"But the Drakhaoul can only meld with one of the Nagarian family." She turned to look at him, the flames staining her pale face with fiery shadows. "Or is that just a legend? Could it meld with anyone?"

"If Eugene wants the Drakhaoul's powers for himself, then Francia is in real danger." Jagu prodded at the fire with a stick, sending a sizzle of sparks up into the starry dark. "He's conquered the five princedoms of Old Rossiya; why would he stop there? His agents must know that our navy is half the size of his northern fleet... and no match for his alchymical weapons."

"But if we arrest Linnaius," she said, her voice low, "Eugene's in-genieurs will soon find it impossible to continue to manufacture alchymical weapons."

"Our mission is to destroy the Drakhaoul, not to go after Linnaius," he said sternly. "No matter what our personal desires may be, we must obey the Maistre's orders."

To his surprise, she let out a little giggle. "Oh, Jagu, must you always be so punctilious? We're not at the Forteresse now." He saw her adding another dash of the monks' liqueur to her tea.

"Go easy there, Celestine," he said, reaching for the flask. "A little too much of that stuff and you'll wake up with a pounding headache."

"You're such a spoilsport," she said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the flask away and dangling it just out of his reach. "If you want it, you'll have to come and get it."

He made a lunge and missed. Laughing triumphantly, she took another long sip of her tea.

"Give that here!" He lunged again, catching hold of the flask. But she wouldn't let go and he ended up almost falling into her lap.

"Ask nicely, Jagu." Her breath was sweet with the gentian liqueur. Was she drunk? Her cheeks were flushed in the firelight and she was looking at him with a teasing, provocative smile.

"Please." He knelt beside her.

"On one condition, then." Her speech was becoming slurred.

"You have a little more too." She uncorked the flask and held it up to his lips; the liqueur poured out, trickling down his chin.

"Enough!" he said, trying to wrest the flask from her hands. In the tussle, she fell backward and he found himself lying sprawled on top of her. The flask rolled away across the dried leaves.

In the chilly Arkhelskoye tavern, he had managed to restrain himself. But now his self-restraint suddenly snapped and he pressed his mouth to hers. He heard her let out a m.u.f.fled sound, more like surprise than protest.

What am I doing? Panicked, he pushed her away from him. Panicked, he pushed her away from him.

"Why did you stop?" she murmured. Her lids were drooping. "That was nice..."

Because if he didn't stop immediately, he'd never be able to hold himself back.

She nestled her head against his shoulder, like a sleepy, trusting child.

Taking advantage of her when she's had too much to drink? I'd never forgive myself.

When they boarded the Dame Blanche, Dame Blanche, Captain Peillac handed Jagu a sealed letter bearing the Commanderie's crest. Captain Peillac handed Jagu a sealed letter bearing the Commanderie's crest.

"It seems we have been engaged to perform before the Emperor and his new bride in Mirom." Jagu pa.s.sed Celestine the message.

"'The ship will put in at the port of Khazan, where you will disembark and receive further instructions,'" she read. "What does the Maistre want us to do in Muscobar? What can have happened while we've been away?"

But Jagu seemed in no mood to talk; he was busy transcribing the pencil sketches he had done aboard Chaikin's boat to make a rough map of the coastline between Arkhelskoye and Seal Cove.

"Must you do that now?" Celestine asked, kicking her heels against the wooden side of the bunk. "Can't this wait until we reach dry land?"

"We need something to show for this mission," he said, not even glancing up from his work. His face was drawn in a frown of what she a.s.sumed to be concentration. "I don't like to return empty-handed ..."

So his simmering moodiness was caused by their failure to secure the golden crook? "The Maistre will understand. He knew that the monks were unlikely to hand over their prized relic. At least we've learned enough to prepare for a return visit." No, there had to be more to it than that. There was something else troubling him and, knowing Jagu, he was likely to keep brooding over it for days rather than share his fears with her. She tried a change of subject.

"I hope my hair will have grown enough to look presentable at court. Perhaps I'll have to buy a wig!"

"At least you can still practice," muttered Jagu. "I can't remember the last time I touched a keyboard. I'll need to lock myself in a music room when we reach Mirom. Maistre de Joyeuse always used to say-" He broke off. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Jagu." His comment had been entirely spontaneous. "You know it's better to talk of him, to keep him alive that way." She smiled, although her heart still ached whenever she thought of Henri. "In fact, I was going to suggest that we perform 'October Seas' at the recital. With words by Mirom's favorite poet, the Empress and her court will love it."

A large trunk was awaiting them at the Khazan customs house. Jagu had it carried to their lodgings and set about the task of trying to open the rusted catches with his pocketknife.

"I can't wait to see what's inside!" Celestine hovered excitedly behind him.

"d.a.m.n!" Jagu shook his right hand. He had managed to open the final clasp, so Celestine threw open the lid as he knelt back on his heels, nursing his injured finger.

"Look, Jagu." There were clothes, neatly packed in layers of lavender-scented tissue, leather folders of music, and many other personal necessities they had been obliged to do without for so long. She plunged her hands in among the soft folds, drawing out her mulberry silk concert gown with a cry of delight. "There's a letter here. It's in code. Here; you're the cryptographer." She turned to pa.s.s it to him and saw that he was trying to trim the broken nail, just as if he were a fine lady of the court.

"It'll soon grow again," she said.

He hardly looked up, frowning at the damage. Over the years they had worked together, she had come to accept that the fastidious care Jagu took of his hands was one of his personal quirks. She rummaged in the trunk and found her ivory box of cosmetics; inside lay a porcelain pot of almond oil hand cream. "Here." She pa.s.sed it to him. "This will restore a dewy softness to my lord's chapped skin."

He looked up at her, unsmiling at her little joke. "A keyboard player must always take good care of his hands," he said, scowling. "They are his livelihood."

"Just decipher the letter," she said, raising her eyes to heaven, "then when we know what our orders are, you can get back to your manicure."

With a sigh, he took up the letter and went to the desk to work out the encryption. About ten minutes later, he looked up and said, "We're to be guests of the Francian amba.s.sador to Muscobar, Fabien d'Abrissard. A coach has been arranged to take us cross-country to the River Nieva. From there, we travel by ship to the capital."

The coach jolted violently and Celestine grabbed at the leather strap to keep herself from being flung into Jagu's lap.

"Another pothole," he said, grimacing. "The Emperor needs to put some money into improving the public highways in Muscobar."

"You'd rather be on horseback, wouldn't you?" Celestine said, righting herself and smoothing out her skirts. It felt odd to be wearing a dress after so many weeks dressed as a boy.

He gave a terse grunt. He was a Guerrier; of course he would rather be outside in the fresh air.

In Khazan, Celestine had indulged in the luxury of a long bath, sc.r.a.ping the ingrained dirt of travel from her body, lathering with sweet lavender-scented soap. Jagu had shaved off the many weeks' growth of dark beard and, with clean-washed hair and smartly dressed in a well-tailored jacket and breeches of charcoal grey, no longer looked like a vengeful prophet or mad Azhkendi monk.

"If only it were winter, then we could travel by troika. Wouldn't that be romantic? Wrapped up in furs, skimming over the snow, listening to the chiming of the sleigh bells..."

"It was good of the Francian amba.s.sador to send this coach to bring us from Khazan to Mirom," Jagu allowed.

"Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard and the Maistre are old friends, I believe," Celestine said. She couldn't help smiling as she remembered the first time Ruaud de Lanvaux had introduced them...

"Why are they doing that?" Jagu pointed out of the window at the farmworkers who had stopped at the side of the road as they drove past, all bowing respectfully. "We're not royalty."

"As I understand it, the peasants here are little more than bond slaves to their n.o.ble landlords. Or so Count Velemir told me once.

That's why they behave so deferentially. I wonder if the new emperor will change all that... although it won't make him very popular with the Mirom aristocracy..."

Celestine joined Jagu up on deck as their ship slowly approached the city of Mirom, to hear Jagu let out a low whistle.

"Look over there."

A great number of five-masted men-o'-war lay at anchor in the naval dockyard close to the magnificent colonnaded facade of Admiralty House.

"They must be the Emperor's war fleet," she said. "Can you make out any names?"

Jagu took out his little spygla.s.s and trained it on the forest of masts. "The Rogned." Rogned." He turned to her. "The flagship of the Tielen Southern Fleet! Something's up, Celestine, can't you sense it?" He turned to her. "The flagship of the Tielen Southern Fleet! Something's up, Celestine, can't you sense it?"

Celestine did not like to think what the presence of this vast fleet a.s.sembling so near the Straits might mean for Francia. "We must alert the amba.s.sador."

"Yet it's so blatant." Jagu continued to scan the vessels. "Perhaps it's just a show of strength, designed to warn off any potential rivals."

"We can't a.s.sume anything when it comes to Eugene of Tielen."

It was a taxing piece of navigation for the ship's master to negotiate the narrow waterways, as the ship, jostled by the many merchantmen and smaller craft, eventually reached the city docks at Mirom.

"Our best plan is to head straight for the emba.s.sy and consult Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard." Celestine was leafing through the correspondence from the amba.s.sador. A vile stench, so strong it almost made her retch, wafted across the bows. She clapped one hand to cover her mouth and nose. "What is that?" that?"

"The tanneries, I'd guess," Jagu said. "Mirom has a thriving trade in fur and skins."

"Don't tell me, you endured far worse in Enhirre?"

"It's so hot there that dead flesh rots in a matter of-"

"Yes, yes." She raised one hand to silence him; he had regaled her on too many occasions with his tales of his time in the desert. "Now, when was our first engagement, tomorrow night?"

A sudden keen gust of wind almost blew the papers from her hand.

"You should go below," Jagu said sternly. "Breathing in this air is bad for your vocal cords."

She glared at him. They had been making music together since they were students, yet he still treated her as if she were a child. The fact that he was right only increased her annoyance.

"Welcome to Mirom." Fabien d'Abrissard rose from his desk to greet them. A couple of secretaries discreetly scuttled out a side door. Celestine curtsied and Jagu bowed to the amba.s.sador. "Demoiselle, you look more lovely each time I see you."

She caught a sardonic glint in his keen glance. "You flatter me, Amba.s.sador," she replied dryly.

"I meant it, dear Celestine." Abrissard abandoned the formal tone and reached out to shake Jagu's hand. "Lieutenant. It's good to see a familiar face from Lutece. How is Maistre de Lanvaux?"

"He sends his warmest greetings," said Celestine, and handed him the folder of letters.

"Let's have some tea." Abrissard tugged the brocade bellpull and a tall, distinguished-looking butler brought in a silver tray of tea. "We'll serve ourselves, Claude," said Abrissard. "You can go."

Claude withdrew, his lips pursed in a slight curl of disdain.

"Claude is such a stickler for etiquette," said Abrissard, "but we need to talk, and if we'd waited until he had served tea in the correct manner, we'd have lost valuable time. Cream? Sugar?"

"Cream... and a little sugar," said Celestine, who had longed for such treats during their time on the road.

"Black for me, thank you." Jagu rose to take the delicate porcelain cup and saucer. Celestine saw that Abrissard was barely hiding a smile.

"Mortification of the flesh, even when it comes to tea, eh, Lieutenant? Be a little kind to your stomach in Muscobar; they take their tea very strong here. I thank G.o.d for Claude, who knows exactly how long to steep the leaves to extract the most subtle flavor."

"We caught sight of the Southern Fleet setting sail," said Jagu.

The playful little smile faded.

Jagu leaned forward in his chair. "It's not just a.s.sembling for show, is it? Is Francia in danger?"

"We know that Eugene has a significant tactical advantage over every other country in the quadrant." Fabien d'Abrissard lowered his voice. "The Tielens have developed a means of communicating directly over vast distances, just as I am talking to you now."

Celestine started, almost spilling her tea into the saucer. Her father's invention: the Vox Aethyria, stolen by Kaspar Linnaius.

"How does such a system work?" Jagu's habitual frown had reappeared.

"As far as we know, it involves two machines that send and convey the voice through the air."

Jagu's frown deepened. "That sounds suspiciously like a device that uses the Forbidden Arts."

"If we could capture one of these machines and discover its secrets, then Francia could be so much better placed to defend herself against Eugene's ambitions."

"You'd use Eugene's devices against him?" Celestine stared at the amba.s.sador.

"We'd be foolish not to," Abrissard said bluntly. "So, make the most of your time in the Winter Palace to learn everything you can about the Emperor. It's an invaluable opportunity."

As Celestine descended the emba.s.sy staircase, the dark red silk of her concert gown whispering softly as she walked, Fabien d'Abrissard appeared to greet her.

"I hope you won't think it too forward of me," he said, holding out a little box tied with mulberry ribbons. She smiled at him as she opened the box. After so many months playing at being a boy, it was delightful to receive compliments and little gifts again.

"An orchid? Why thank you, Amba.s.sador," she said, clasping the delicate bloom to her heart. "It's a perfect complement to the shade of my gown." And the crimson-spotted orchid would also help to disguise the fact that, even artfully arranged, her hair was still un-fashionably short for a woman of society.

"You realize, don't you, that the Emperor is going to attend? He claims he has no ear for music, but he's indulging the wishes of his new bride."

"The Emperor himself?" Jagu appeared, stuffing the music into his leather case. "We've never performed before an emperor before."

"So make no mistakes, then, Jagu," said Celestine mischievously, "or we could cause an international incident."

The Emperor was waiting for the Empress to finish her toilette, reading through for the second time that day the latest dispatches from Smarna. The situation in the capital, Colchise, was becoming more tense by the day, with the students holding rallies to protest against the New Rossiyan regime. How was he expected to sit calmly through a musical recital when matters were unraveling so swiftly?

He was so on edge that when Gustave appeared, he started up, expecting the worst. But Gustave merely bowed and presented a sheet covered in an eccentrically looping hand.

"A letter from the d.u.c.h.ess of Rosenholm, highness."

"What does Aunt Greta want now?" Eugene said, sinking back on his chair.

"The d.u.c.h.ess writes on behalf of her neighbor, Oskar Alvborg, recently invalided out of the army, asking your imperial highness to reinstate him."

"Count Alvborg?" Eugene frowned at the mere mention of the name. "The arrogance of the man, taking advantage of my aunt's sympathetic nature! He disobeyed my orders in action-and, as a result, the Drakhaoul destroyed his regiment. He's fortunate that I didn't have him executed on the battlefield for insubordination. Send the standard reply, Gustave. And, of course, my respects and good wishes to the d.u.c.h.ess..." Gustave bowed again and was about to withdraw when Eugene suddenly said, "I want you to inform me the instant you hear any news from Smarna, Gustave. Understood?"