"Two tunnels ahead. And some kind of grating. That's where the air's coming from. And the spiders."

"Spiders." She pulled a face.

"Generations of spiders. My guess is that the tunnel to the right is the one Lilias used. It's much cleaner than the left-hand one."

"I should have brought my broom," Kiukiu said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Kiukiu, you don't have to come any farther."

"Oh, I'm coming, my lord, broom or no. I've got to make sure you get safely back."

"And protect me from the spiders." She could hear self-mockery in his voice now.

"Oh-I didn't mean-"

"My guess," he said, turning into the left-hand tunnel, "is that this one leads to the East Wing."

His voice came back hollowly to her, muffled by the dusty darkness ahead. Strands of powdery webs tickled her face, clinging to her hair and hands.

"Pah!" She spat out a wisp of spidersilk that clung to her mouth.

"Another door." She heard him rattling the handle. "Locked." He fished out a ring of keys from his pocket. "Here, hold the candle, Kiukiu."

As he tried key after key, half-forgotten fragments of stories began to swirl like wisps of moor mist around Kiukiu's mind. Stories of the lost brides of past Drakhaons, walled up in towers and left to die, of unfaithful wives incarcerated with the rotting corpses of their murdered lovers. Tales of gouts of black blood dripping through into the rooms below from hidden chambers above, the muffled, agonized cries of the tortured heard through walls a handspan thick . . .

And all in the East Wing.

Several neglected chores began to nag. Suddenly the prospect of scrubbing a tubful of washing seemed infinitely preferable to waiting in this cold, spider-infested labyrinth.

She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Perhaps I should go back. . . ." she whispered.

"Ah!" Lord Gavril said triumphantly. The key had turned in the lock-and the ancient door slowly opened.

"Sosia'll be wondering where I am," she said, hating herself for sounding so fainthearted.

"I'll tell Sosia you were working for me. I'll think of some excuse or other-she won't dare to go against the word of the Drakhaon, will she?"

His face, in the flickering candlelight, was twisted into a smile of wry self-deprecation.

"No," she said unhappily.

A shaft of daylight, pale as milk, lit the passageway ahead. Lord Gavril, leading the way, stumbled and almost fell, putting out one hand to save himself.

"Take care," he said. "The floorboards are rotting away."

Kiukiu looked down and saw that he had nearly put his foot right through a worm-eaten board. A musty smell of decaying wood rose from the hole.

"Didn't Kostya say Doctor Kazimir was overfond of his liquor?" Lord Gavril said, testing the floor ahead, one step at a time. "It's a wonder he didn't fall and break his neck."

Lord Gavril reached the source of the light: a great oriel window, boarded and bricked up, with just a few cracked panes at the top still letting in the daylight . . . and the rain.

"Look," Kiukiu said, awed, forgetting all about Sosia. She could see now that they stood on a balcony with an ironwork balustrade that ran around three of the four sides. Opposite them a dilapidated marble stair curved drunkenly downward to the ground floor, which was worked in the same patterned tiles as those to be found in the Great Hall.

There had been plaster on the walls and in places, fragments of fine gilt moldings still remained; the rest had faded to a chalky gray and was marred by great, dark blotches of damp and a telltale rash of mold.

Lord Gavril set off toward the stairs and almost tripped as something small and furry shot out from under his feet and went squeaking away into the shadows.

"Mice," Kiukiu placed her hand on her chest, trying to still the panicked thudding of her heart. "Or rats . . . ?"

"What a dismal place," Lord Gavril said, his voice echoing around the cavernous hall. "If I were Doctor Kazimir, which of these rooms would I have chosen as my laboratory?"

He had begun to open the dark doors that led off the landing, one after another. Kiukiu hovered behind him, unwilling to look inside, dreading that she might glimpse the remains of some nameless atrocity committed by Lord Gavril's ancestors. Bloodstained specters of mutilated brides floated through her imagination, drifted their skeletal fingers through her hair, whispered her name with dust-choked charnel voices. . . .

"If you are gone too long, my lord, the Bogatyr may come looking for you," she said.

He did not reply. She looked around-and found herself alone. He must have gone into one of the rooms.

"Lord Gavril?" she said in a small voice.

Then she heard a hollow footfall coming from inside one of the open doors. She crept on tiptoe across the dusty boards and peeped inside.

"Look. Look at this," he said in soft, awed tones.

The walls were lined with shelves, just like Sosia's pantries, Kiukiu thought. And on the shelves were jars: each with gilded labels with black, curled writing on them. But as Kiukiu could not read, the letters meant nothing to her.

Lord Gavril was standing at a long table, examining the clutter of strange objects ranged along its top. Glass phials, jars, and alembics, some with murky liquids still inside, were connected by a complicated system of tubes, pipes, and coils.

Kiukiu couldn't help giggling.

"So that's what Doctor Kazimir was up to," she said. "No wonder he was always drunk!"

"Hm?" Lord Gavril was gently blowing the film of dust from an open ledger.

"It's a still! Oleg's got jars and pipes like this in the cellar. He makes aquavit and plum brandy-strong enough to rot your entrails, Sosia says." She ran one finger along the rim of the table and absently examined the gray dust stain it left. He did not answer; he was thumbing feverishly through the pages of the ledger, which were filled with a fine, spidery handwriting.

"Look at this mess!" She reached the end of the long table where the neat arrangements of pipes and bottles ended in chaos. Smashed glass littered the floor and strange stains of green and acid-yellow had corroded the wood. More livid splashes stained the floor and the walls. It was as if someone had dashed the construction to the floor in a fury.

Lord Gavril closed the ledger, sending up another little puff of dust into the air.

Kiukiu sneezed.

"I have all I need for now," he said tersely.

"We're going?"

He shut the door carefully behind them.

"The candle's burning low," Kiukiu said, shielding the wavering flame with her hand as another damp draft set it wildly flickering.

"Lead the way, then."

When they reached the great door that led back to the secret passage, he put down the ledger to find the keys.

"What's this?" He straightened up, holding out his hand for her to see what he had picked up.

It was a slender glass phial, barely the length of her little finger.

"For perfume?" she said. "Or one of the essences Sosia uses to flavor puddings: vanilla, almond, rose?"

"But why here? And look, there's some residue." He sniffed the phial, pulling a sour face. "It smells acrid. Not the least like perfume . . ."

"Poison . . ."

Kiukiu felt herself wracked by a sudden bitter chill; glancing up, she saw-behind Lord Gavril-a man, standing watching them, a shadow dimly etched against the pale shaft of frosted daylight.

Lord Gavril whipped around.

"Father! Wait!" he cried. His voice came echoing back in shivers of sound.

But even as Kiukiu forced herself to look again, she saw that the revenant had gone.

"Must have been a . . . a trick of the light," she said.

He said nothing. When she dared to look up at his face she saw that his eyes were set, staring grimly into the empty passageway.

"You saw him too." She felt cold and sick. The air, when she tried to take in a breath, tasted bitter as winter frost. saw him too." She felt cold and sick. The air, when she tried to take in a breath, tasted bitter as winter frost.

He weighed the little glass tube in his palm. "Of course. There must be another passageway that leads from here to the Great Hall." He seemed to have forgotten she was there. "A whole network of passages-even one that leads out into the grounds, outside the kastel walls . . . Kiukiu!"

"Yes, my lord?" She gazed up into his eyes. So blue, she could drown in them. The fear and the cold receded.

"I want you to give me your word. That you'll say nothing of what has happened here today. My life-and yours-may depend on it."

The earnestness of his voice, the intensity of his blue gaze, mesmerized her. She looked down and saw that his hands were on her shoulders.

"I give you my word," she said.

His hands-touching her! As she led the way back down the grimy passageway away from the door, she felt so light, so airy, she could have danced.

You didn't have to ask me to swear secrecy, my lord. Can't you see that I am utterly devoted to you?

CHAPTER 10.

On the fifth evening the Orlov carriages rattled across a broad, fertile river plain toward the setting sun and the distant shimmering mirage that was Mirom, capital city of Muscobar.

As they drew near, the mirage became stone, and the light of the setting sun gilded the spires and painted onion domes of Mirom's monasteries and cathedrals. Elysia leaned close to the dusty window to gaze out. She had never visited Mirom in her life, and she wanted to see if the city lived up to the many reports of its wealth and splendor.

Centuries ago, Mirom had been the capital of the powerful empire of Rossiya. Once, before the downfall of the imperial family, the emperors had held court here. On the death of the last emperor, Artamon, his sons had scrapped like dogs for the throne-and eventually the empire had been divided up among their warring families: Muscobar; Smarna to the south; and Tielen, Azhkendir, and Khitari to the far north. The Grand Dukes of Mirom still claimed blood descent from the Great Artamon, though genealogists disputed the claim.

Stiff though she was and weary from the rigors of the overland journey, Elysia was enchanted with her first view of the city of Mirom. The cathedral domes were bright with colored swirls of mosaic tiles in rich reds, purples, and blues, and bristled with golden spires.

The great gateway under which they passed bore the Orlov crest: two proud sea-eagles, wings outstretched, emblazoned in blue, white, and gold.

And then they were in the city, clattering over cobbles as, flanked by the White Guard, the carriages rolled toward a broad tree-lined boulevard.

"Home at last," cried Astasia. And then she let out another piercing sigh.

"And not before time," said Eupraxia. "How wearisome this journey has been. The sea route is much more pleasant."

"Praxia, you know Mama was seasick last time we came by sea. Perhaps Prince Eugene has unwittingly spared her."

Elysia was still looking out of the window. In the mellow dusk, lamplighters were lighting the street lamps that glowed along each side of the wide avenue. The carriage wheels ran more smoothly now, as if rolling on soft-milled gravel. Ahead lay high walls interspersed with ornately spiked ironwork railings; in the center were gilded iron gates that also bore the Orlov crest finely worked in metal.

In the wide avenues Elysia saw people stopping beneath the trees and staring. But she had heard no cheers of welcome, only the incessant clatter of the horses' hooves and the jingle of the harnesses. Perhaps the comings and goings of the ruling family were a commonplace event to the people of Mirom. . . .

Then the carriages wheeled through the gates and into the vast courtyard, making straight for the central building. It was not until they drew close that Elysia saw a second archway constructed in the palace itself and realized they were about to drive through into an inner courtyard.

"Home at last," Astasia said again as the carriage shuddered to a halt. She flung open the door and leapt nimbly down before one of the liveried servants could hurry forward to help her. "Eupraxia, make sure Madame Andar is made comfortable. See she has rooms in the West Wing near to your own. I have things to do." And she went running off before Eupraxia could stop her.

Eupraxia shook her head, tutting fondly. "Still rushing round like a giddy schoolgirl. What will Prince Eugene think? What kind of a bride will she make?"

Elysia was staring up at the painted stucco facades of the Winter Palace: walls of gray and blue; pillars and carvings highlighted in cold, winter white. Inside the tall windows she caught the glitter of glass crystals in chandeliers and polished mirrors. A palace of ice and snow, A palace of ice and snow, she thought. she thought. I only hope its inhabitants haven't hearts of ice as well. I only hope its inhabitants haven't hearts of ice as well.

"A word of advice, Madame Andar," Eupraxia whispered in her ear. "When you are preparing for your audience with His Grace the Grand Duke, make sure you wear appropriate court dress. It would be deemed an impropriety to appear inappropriately dressed."

Court dress? Elysia took out the few clothes she had brought with her, shaking her head over each as she laid them on the bed. There was nothing remotely grand here. Her life in Vermeille had not included balls or imperial receptions. Vermeille was a republic; a revolution long before she was born had ousted the ruling family and established a democratically elected council.

Perhaps she could borrow a court gown? She had no wish to offend the Grand Duke by dressing inappropriately and thereby prejudicing Gavril's cause. . . .

"How ridiculous!" she whispered, furiously casting down the last gown on the bed. "My son's future is at stake, and here I am having to worry about dresses dresses?"

There was a discreet tap at the door and Eupraxia appeared, bearing a little tray. A delicious smell wafted from a porcelain bowl on the tray as Eupraxia set it down.

"Astasia thought you might need some refreshment, madame, so I've brought you some bouillon to restore you after the journey."

"How thoughtful," Elysia said distractedly. "But right now, Eupraxia, what I most need is some advice. Which of these gowns is closest to court dress?"

Eupraxia looked down at the dresses and Elysia saw a little frown furrow her plump, pleasant face.