyric energy...

Slowly he crawled forward until he reached the shelter of a doorway.

So why am I still alive? He brushed the snow off his robes. He brushed the snow off his robes. Has she put all her energy into protecting Celestine? Or has she been too long away from the Rift, the source of her powers? Has she put all her energy into protecting Celestine? Or has she been too long away from the Rift, the source of her powers?

Linnaius leaned his throbbing head back against the rotting doorpost and watched the snowflakes silently falling, transforming the shabby buildings with their crystalline sheen.

She had defeated him this time, yet he was determined not to give up. He would need time to heal. But so would Azilis.

"Hey! Old man! You can't sleep here!"

Linnaius came back to his senses to see two constables of the watch standing over him, shining a lantern in his face.

"Had a few too many, grandpa?" One of them bent down and eased him up into a sitting position. "Time to go home. You'll catch your death lying in fresh snow."

"D'you think you can make it on your own?" Between them, they hauled him to his feet, propping him up. Linnaius felt a fool. But he was still too weak from Azilis's attack to do anything but accept their help.

"Where's your house?" the first constable asked loudly. Linnaius waved one hand vaguely toward the square.

"Better take him down to the constabulary."

Lying in a cell, Linnaius stared up at the cracked ceiling. If he had not felt so feeble, he would have smiled at the irony. It wasn't so long since he had been imprisoned by the Commanderie and now here he was, behind bars again, for being "incapable with drink." In truth, he was grateful to the two constables for rescuing him and giving him shelter on such a bitterly cold night. Huddled close to the little stove in the cell were three elderly vagrants and a couple of drunkards, one of them constantly mumbling to himself. The cell stank of old men's p.i.s.s and unwashed bodies, but Linnaius was in no position to complain. In his weakened state, he could have frozen to death if the men hadn't stumbled across him.

Next morning, the constables spooned out a bowl of steaming hot porridge for each of the old men and sent them off into the dawn. Linnaius stood gazing up at the scarlet-stained eastern sky. The light of the rising sun had tinged the snowy rooftops a strange and b.l.o.o.d.y pink. Fortified with porridge, he set out at a dragging and unsteady pace over the frozen snow. Muscobites milled about him, all moving more swiftly than he as they hurried to work; ants, he thought, swarming past a slow, old snail. On the corner, a vendor was selling newspapers, shouting his wares aloud in a high-pitched, cracked voice.

"Tragedy in the southern quadrant! Tidal wave ruins spice trade! King of Francia lost at sea!"

Linnaius stopped. Had he heard aright? He hobbled up to the news vendor. "King Enguerrand drowned?" he said.

"I don't give out the news for free," said the vendor as other customers pushed in, jostling Linnaius, to buy their copies.

If Enguerrand was feared dead, what had become of Prince Andrei, his traveling companion? Eugene had no love for his arrogant brother-in-law, but he would not wish the Empress Astasia to suffer his loss a second time.

Eugene needs me. Somehow I've got to find the strength to make it back to Swanholm...

Yelena sent Celestine back to the draper's to buy turquoise thread and ribbons.

Even though she knew she should not, Celestine retraced her steps to see if the old Magus's body was still lying where she had left him the previous night. The alley was covered with a thick fall of fresh snow, but all that she could see were the delicate prints of birds' wiry feet.

A sudden sound made her jump. Heart thudding, she looked round to see crows watching her from the fence; more were lining up on the lopsided gable of a nearby tenement. She remembered Jagu's fear of birds. She remembered the soul-stealing magus who had taken Henri's soul and his hawk. She began to back away. Could the magi use crows as their familiars?

"He's gone." The Faie's voice echoed, feeble but distinct, in her mind. The Faie's voice echoed, feeble but distinct, in her mind.

"You're all right!" Celestine crossed her arms over her breast, hugging herself with relief. Her breath steamed on the frosty air.

" We're safe-for now. We're safe-for now."

"But Linnaius is still alive?"

"Forgive me, Celestine, I left you unprotected. I was just...so very... weary."

Linnaius arrived at Swanholm as the palace was waking to a dark and dreary dawn. He entered the palace by the secret pa.s.sage that led directly to the Emperor's private apartments, pa.s.sing bleary-eyed maids, who stared at him in surprise as they lugged heavy baskets of logs and coals to make up the fires.

He found Eugene already at his desk, going through a pile of dispatches.

"I came as soon as I could," Linnaius announced.

Eugene hurried toward Linnaius and took him by the arm to steady him. "Magus," he said, "please sit down. Let me pour you a drink. Aquavit?"

For once Linnaius did not refuse. As he sat sipping the powerful spirit, an expensive blend from Northern Tielen, flavored with coriander, the fog in his head began to clear.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard." Eugene was watching him with those pale blue eyes that missed nothing. "So, you heard the news about Enguerrand?"

"Am I to a.s.sume that Prince Andrei is feared lost too?"

Eugene gave a curt nod.

"And you'd like me to go to look for them?"

"Our agents in Francia have just informed me that Ilsevir of Allegonde is to succeed Enguerrand. Until now, Allegonde has remained neutral. But those d.a.m.ned religious fanatics, the Rosecoeurs, have just appointed Ilsevir their patron."

This was unexpected news. Linnaius knew now why Eugene looked so troubled. Allegonde and Francia united would be a considerable threat to the stability of the new Empire.

"This tidal wave," Eugene said. "Could it have anything to do with what happened at the Serpent Gate?"

Linnaius's thoughts had been running along the same lines. "It's possible that the tremendous surge of power that destroyed the Gate set off a volcanic eruption. Which, in turn, caused the wave to sweep through the Azure Ocean."

Eugene fell silent at this suggestion.

"You mustn't blame yourself," Linnaius said, antic.i.p.ating what the Emperor was thinking. "If you hadn't closed the Serpent Gate, Nagazdiel would have come through into our world. And the consequences of such an act..."

"Even so..." Eugene said. Then he seemed to shrug it aside. "But you must rest before you set out, old friend."

Linnaius managed a smile. "Do I look so very frail?"

Eugene came over to him, kneeling before his chair to look earnestly into his eyes. "You've already done so much for me and my family. If it weren't for Astasia, I wouldn't be asking this of you ..."

"I understand."

"How I shall ever make it up to her if Andrei is lost a second time..." Linnaius saw a brief shadow of desperation cross the Emperor's face. He knew all too well what Eugene was leaving unsaid.

Astasia woke suddenly, listening intently in the darkness. A drowsy little moan came from the crib beside the bed. Ever since Rostevan's abduction, she had refused to let him sleep in the nursery, preferring to keep him close. Her decision had incurred the disapproval of the elder courtiers and especially her mother, Sofiya, who constantly reminded her that she was spoiling him and would regret it when he grew older.

The baby let out another little cry and moved restlessly, setting the crib rocking. He must be dreaming. He must be dreaming.

Eugene lay beside her, deeply asleep. She looked at her husband in fond exasperation, wondering how he could sleep so soundly and not be disturbed by his son's cries.

Light from the setting moon flooded the bedchamber, and Astasia went rigid as its glimmer revealed a shadowy figure standing by Rostevan's crib.

"Who's there?" she whispered. The silver-grey light brightened and she recognized the pallid features of Valery Va.s.sian. "V- Valery?" She must be dreaming too, she was sure of it, for Valery was dead; he had given his life protecting her and Rostevan from Andrei's Drakhaoul.

"Help me, Astasia." His haunted, sunken eyes stared imploringly at her as he moved closer to her bedside. His haunted, sunken eyes stared imploringly at her as he moved closer to her bedside.

Astasia instinctively made the sign to ward off evil.

"What do you want?" Her voice trembled.

"I don't belong here anymore... yet I can't seem to find my way back..." Terrified as she was by his appearance, his words were so desolate, so despairing, that her heart filled with pity.

"Back? To where?"

The moonlight began to fade and with it, his spectral form began to fade away too.

"Valery, wait!"

Rostevan, hearing the fear in his mother's voice, woke up and began to wail. Astasia pushed back the covers and ran to him, picking him up and rocking him against her. "There, there, baby, he's gone, it's all right now."

"What on earth's the matter?" came an exasperated voice from the bed. "Who's gone?"

And Astasia, to her shame, burst into tears.

"Dearest girl, you must have been dreaming." Eugene stroked her hair and, even though she pressed close against him, finding comfort in his warmth, his words did not rea.s.sure her in the least. "Waking dreams can seem very realistic."

She shook her head. "I know I was awake. And he was in such distress, Eugene. How can I help him? Should we call a priest to perform an exorcism?"

"Let's not act too hastily," Eugene said soothingly. "We don't want to cause unnecessary alarm."

"You still don't believe me!"

"There are members of Valery's family in your entourage, don't forget. What would his sister say if she heard what you were planning to do? Don't you think it would cause her distress?"

As always, Eugene had a valid reason to support his point of view. Perhaps she was overreacting. She had not been sleeping well of late, lying awake for hours, worrying about Andrei.

But if her brother was dead, wouldn't it have been his ghost that had appeared at her bedside, and not Valery's?

There was still no word from Linnaius. Eugene read through dispatch after dispatch from his agents and captains in the southern quadrant, impatiently discarding one after the other. Nothing but sad news of wrecked cargo ships, devastated villages, ruined spice harvests, and starving villagers. He had instructed Admiral Janssen of the Southern Fleet to supply whatever aid he and his men could to the survivors: food, blankets, and plenty of tools to start rebuilding.

That evening there had been a little concert in the music room, followed by lansquenet lansquenet and and tric-trac; tric-trac; Astasia and her ladies-in-waiting took pleasure in these diversions and it rea.s.sured Eugene to see her enjoying herself. But he had left early, rescued by the timely appearance of Gustave, bearing a fresh batch of intelligence. Now it was past midnight; the courtiers had retired, the palace had fallen silent and his eyelids were drooping... Astasia and her ladies-in-waiting took pleasure in these diversions and it rea.s.sured Eugene to see her enjoying herself. But he had left early, rescued by the timely appearance of Gustave, bearing a fresh batch of intelligence. Now it was past midnight; the courtiers had retired, the palace had fallen silent and his eyelids were drooping...

"Why have you changed the colors in this room, Eugene? We chose them, together, remember?"

Eugene's heart seemed to stutter to a halt. "Margret?" In the dim light the slim figure turned around and he saw his first wife gazing at him from eyes dark as shadow.

"You said you wanted the colors of marguerites, to..."

"To match your name," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"My Eugene, the bluff soldier, struggling to master the subtleties of interior design." An endearing little smile lit her wan face.

"And you teased me mercilessly." He couldn't help smiling too, at the memory.

"But in my heart, I loved you even more for trying because you wanted to make me happy. The painted paper was so pretty: sprigs of daisies on a fresh white background. Green, white, yellow. I liked to sit and read in here; even in winter the light tones reminded me of summer..."

"How can I be talking to you, Margret? Did I fall asleep at my desk? Are you part of my dream?" Eugene was convinced that he would wake up at any moment.

"I don't know what I'm doing here..." Her voice trailed away as she wandered aimlessly around the room. He felt a chill descend on his heart as a gust of cold, dusty wind blew through the study. "It's all so different. So... wrong. "It's all so different. So... wrong." She began to shiver, wrapping her arms around her as if to keep out the cold. The light faded, tinged with a dingy taint of grey, as if a film of dust had descended between them. "Help me, Eugene." "Help me, Eugene." She turned to stare at him. " She turned to stare at him. "I don't belong here. But I don't know how to find my way back..." She looked so frail, so insubstantial, that she could have been a skeletal leaf blown in on the fitful wind.

The lantern flame illuminating Eugene's desk guttered and died. In the darkness, he fumbled for the tinder to relight the wick. By the time he had succeeded, there was no trace of Margret.

So I must have been dreaming after all. Yet he still felt shaken. He wanted to remember Margret as she was depicted in her portrait: happy, smiling, and carefree. Not the confused, lost apparition his tired brain had conjured. Yet he still felt shaken. He wanted to remember Margret as she was depicted in her portrait: happy, smiling, and carefree. Not the confused, lost apparition his tired brain had conjured.

He yawned widely until his jaw cracked. Time to sleep. I will accomplish nothing useful tonight; better to rise early and refreshed. I will accomplish nothing useful tonight; better to rise early and refreshed. He lifted the last dispatch to file it with the others and, to his surprise, saw a fine dust fall onto his polished desktop from the papers. He touched it, raising his fingertips to examine it: tiny granules of a grey, sandy grit. He lifted the last dispatch to file it with the others and, to his surprise, saw a fine dust fall onto his polished desktop from the papers. He touched it, raising his fingertips to examine it: tiny granules of a grey, sandy grit.

As he tiptoed into the bedchamber so as not to wake Rostevan, he saw that a night-light burned on Astasia's side of the great canopied bed. She must be so engrossed in the latest novel from her favorite writer that she had stayed awake to finish it.

"Eugene? Is that you?" She was sitting up in bed, clutching the covers to her.

"Who else would it be?"

"He was here again. Valery." Her violet eyes were wide and dark with fear. "I'm afraid, Eugene. Something is wrong. Very wrong..." was here again. Valery." Her violet eyes were wide and dark with fear. "I'm afraid, Eugene. Something is wrong. Very wrong..."

CHAPTER 11.

Girim nel Ghislain's brisk footfall echoed high into the painted dome of the Basilica as he made his way to Elesstar's Shrine. At this hour of twilight, between services, there were few worshippers around, although from the glimmer of many votive candles, there had obviously been plenty of pilgrims pa.s.sing through the shrine earlier. A pale-haired young Rosecoeur Guerrier detached himself from the shadows of the entrance grille and saluted.

"I came as soon as I could, Korentan," Girim said, returning the salute. "Show me."