"I'm aware that he is one of the most brilliant scientific minds of our age." Eugene could feel his sense of irritation growing. "Your religious courts sought to stifle that genius, Abrissard. I like to think that Tielen is more enlightened. We encourage our scientists to develop their ideas."

"Perhaps I have not spoken plainly enough in this matter," Abrissard said stiffly. "King Enguerrand does not request Linnaius's extradition; he demands it on behalf of the Holy Commanderie."

"Demands?" Eugene was not accustomed to being spoken to so bluntly.

"The king suspects you have never been fully furnished with details of the heretical crimes Linnaius committed in Francia." Abrissard drew a folded paper from his jacket and handed it to Eugene.

Eugene's first instinct was to tear the paper to pieces in front of the ambassador and let them drop to the fine parquet floor. But he resisted the temptation, glancing briefly at the long list of indictments. Then he looked again at Abrissard and smiled.

"Linnaius's researches have taken him far from Tielen and I have not the slightest idea when he will return. Ask anyone from my household here and they will confirm what I have told you."

Fabien d'Abrissard stared at him, his face a mask of disdain. "The king will not be pleased to hear this news. He had hoped that Tielen and Francia might achieve a better understanding by cooperating in this endeavor. But if Tielen continues to protect this criminal, Francia will be obliged to take matters into its own hands."

So this is the crux of the matter, thought Eugene. A threat.

"Let me remind you, Ambassador," he said in his softest, most silken tones, "that Tielen has always replied in the strongest possible terms to interventions from Francia-and will do so again, if need be. Good-day."

Abrissard stood speechless a moment. Then he gave a curt little bow and withdrew.

Eugene waited until the doors to the Willow Room had closed, then looked down again at the list of crimes attributed to Kaspar Linnaius: Heresy. Necromancy. Pyromancy. Alchymy . . .

He must warn the Magus to be on his guard. But he had no idea why Enguerrand of Francia had chosen this moment to demand his extradition.

"Gustave!" he called.

"Ambassador d'Abrissard has just left, highness," Gustave said as he appeared. "He declined any offers of refreshment. He seemed in quite a hurry."

"Get me our embassy in Francia," Eugene said, making for his study.

"But your bath, highness-"

"I need to know what's going on at the court of King Enguerrand. Something has changed, Gustave, and we were not made fully aware of it. No matter how insignificant it might seem, I want to be kept informed. Day or night."

"Right away!" Gustave hurried away down the corridor.

Still smarting from Fabien d'Abrissard's insolent manner, Eugene stopped at a window and gazed out into the park. He could just see the ambassador's coach and horses as they climbed the winding road, making toward the gilded gates.

What did Enguerrand of Francia really want with Kaspar Linnaius? Was all this talk of heresy just a front? Had word of Linnaius's genius with weaponry spread beyond the borders of New Rossiya?

And . . . most strange of all, why had Abrissard not once mentioned Smarna?

"Don't worry, old friend," Eugene murmured to the absent Magus, "I won't let them have you."

Karila held out her hands, palms full of little seeds for her tiny golden-eyed finches to feed upon. Eugene watched her rapt face, eyes wide with surprise and delight as the little birds came hopping down from their perches in the aviary and alighted on her hands, pecking with rapid darting movements.

She began to giggle. "Their beaks tickle!" Others fluttered over her head, their wings whirring softly.

Her delight was infectious. He had come down to the menagerie in a stormy mood, still smarting from his latest defeats in Smarna. The sound of her laughter had driven away the clouds of ill temper. She was so happy in this garden paradise he had created for her.

She gazed up at him, still smiling.

"I can imagine I've traveled all the way to Khitari here. You're a magician, Papa!"

He smiled back. "One day you shall travel to Khitari with me. When you're stronger."

"Is it true, Papa? That the children make kites out of paper, in the shape of dragons? And they fly them on a special dragon day?"

"All true. And if you would like to fly a dragon kite, I can send to Khitari for one, especially for you." But he would have to fly it for her, he thought sadly, looking at the thinness of her arms. With her crooked little body, she would not have the strength to control one of the magnificent scarlet and gold kites.

"I'd like to play with some Khitari children. I'd like them to teach me how to fly a kite. And to tell me all about dragons . . ." She gave a little sigh. Her face was suddenly blank and sad.

"What is it, Kari?"

"Best of all I'd like a friend, Papa. Someone to talk to, to play with. Someone eight years old too."

"I shall have Lovisa arrange it. There must be many noble children your age-"

She put one hand on his. "A real friend, Papa. Not someone who has been told to be nice to me because I am your daughter."

He felt a pang of sympathy. It was a hard fact to come to terms with, one he had been forced to learn very early in childhood: Royal children were different. He went down on one knee, still holding her hand, and looked directly into her eyes. "Kari, real friendship is very hard to find when you are born a princess. Or a prince. But one day you will find a companion, someone who values you for your true worth and not your title or your riches. I promise you that."

He felt something nudge his leg; surprised, he turned and saw one of the little Khitari deer staring at him with liquid brown eyes.

Karila started to giggle again. "Look, Papa, it wants you to stroke it!"

He let his hand run over the softness of its smooth spotted flank and it nuzzled its head up against his arm. It seemed utterly unafraid.

"I shall call you Pippi," Karila said, putting out her hand too. "Here, Pippi." The little deer was startled by her sudden movement and bolted away to join the others. Karila eagerly started out after it, but in her haste she lost her balance and tripped, falling headlong onto the damp grass.

All the little deer scattered.

Eugene went to help his daughter up but she thrust him away.

"I can manage!" Her voice was taut with hurt pride.

Clumsily, awkwardly, she struggled to her feet again. Her pretty blue-striped dress was green with grass stains. Watching her made his heart ache. She was brave, his little crippled daughter, and she was proud. And he would have given anything in the whole world to make her twisted body straight again.

He felt her hand slip into his.

"Let's go back now, Papa."

Somewhere in the palace, musicians began tuning up. Reedy squeaks were punctuated by low brass groanings, more akin to the sounds of some great beast in pain than musical notes. Eugene groaned too as he read the latest dispatches, putting his hands to his head. How could he think coherently amid this racket?

Gustave had marked the last communique with a secret cypher meaning "of special significance." It was a transcript of a message sent by Vox Aethyria from one of his agents in Francia: Royal naval regatta off coast of Fenez-Tyr. King Enguerrand present on royal barge. Many newly built men-o'-war and frigates.

Were his instincts right? Was Francia arming itself for some new military initiative? Was New Rossiya under threat of attack? This did not fit the picture his agents had built up of the pious Enguerrand, who preferred to spend his days in prayer and good works.

Enguerrand would never dare attack us. He's too busy with his clerics and his Commanderie inquisitions to look beyond his own borders.

There came a tap at his door.

"Enter."

He looked up and saw to his astonishment that his visitor was Kaspar Linnaius. The Magus must have just returned from his travels, for he rarely came inside the palace; it was their custom for Eugene to visit him in his laboratory, where no one could overhear their conversations. So this unexpected visit must mean he had urgent news.

He raised his voice in case anyone was listening. "So you've come to discuss the fireworks for the ball, Linnaius? I hope you've prepared some surprises for us this year."

"Oh I think your highness will not be disappointed." Linnaius glanced warily around the study. "I'll just take a few precautions," he said softly. He moved from the threshold to the windows, scattering grains of colorless dust on the polished floorboards as he walked, enclosing them both in a circle. Then he drew a tiny bone whistle from his robes and breathed into it until it emitted an unpleasant, high-pitched hiss. The dust granules began to vibrate in sympathy with the whistle's ear-grating note, then they slowly rose into the air, encompassing Linnaius and Eugene in a subtly shimmering canopy, almost invisible to the naked eye.

"What is that dust? What does it do?"

"Imagine, if you will, the equivalent of shadowsilk in sound, highness. Anyone passing by your study would catch nothing of our conversation but an inaudible murmur."

"You never cease to amaze me, Linnaius. And what will you call this new invention of yours?"

" 'Whisperdust' seems appropriate . . . but a better title may yet present itself. Now we may talk without fear of being overheard."

"Our agent in Smarna has confirmed it. Gavril Nagarian is very much alive. Alive and waiting to lure me into another confrontation. God knows how, he seemed a broken man back in Muscobar." And suddenly he found himself saying what, until now, he had not put into words. "Why did I spare his life? I should have sent him to his death on the scaffold."

"And why did did you spare his life?" asked Linnaius slyly. you spare his life?" asked Linnaius slyly.

Eugene sighed; the old man knew him better than he knew himself. "I wanted to learn his secrets. And now he is free and more powerful than before."

"Powerful, maybe, but you have Artamon's Tears. And I believe I have finally located the lost land they call Ty Nagar."

Eugene felt a dark thrill of excitement. "Then what's to stop us? We shall leave tonight-"

"We can be in Ty Nagar in a matter of hours, highness. Oh-and in case you still require her services, I have brought Kiukirilya." Linnaius loosened his outer robe, revealing a thick golden chain around his neck. Suspended from the chain hung a delicate, jewellike glass in the shape of a lotus flower.

"Her spirit?" Eugene's voice dropped to a whisper. "Trapped in there? How is that possible?"

"It is a trap that can only be sprung when the spirit leaves the body, highness. A shaman is always vulnerable to such snares."

"And the body?" Eugene was fascinated in spite of himself. "Doesn't it decay without the spirit to animate it?"

"She lies in a deep sleep. The longer she lies asleep, the harder it will be to reunite body and spirit."

"She'll die?" The shaman girl's spirit burned blue as a peerless spring sky; leaning closer, Eugene caught shimmers of pale iridescent colors against the blue, like drifts of mist. "Then perhaps you'd better wake her. She's too useful to us."

"I believe you have another official duty to be fulfilled first." Linnaius gestured toward the window. "And I have to check that my artificiers have prepared the fireworks display exactly as I instructed."

Until then, Eugene had been so intent on the Magus's news that he had not noticed how effectively the whisperdust had screened out the cacophony created by his busy household.

"The ball." He let out a groan. Just when his elusive goal seemed a little more attainable, there was this farce of a ball to endure. But he had promised Karila he would be there. He could not let her down again. And then there was Astasia . . .

"As soon as the Dievona Bonfires are lit, then."

"And your alibi?"

Damn it all, must he think up an alibi as well? Of course, now that he was Emperor, he could not just ride off hunting; he had to tell a hundred officials and more. And yet, a solitary hunting trip seemed as good an alibi as any other. . . .

"Leave it to me."

"Very good." Linnaius bowed.

Eugene saw him raise his hand to collapse the canopy of whisperdust. "Wait!" he said, remembering. There was one more matter of some urgency left to discuss. "Linnaius, does the name Fabien d'Abrissard mean anything to you?"

The Magus slowly shook his head. "A Francian name. No, I recall no one called d'Abrissard."

"He is the new Francian ambassador. It seems that King Enguerrand is most eager that I hand you over to his inquisitors. In fact, the word used was 'demands.' " All the while he was speaking, Eugene was watching Linnaius closely to see how he reacted. But Linnaius showed little reaction, other than to quirk one wispy white brow.

"And how did your imperial highness answer?"

Eugene found himself smiling. "How do you think, Magus? An emperor does not take kindly to such terms as 'demand' or 'insist.' " He leaned toward the Magus, earnest now. "I have never asked what caused you to flee Francia. I have not the slightest interest in what happened before you came to Tielen. But Abrissard is not a man to take no for an answer. They mean to hunt you down, old friend. I will protect you in every way I can, but please take care. They are out for your blood."

The Emperor's warning still tolling in his head, Kaspar Linnaius went out onto the terrace to supervize the installation of his fireworks. In his grey robes, he passed all but unnoticed among the harassed servants who were now hurrying to and fro with trays of clinking wine glasses and baskets of silver cutlery.

Fabien d'Abrissard. The name meant nothing to him. And as far as he knew, the Francian courts had ensured that no one among his fellow magisters at the Thaumaturgical College had survived the purge-not even the students. One devout order in particular, the Commanderie, had devoted itself to the cause with great zeal. Their leader claimed to be divinely inspired in his quest to rid the world of daemonic influences. He was even said to be able to summon angels. The name meant nothing to him. And as far as he knew, the Francian courts had ensured that no one among his fellow magisters at the Thaumaturgical College had survived the purge-not even the students. One devout order in particular, the Commanderie, had devoted itself to the cause with great zeal. Their leader claimed to be divinely inspired in his quest to rid the world of daemonic influences. He was even said to be able to summon angels.

Linnaius was continuing on toward his rooms when he heard music and laughter issuing from an open window. Glancing inside, he saw the Empress Astasia at the fortepiano, accompanying a young woman singer. Her voice, when she began the interrupted phrase again, was golden and glorious. It stirred echoes deep within him of some unfamiliar feeling, long buried. He knew he should not linger here, he had work to do . . . and yet he could not tear himself away.

He stood there until the Empress lost control of the keyboard part and broke off, laughing helplessly. The singer sang on for a bar or two and then joined in the laughter, leaning on the fortepiano to support herself. And then the Empress caught sight of him on the terrace outside.

"Hush," she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "we have an audience."

The singer glanced around. Such blue eyes; the intense blue of a cloudless summer sky . . . Linnaius felt a shiver run through him. What was he doing, a man of his age, allowing himself to be distracted by a young woman? He made an effort to collect himself and bowed to the Empress.

"Beautiful music, ladies," he said. "I must congratulate you." And he turned away, hastily directing his steps toward the West Wing and his laboratory.

Astasia watched from the Music Room window until the Magus had disappeared around the corner of the palace.

"There is no privacy to be had in Swanholm," she said. She no longer felt like laughing.

"Tell me, highness," said Celestine, "who is that ancient scholar we saw just now?"

Astasia pulled a grimace. "The Magus? His name is Kaspar Linnaius. He's a scientist, I believe, though he has an official court title like 'Royal Artificier' or some such."

"He looks at least a hundred years old!" said Celestine with a mischievous laugh.

"I confess he gives me the shivers. It's his eyes: so lifeless, so cold . . ."