Flight Into Darkness Part 38

Someone tapped him sharply on the shoulder. A bewigged little man stood glaring at him. "You're blocking the pa.s.sageway. Deliver those flowers and get out!" Jagu looked at him blankly. "New to the job?" He let out an exasperated sigh and opened the door opposite. "In there." The room that lay beyond was already filled with flowers, and their scent was overpoweringly rich and sickly sweet.

"Who was that singing?"

The little man was already steering him back toward the stage door. "You like music, yes? You want to find out? Then buy a ticket and come to see the opera!" He gave him a firm push out into the snowy street and slammed the door shut.

"My dear Jagu, you can't possibly go to the opera dressed like that," observed Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard.

"These are the only civilian clothes I've brought with me." Jagu looked down at the plain cut of his jacket. "What's wrong with them?"

"In Mirom, just as in Lutece, people dress up in all their finery to attend the opera."

"My funds won't cover the cost of a new suit, let alone a ticket."

"Don't buy a ticket, for heaven's sake! I have my own box, which is at your disposal. As for suitable attire..." Abrissard rang the brocade bellpull and Claude, his butler, appeared. "Claude, would you say that the lieutenant and I were roughly of the same height and girth?"

Claude gave Jagu an appraising look. "Quite close, I believe, Amba.s.sador."

"Then would you be so good as to fit him out from my wardrobe; the lieutenant is going to the opera tonight in my stead."

Claude bowed, saying nothing, but not before Jagu had seen the look of shocked disapproval that replaced his habitually detached expression.

Jagu looked at his reflection in the cheval mirror while Claude fastidiously brushed a speck of dust from his outfit. He had never worn such fine clothes; the ivory silk shirt was so soft against his skin that it felt almost sinful. From the sheen of the velvet jacket and breeches of midnight blue down to the metal buckles on the black leather shoes, his reflection gleamed.

"You would be advised to put this on, Lieutenant," Claude brought over a long, fur-trimmed coat and draped it over his shoulders, "as the frost tonight is particularly sharp." He finished his work by placing a three-cornered hat of black felt on Jagu's head, tipping it at a fashionable angle.

Jagu did not recognize himself. He was staring at a lean-faced n.o.bleman, the man he might have become if he had been the firstborn of the Lord of Rustephan. The disguise might work to his advantage, enabling him to continue his investigation without arousing any suspicions.

As the troika bore him away to the theater, the runners b.u.mping over the frozen ruts, the bells on the horses' collars jangling in the frosty night, he sat back and tried to prepare himself for the confrontation to come.

When had he begun to sense he was losing her? She had become more wayward, more willful, taking risks to get her own way, listening less to him and more, he was certain, to her guardian spirit. He could not forget the way his heart had burned with jealousy as he had watched her flirting with Andrei Orlov, despising himself more and more for not being honest with himself-or her-about his feelings.

And then it was all too late and she was gone.

As the troika slowed, the driver joining the crush of other sleighs in the broad square, Jagu saw the dazzle of bright flares illuminating the front of the Imperial Theater.

Nearly there. Why was it that the idea of running away with Celestine was suddenly so appealing? Why was it that the idea of running away with Celestine was suddenly so appealing?

Celestine... do I love you so much that I'd break my vow for a chance of happiness with you?

The amba.s.sador's box afforded a good view of the stage and as Jagu settled down on one of the elegant little chairs, he gazed around in amazement at the lavish interior. Carved cherubs and nymphs supported every box and tier; gilded fauns and satyrs blew pipes and strummed lyres at the corner of each tier, and the central crystal chandelier was filled with hundreds of white wax candles. The buzz of conversation was so loud that he could hardly hear the musicians as they started to tune their instruments.

He scanned the program in vain for a clue; it was only natural that, as a fugitive, she would adopt another name.

Then the candles were extinguished in the auditorium and the orchestra began to play the overture. To Jagu's disgust, the members of the audience paid no attention, continuing to chatter more loudly than before to make themselves heard above the instruments. Jagu frowned at them, trying to listen to the orchestra. He was unfamiliar with A Spring Elopement, A Spring Elopement, although the instant he caught an infectiously lighthearted melody bubbling up through the flutes and clarinets in the overture, he suddenly remembered Henri de Joyeuse's playing it. although the instant he caught an infectiously lighthearted melody bubbling up through the flutes and clarinets in the overture, he suddenly remembered Henri de Joyeuse's playing it.

He was so lost in the memory that when the heavy curtains parted, revealing a stage set of painted cottages and cherry trees, and a chorus of young women in pink-striped gowns began to sing about the spring blossom, his frown deepened.

What am I, a Commanderie Guerrier, doing watching this absurd, frivolous entertainment?

A sudden stir rippled through the audience and he noticed many leaning forward, raising opera gla.s.ses as-to a burst of rapturous cheering-a young woman ran onto the stage and began to sing. From her warm, rich tone, he knew her instantly. It was Gauzia, playing the part of Lise, the pert servant girl, whose mischief-making provided the flimsy plot of A Spring Elopement. A Spring Elopement. And, as Jagu watched Gauzia flirting with the men while effortlessly singing Lise's virtuoso runs and trills, he had to admit that she was in her element in the theater. Her reputation was well merited, and from the thunderous applause at the end of her first aria, it was obvious that she had already enchanted the audience. Only when the applause had died down did the opera continue, with the appearance of Lise's young mistress, Mariella. And, as Jagu watched Gauzia flirting with the men while effortlessly singing Lise's virtuoso runs and trills, he had to admit that she was in her element in the theater. Her reputation was well merited, and from the thunderous applause at the end of her first aria, it was obvious that she had already enchanted the audience. Only when the applause had died down did the opera continue, with the appearance of Lise's young mistress, Mariella.

Mariella, in contrast to her servant, had a sad, wistful aria in which she sang of her despair at being forced to marry a rich elderly count, rather than her sweetheart, a handsome but impoverished poet. Her first phrase, exquisitely rendered, sent a shiver of recognition through Jagu's body.

Celestine.

He leaned far forward over the rim of the box, wishing that he had brought some opera gla.s.ses as he tried to make out her features. The voice, the sensitive artistry in shaping the phrases, the timbre of voice, sweet yet searingly pure, were all Celestine's. But the young woman on the stage looked nothing like her. Her hair was a rich brown and her complexion was far darker than Celestine's. But this was the theater, and all manner of magical deceptions could be achieved with lighting and greasepaint.

As the curtain fell, announcing the interval between the acts, Jagu hurried out of the box.

"Is there anything I can get you, sir?" A flunkey appeared, dressed in the same livery as the one who had dismissed him so peremptorily earlier. "A gla.s.s of white wine? Some caviar?"

"What is the name of the singer playing Mariella?"

"I believe she's called Ca.s.sard, sir. Maela Ca.s.sard."

The name meant nothing to Jagu. Was he deluding himself? Had he been so eager to find Celestine that he had imagined this Maela Ca.s.sard to be his lost love? He took one of the fluted gla.s.ses from the flunkey's tray and swallowed the chilled wine down in one gulp. There was only one way to be sure-and that was to go backstage after the performance.

"Flowers," he said on impulse. "I want a bouquet of flowers."

CHAPTER 18.

"An admirer to see you, Demoiselle Ca.s.sard," called Grebin from the pa.s.sageway.

"I said no visitors tonight-" Celestine broke off as the dressing-room door opened.

Jagu stood in the doorway, carrying a bouquet of spring flowers. Awkwardly, he held them out toward her. They stood, unmoving, staring at each other, she with her peignoir half-slipping off one shoulder, he still proffering the bouquet. The green, piquant scent of narcissi filled the little room.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your performance," he said. "I had no idea that you were such a talented actress... Celestine. Celestine."

He had tracked her down. He had recognized her, in spite of her disguise.

"You'd better come in, Jagu," she said. "And shut the door." She placed the flowers in a vase, turning her back on him so that he should not see the confusion in her eyes. For just to know that he was there, standing so close to her, had stirred up a host of buried emotions. Why did she want to feel his arms around her, holding her so tightly that the breath was crushed out of her? No, this could be no pa.s.sionate reconciliation.

He had been sent to arrest her.

I've fended for myself all these months without you, Jagu. I've become strong. Independent. Now what am I going to do?

"So what gave me away?" she asked, forcing herself to turn around to face him.

"Your voice. I'd know your voice anywhere." His face was expressionless, but she detected the faintest husky tremor as he spoke. Skilled as he was at hiding how he felt, she knew that there was too much history between them for him to stay unmoved.

She nodded. "Those clothes suit you," she said, unable to resist reaching out to run her fingertips down the lapel of his ink-blue jacket. "It's nice to see you in a color other than Commanderie black."

"You heard about the Maistre?"

She let her fingers drop away. "I heard. I just couldn't believe it at first. I still can't believe that he's... he's gone."

"Your disguise-"

"Has fooled everyone but you, Jagu. Even Gauzia, though for how long I can keep deceiving her, I'm not so sure."

"I can see that you've dyed your hair, but how have you managed to change the color of your eyes?"

"Jagu, I haven't changed anything. She's She's done it all." done it all."

His expression altered, black brows drawing together in a frown. She hadn't realized till then how much she had missed seeing that familiar expression of disapproval. "So I'm not speaking to Celestine, but to her guardian spirit?"

She forced a laugh. "Of course it's me. But you must remember to call me Maela."

He gave a little shake of the head, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. "You know why I'm here?"

"Old times' sake? Because you really wanted to see me?" She couldn't resist the barbed little taunt. "My guess would be that you've been sent to arrest me."

A slight hint of color darkened his pale face and he looked down at the floor.

"And you believed that I'd willingly go back with you to Francia to stand trial? A trial with only one possible outcome? You can't be naive enough to think that Visant would pardon me?"

He began to shake his head. "I-I don't know what I believed. I only know that I wanted to see you again."

"How touching." She sat down in front of the mirror and began to wipe the greasepaint from her face. But his words had had touched something deep within her, a buried memory of a feeling never completely acknowledged. But it was not the time to be swayed by nostalgia. Jagu was still a member of the Commanderie, and her enemy. As she checked her reflection in the gla.s.s for remaining traces of rouge, she caught a glimpse of him watching her, his dark eyes clouded, brooding, unreadable. And she felt a sudden unease. touched something deep within her, a buried memory of a feeling never completely acknowledged. But it was not the time to be swayed by nostalgia. Jagu was still a member of the Commanderie, and her enemy. As she checked her reflection in the gla.s.s for remaining traces of rouge, she caught a glimpse of him watching her, his dark eyes clouded, brooding, unreadable. And she felt a sudden unease.

Have I misread you, Jagu? Does your vow to the Commanderie count for more than your feelings for me?

She wanted to be honest with him. She owed him that, at least. She laid down the rouge-smeared cloth and turned to face him.

"Jagu, I like being Maela Ca.s.sard. I never knew before that I had a gift for opera. But every time I go out onstage, it feels like... like coming home." She reached out, taking his hands in hers, gazing pleadingly into his eyes. "I love everything about this life. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"You want me to go back to Francia without you." He looked down at her hands, still clasped around his own. He seemed to be struggling with his feelings. But this was Jagu, and she was asking him to lie. She felt his fingers tighten around hers. "Hugues Donatien is Grand Maistre. He and Visant are changing the Commanderie, and not for the better."

"Then why go back?" Her voice dropped, knowing that she was suggesting something he might find treasonable. "Ruaud is dead. Start a new life here, Jagu. The Muscobites love music. With your gift, you could easily make your reputation here."

"But my vow. You're suggesting that I break my vow." His fingers tightened again until they were almost crushing hers. "And how long do you think I could keep my ident.i.ty a secret? I haven't got a guardian spirit to change my appearance."

"Does your vow to the Commanderie mean so much to you?"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hands from hers. "I-I can't believe I'm hearing you speak this way. I thought you knew me, Celestine. I thought I knew you too. Now I see how far we've grown apart."

His words hurt her. And she didn't know how to defend herself against them. "Forget this meeting ever happened, Jagu. Forget all about me. Celestine de Joyeuse is dead. Make up some story or other; she caught a fever on Lapwing Spar and died in a fisherman's hut. Or-"

"I understand." Without another word, he turned and left the dressing room.

Had she persuaded him? And if she'd finally persuaded him to p.r.o.nounce her officially dead, why did she feel so empty now she had sent him away?

"Forget this meeting ever happened." Jagu took another mouthful of vodka, swilling the clear liquid around in the little gla.s.s. It was well past midnight, but there were still taverns open; the Muscobites liked to drink late into the night. Vodka was not really to his taste, even seasoned with bitingly hot red pepper. But it seemed close enough to the wound-cleansing spirit used by the Commanderie surgeons on the battlefield to anesthetize the pain he was feeling. Jagu took another mouthful of vodka, swilling the clear liquid around in the little gla.s.s. It was well past midnight, but there were still taverns open; the Muscobites liked to drink late into the night. Vodka was not really to his taste, even seasoned with bitingly hot red pepper. But it seemed close enough to the wound-cleansing spirit used by the Commanderie surgeons on the battlefield to anesthetize the pain he was feeling.

"Forget all about me." How could he? Yet it had felt so unnatural, talking with a stranger who had all Celestine's little mannerisms, who spoke with Celestine's voice, yet looked so utterly different. Her guardian's glamour had almost deceived him. How long would it work on others, especially Gauzia? Gauzia was no fool. She would not relish having so gifted a compet.i.tor on the operatic stage. She might already be planning ways to destroy her rival's career before it had even begun. How could he? Yet it had felt so unnatural, talking with a stranger who had all Celestine's little mannerisms, who spoke with Celestine's voice, yet looked so utterly different. Her guardian's glamour had almost deceived him. How long would it work on others, especially Gauzia? Gauzia was no fool. She would not relish having so gifted a compet.i.tor on the operatic stage. She might already be planning ways to destroy her rival's career before it had even begun.

Celestine de Joyeuse is dead.

Celestine set out for her lodgings through the dark, silent streets.

Jagu recognized me in spite of this disguise. I can't stay here. Even if he doesn't reveal my secret, it's only a matter of time before others come...

Was that why she walked so slowly, dragging her feet? Or was it that-even though she had driven him away-she had not wanted to let Jagu go? The sound of his voice alone had awakened a thousand little memories.

Why had his words hurt her so much? Why did it matter to her what he thought? She had a new life, a new ident.i.ty; she didn't need him anymore.

CHAPTER 19.

"You've been very generous to me, Amba.s.sador; I can't thank you enough." Jagu bowed to Fabien d'Abrissard as Claude whisked away the borrowed finery.

"So you were mistaken?" Abrissard asked, hardly glancing up from the dispatch he was reading.

"I was mistaken."

"You're a poor liar, Jagu." Abrissard looked up at last. "But events have overtaken us. I have some advice which you'd do well to pay attention to. I'd think twice, if I were you, about returning to Lutece." He cast the dispatch down on the desk. "Ruaud counted you among his most trusted and loyal agents. I know that for a fact, because he told me so. But you and I-and Celestine, wherever she may be- have been marked as Ruaud's supporters. You see, there's a new king in Francia: Ilsevir of Allegonde."

"Prince Ilsevir?" repeated Jagu, astonished.

"And wherever Ilsevir goes, the Rosecoeurs accompany him. How do you feel about being forced to join the Rosecoeurs?" Abrissard gazed at Jagu inquiringly.

"Forced?" Jagu did not like the idea at all. "But why would I-?"

"Because the balance of power is shifting even as we speak. Hugues Donatien has been a secret member of the Rosecoeurs for many years. He will replace Alain Friard with Ilsevir's right-hand man, Girim nel Ghislain."

"No!"

Abrissard leaned forward. "And it won't be long, I imagine, before I'm replaced by one of Ilsevir's favorites. I'm no friend to the Rosecoeurs. I was always Gobain's man, and Alienor knows it. I imagine that Ilsevir and Donatien will purge the Commanderie of any dissenting voices as soon as they can; they may even have begun the process already."

"I could never renounce my allegiance to Saint Sergius," Jagu said without hesitation. "I could never follow the tenets of the Rosecoeurs."

"I want you to know, Jagu, that for as long as I hold office, I'll give you whatever help or advice you need."