"But you, Amba.s.sador, what will you do?"

"Oh, I've bought a charming dacha quite close to Erinaskoe. I thought I might enjoy playing at being the country gentleman for a while: indulging in a spot of fishing, perhaps, or creating a fine garden. Of course, if the new king comes to realize that I know too many state secrets for my own good, I might have to disappear altogether." An enigmatic smile spread across Abrissard's face. "You needn't worry on my account, Jagu. Claude will take good care of me."

Celestine popped her head out of the stage door to see if the coast was clear. The fervent admirers had given up waiting to see their favorite singers at last and it was safe to set out for home.

Carriages and troikas were still crossing the lamplit square and the sound of drunken singing announced a group of revelers emerging from the nearby tavern.

"Hullo, sweetheart!" yelled one, lurching toward her. "Fancy a drink?" The beery gust he breathed in her face made her turn aside, disgusted. A drunkard was the last thing she wanted to have to deal with after the rigors of the evening performance.

"Sorry, friend, but the lady's with me," said a familiar voice behind her.

"Jagu?"

"My lodgings are just beyond the square," he murmured in her ear.

The drunks started hooting and whistling, but Jagu caught Celestine by the arm and began to hurry her across the square, between the pa.s.sing carriages. He did not stop until they had pa.s.sed beneath an archway into an inner courtyard, surrounded by tall buildings.

"You shouldn't be out alone so late at night," Jagu said disapprovingly.

"You're forgetting," she said, "that I have my guardian to protect me."

"Of course; you're invulnerable."

Was he mocking her? Away from the streetlights of the main square, it was impossible to see his expression.

"Why were you shadowing me?"

"I've been with the amba.s.sador. You need to hear this." He unlocked the door to his lodgings and ushered her inside. She saw him look back toward the street and knew he was checking to see if anyone had followed them.

"Why, what's happened?" He had his back to her, striking a tinder to light the lamp.

"Ilsevir is to be crowned king of Francia." He turned around to face her, his expression grim in the soft glow of the lamp. "And Abrissard suspects that he will oust Alain Friard and appoint Girim nel Ghislain in his place."

"A Rosecoeur at the head of the Commanderie?" Celestine did not like the prospect at all. "But everything Maistre de Lanvaux worked so hard to establish will be destroyed!"

"I will not serve under Captain nel Ghislain," Jagu said stubbornly. "I will not swear allegiance to the Blood of the Rose."

Everything is changing... and not for the better. The room was chilly and she began to shiver. The room was chilly and she began to shiver.

"You're feeling the cold," he said. "I'll put fresh fuel in the stove. I don't have much to offer to warm you up." He opened up the little stove to place wood on the glowing embers. "I could brew some tea."

Jagu, offering to make tea? The new domesticated side to his character was unexpected and rather endearing.

"Tea, then," she said, sitting down close to the stove. "My throat's a little sore after tonight's performance; Dame Elmire would have given me a stern lecture for such poor technique."

As he filled a little kettle from the water jug and set it to boil on top of the stove, she glanced around the spa.r.s.ely furnished room. It offered no clue as to Jagu's interests; she noticed a couple of bound volumes of the Holy Texts lying on the chest, alongside his sword. There was nothing to gladden the eye or the spirits; not even a spring flower. But the table was covered in sheets of paper. When she was sure Jagu was busy spooning tea into the pot, she sneaked over to investigate. Page after page of handwritten music lay before her, a mess of blots and scratched-out bars. This was just how Henri's desk used to look when he was in the throes of a new composition, littered with sc.r.a.ps of ideas and scribbled jottings. But the strong, well-formed hand was unmistakably Jagu's-and it had never once occurred to her that Jagu might be interested in writing music as well as performing it.

"Jagu?" She picked up a handful of music. "Did you you compose this? This setting of the Vesper Prayer?" compose this? This setting of the Vesper Prayer?"

He looked up from pouring tea and she saw an unusually vulnerable expression cross his face. "Don't look at that," he said. "It's not finished."

She was not to be fobbed off so easily. "These opening bars, they're for a soprano soloist. You weren't writing this for me to sing, were you?"

His hand jerked involuntarily and spilled some of the tea. Cursing, he mopped it up with his handkerchief.

"Let me try it out." He had written music for her. She wanted nothing more than to hear what it sounded like.

"It's not finished." He brought over a gla.s.s of strong brown tea. "Besides, you said your throat was sore. No more singing for you tonight. Drink this; it's from Serindher. It has a warming, malty taste."

Reluctantly, she replaced the music and took her tea, holding the hot gla.s.s carefully in her cupped hands. "Tomorrow morning, then. We can use one of the practice rooms at the theater. Gauzia never arrives until an hour before the performance. She's too busy entertaining her admirers."

"Maybe." He was looking at her so intently that she suddenly felt self-conscious.

"What is it?" she asked. "Is there a smear of greasepaint on my face?"

"I just can't get used to seeing you like that," he said awkwardly. "Can't you shed your disguise now that we're alone together?"

"It's still me, Jagu," she said, sipping her tea. Alone together. Alone together. There was something about the way he p.r.o.nounced those words that sent a little shiver through her. Yet they had been alone together countless times before. His request touched her. Would it hurt to indulge him? There was something about the way he p.r.o.nounced those words that sent a little shiver through her. Yet they had been alone together countless times before. His request touched her. Would it hurt to indulge him?

"Faie," she said softly. "It's all right; I'm safe here. Change me back."

"If that's what you truly wish..."

Celestine saw from Jagu's startled reaction that the Faie had withdrawn the glamour she had cast around her.

"Is that better?" She felt suddenly shy, defenseless, as if the Faie had also stripped away the protective sh.e.l.l with which she had been shielding her true feelings.

He set down his cup, still staring at her. "The truth is that I would still love you, whether you were Maela, Celestine... or whoever else you chose to be."

"You... love me?" To hear Jagu make such a confession was so unexpected that she thought she must have misheard. "Don't make fun of me, Jagu."

"Don't you know me well enough by now? I'm incapable of joking about something so important."

"Prove it." What was she saying? The challenge issued from her lips before she could stop herself. Hadn't their relationship always been like this? Fierce arguments over interpretation, whether a piece of music or orders relating to their mission.

The next moment he crossed the room and, taking her face between his hands, pressed his lips to hers, kissing her. She began to protest, pushing against him, her cry smothered by his mouth. Then suddenly she stopped struggling, surrendering to his hunger, kissing him back, her mouth hot and eager.

All Jagu's conflicted feelings had woven themselves into the kiss: frustrated longing and helpless desire. He had expected her to push him away. But she had only pulled him closer. It surprised him how swiftly, how easily, his body responded to hers-and how urgent his need had become to take matters further. While he still had the power to control himself, he gently released her, his hands on her shoulders. She gazed questioningly up at him and he realized that she had never looked at him in such an intimate, vulnerable way before.

"I should take you back to your lodgings," he said.

"Yes, you should." But when she made no move, he began to stroke her hair.

"When you disappeared, I was afraid that I'd lost you for good," he said softly. "Why is it that you don't realize till something's gone how important it is to you?"

"More important to you than your vow to the Commanderie?"

"Since I lost you I've felt"- he struggled to find the right word- "incomplete. Like a part of myself was missing. But when I heard you were on Andrei Orlov's ship, I somehow a.s.sumed that you... and he..."

"That we were lovers?" A little blush had appeared on her cheeks. "It could so easily have happened. But I ran away. I had my reasons."

She was still so difficult to read, kissing him with such pa.s.sion one moment, then tormenting him with these elusive hints and allusions. He wasn't entirely inexperienced in matters of the heart; as a music student, he'd had a couple of brief romances with young singers, but no one had ever affected him as deeply as she had.

"I wasn't there when you needed me in Smarna." To think back to those troubled, uncertain days still hurt. "I'm so sorry. When I reached the villa they told me that you'd been arrested. I went straight to the harbor but the Aquilon Aquilon had already sailed. I followed on the next ship to Francia, only to find that you'd already given the Inquisitors the slip." His arms tightened around her. "I don't ever want to let you go ever again." had already sailed. I followed on the next ship to Francia, only to find that you'd already given the Inquisitors the slip." His arms tightened around her. "I don't ever want to let you go ever again."

I don't ever want to let you go ever again. Those words, spoken with such intensity, at once thrilled and terrified Celestine. It felt as if every part of her that he touched was on fire. Tumbling backward onto the bed together seemed the most natural, inevitable outcome. It was such a delicious, dizzying sensation to know that he wanted her so badly... and to realize that she wanted him too. Those words, spoken with such intensity, at once thrilled and terrified Celestine. It felt as if every part of her that he touched was on fire. Tumbling backward onto the bed together seemed the most natural, inevitable outcome. It was such a delicious, dizzying sensation to know that he wanted her so badly... and to realize that she wanted him too.

Her body moved beneath his, arching upward to meet him. They had been making music together for so long that they had developed an instinctive, wordless understanding. Jagu could match the keyboard part to her vocal line as naturally as if they were one. One heart, one intelligence shaping the music together. And it seemed that their bodies moved to that same instinctive rhythm, giving and taking pleasure in equal measure until, sated and drowsy, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

The cold, pure light of a Mirom dawn filtered in through the wooden shutters. Celestine half opened her eyes, aware that she was warm and blissfully comfortable beneath the goose-feather quilt. She snuggled closer to the source of the warmth... and felt herself pressing up against someone else in the bed. Someone naked. As naked as she.

She lay still, fully awake now, not daring to move for fear she might disturb him. He was lying on his side, his back to her, the quilt gently rising and falling with his slow, regular breathing. His hair, untied, spilled over the linen pillowcase, black as scattered crows' feathers against fresh-fallen snow. She wanted so much to touch it, to rake her fingers through it as she had the night before in the fire of their pa.s.sion, yet still she didn't dare move. But a slow flush of heat ran through her body as she remembered what else they had done in the darkness.

Will you blame me for making you break your vow, Jagu?

The brightening daylight revealed their clothes, flung across the floorboards in the abandon and desperation of their hunger for each other.

He gave a slow sigh and turned over in the bed toward her. As his arms enfolded her and she felt herself pulled back into his embrace, she swiveled around and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Good morning, Jagu," she whispered. His eyes opened. They stared at each other.

"Um, did... did we?"

She burst into delighted laughter. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already!"

"Remind me," he said, "so that I won't forget again."

Later-very much later that morning-they rose and dressed. Jagu went out to buy some rolls for their breakfast and when he returned, he found Celestine studying his Vesper Prayer.

"Please, Jagu," she said. "Let me sing it for you."

"What, right now?"

"What's the point in writing music if it's never going to be performed? Come on," she said tugging at his sleeve. "We can use one of the practice rooms at the Imperial Theater!"

Once Celestine had decided to do something, there was no dissuading her. Her enthusiasm won him over. He could do nothing but smile, aware that until now he had never known what happiness was.

He had made his choice last night, and he had no regrets. He had broken his vow in making love to Celestine. He was still living on the Commanderie's money but all that would change; he would go out and find work as an accompanist.

No sooner had they entered the theater by the stage door than they were stopped by Grebin.

"Who's this, Maela?"

"My new repet.i.teur," she said, giving him her sweetest smile. "We're going to rehea.r.s.e."

Grebin peered suspiciously at Jagu in the gloom. "But aren't you a florist?"

Taking Celestine by the hand, Jagu hurried her away along the dark pa.s.sageway. "I'm... versatile," he called back over his shoulder.

"A florist?" she asked, mystified.

"I had to dream up a way of getting backstage to find you."

"But a florist, Jagu-" Celestine couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.

"There has to be a keyboard round here somewhere."

Her ribs hurt from laughing. "Third door on the right," she gasped, wiping her eyes.

He opened the door to the smallest rehearsal room and pulled her inside. She linked her hands around the nape of his neck, pulled his face down close to hers and kissed him.

"Someone might come in." Gently, he unwound her arms from around his neck.

As Celestine worked through her daily ritual of vocal exercises, slowly warming her voice to life, each arpeggio climbing a pitch higher, Jagu felt a sense of deep contentment seep through him. He hadn't realized until now how important a part of his life this had been.

"Why are you smiling?" she said, suddenly breaking off. "Did I make a mistake?"

"Far from it," he said. "I was just thinking how much I've missed this. You and I, working together."

"You may not still be smiling when you hear me sing your music. Of course, I shall blame you, the composer, if I make a mistake. I'll insist that it's impossible to sing and force you to change it!" She flashed him an impudent little smile.

"The opening is wordless. I wanted the voice to shine, like the voice of Azilis wreathing up to the stars through the desert night in Ondhessar."

Her face became grave and she nodded slowly. She drew in a breath and began to sing, her pure voice taking the notes he had written for her and transforming them with the unearthly beauty of her tone.

Hearing her bring the opening melisma of his Vesper Prayer to radiant life made the hairs rise on the back of Jagu's neck. He stopped playing.

"Did I make a mistake?"

He shook his head, too moved to reply straightaway. He had imagined this moment so many times. Eventually he said simply, "It was perfect."

Nevertheless, he was glad that he had remembered to bring a pencil with him. He kept halting to make little marks on the score to remind himself where he needed to make corrections.

"You're such a perfectionist, Jagu," she said, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

Someone tapped on the door. "Demoiselle Ca.s.sard! Grebin wants all soloists onstage."

"They need you," he said, picking up the sheets.

"Meet me after the performance tonight. Not here... Gauzia might see you. Here's my address; it's not far." She scribbled her address on the top of the score and blew him a kiss. "Till tonight."

Celestine awoke all of a sudden, conscious that there was someone in the room. It was the empty, grey hour before dawn, the time at which the dying often fade away with the end of the night.

She lay utterly still, not daring to move. Had a burglar broken in? Beside her, Jagu lay in a deep sleep, one arm flung protectively across her body, utterly unaware. The Faie had withdrawn to the book. Could she summon her silently, by thought alone, without drawing the intruder's attention?

The shadow moved closer to the bed. Yet even in the uncertain light, she knew him, and her heart felt as if it had turned to ice.

"Celestine?" said Henri in puzzled tones. said Henri in puzzled tones. "Jagu?" "Jagu?"

Celestine sat up, clutching the sheet tight about her to cover her nakedness. Beside her she heard Jagu stir at last and push himself up on one elbow.