Flight Into Darkness (60 page)

Jagu forced himself to concentrate his attention on the golden emblem of Sergius's crook hanging on the wall behind Maistre Donatien's head. Next to it hung the crimson rose of the Rosecoeurs, a single drop of enameled blood painted as if it were oozing from the heart of the bloom. He knew all too well what the Inquisitor intended. He had remained stoical and detached until that moment. But they would test him to the limits of his endurance and beyond. And deep inside, he felt the first real stirrings of fear.

CHAPTER 7

“We're going to fly to Francia in that little cockleshell?” Celestine stared in dismay at the Magus's sky craft. Aude and Linnaius lifted the covers and began to make ready for the journey, but she hung back, terrified at the prospect. Aude, seeing her hesitate, ran back and took her by the hand.

“Come on, Celestine, you'll enjoy it! It's the most wonderful experience ever.”

Reluctantly, Celestine let Aude help her into the craft. Aude sat next to her, tucking the thick blanket she had brought around them both. “It gets really cold once you're up in the clouds.” Celestine nodded and Aude squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don't worry; it's not so far from Tielen to Lutèce. Just sit back and listen to the winds.”

Linnaius shook out the sail and settled himself at the tiller of the craft. Celestine saw him close his eyes, as if listening intently. Then she saw that strange twirling, twisting movement of the fingers on his right hand she had seen him make on the
Dame Blanche,
pulling down a wind from the sky. At the same time, the sail filled and the craft began to lift.

Celestine yelped and grabbed at the side.

“It works much better if you sit still,” said Aude. “Then you're less likely to tip us all out.”

Celestine sank back, gripping Aude's hand as she heard the rushing of the summoned wind bearing the craft up into the sky. She risked a glimpse over the side and saw the Palace of Swanholm and
the gardens, laid out far below as if she were viewing the estate on an architect's plan.

“Isn't this exciting?” cried Aude as the wind blew her ginger curls awry. “Almost as exciting as flying on a Drakhaoul's back… Only I'm not supposed to talk about that,” she added.

“What shall I do? Revealing my true identity to Princess Adèle means risking everything. If she can't—or won't—offer me her protection, then I'll have played all my cards and left nothing in reserve!”

“Well, I'm going to tell them I was rescued from the flood by a Tielen ship,” said Aude. “I can't possibly tell them the truth. They probably wouldn't believe it, anyway. This is a kind of ship, isn't it?” she said to Linnaius. “And you are its captain, so I'm not telling a lie.” She turned back to Celestine. “They'll be so busy questioning me about what happened to Enguerrand that they won't notice you, I hope.”

“But what will you tell them about Enguerrand?”

“Oh, I'll go quiet and look down at the floor. I'll say that I don't know where he is—which is also true, because he and the Emperor will already be en route to the port!”

After flying high above the sea for so long, the sight of land came as an ominous reminder to Celestine of what lay ahead. She had not returned to Francia since Linnaius's trial. She glanced across at the Magus as he sat, directing and controlling the winds that carried them, and wondered if he was aware of the irony of the situation too. And then she remembered Jagu's plight, and all her other concerns seemed insignificant.

The sun was sinking, and the farmlands and orchards below were bathed in a golden haze. The trees were covered with a dusting of snowy petals.

“Spring,” Celestine said softly.

It was almost dark by the time the first towers and steeples of the city appeared, black against the skyline, and the soft glow of street lanterns mirrored the stars overhead.

Linnaius followed the winding course of the Sénon, passing directly over the looming bulk of the Forteresse. Somewhere within those forbidding fortified walls, the Commanderie must be holding Jagu prisoner.

“Jagu,” Celestine whispered, “I'm here. I've come to get you out.”

Yet as Linnaius brought the craft slowly down into the shadows of the palace gardens, she felt suddenly unsure and apprehensive. Adèle might have changed. She might even have fallen under her husband's influence.

“Disguise me, Faie.” Celestine made the quiet request as she and Aude climbed out of the sky craft. And before they set out, she placed a small package in Linnaius's hands. “Take good care of this for me, Magus.”

He looked at her questioningly.

“It's my father's grimoire. You know what to do with it if I don't return,” she said, gazing into his eyes. A few days ago she would not have entrusted it to him. But now they understood each other so much better. He nodded and placed the precious book carefully in the pocket of his robes.

“Be on your guard,” he warned. “From here on, you'll be fending for yourselves. The next time I return, I shall be bringing your king back to his people.”

Jagu had never been inside one of the Inquisition's interrogation rooms before, although he knew that they were situated in the old dungeons that lay beneath the prison tower of the Forteresse. Although sometimes, as he crossed the courtyard, he had heard faint screams coming from far below—cries that had haunted him for long afterward.

The first thing that Jagu noticed as the Rosecoeurs brought him into the room was how empty it was. His imagination had conjured all manner of gruesome images of torture: racks and iron maidens, filled with spikes to pierce the victim's body in all but the most vital organs to ensure a slow and lingering death.

All that he could see was a table and three chairs.

The Rosecoeurs forced him into one of the chairs and strapped him in around the waist, neck, and ankles.

“Note the time and the date,” said Visant punctiliously, “and make sure that you spell the prisoner's name correctly.”

There was a cold ache of dread in the pit of Jagu's stomach. Was Visant prolonging this just to make him feel more apprehensive? He hadn't been this afraid since the attack on Ondhessar—and then, irony of ironies, Kilian had boosted his failing courage.

“You are well-known for your skills as a keyboard player, Lieutenant, aren't you? It would be a shame to bring such a promising career to an abrupt end.”

“You already know where Celestine is to be found,” Jagu said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Indeed. But I happen to believe that you can furnish us with the information we need to convict her of sorcery. We already have evidence from Demoiselle de Saint-Désirat, confirming that Celestine de Joyeuse is able to change her appearance at will.”

Gauzia, again. “Firm evidence?” Jagu did not want to let Gauzia's allegation go unchallenged. “It's well-known in musical circles that Demoiselle de Saint-Désirat will go to considerable lengths to slander any potential rivals to her title.”

“You were in Colchise, with Celestine de Joyeuse in late summer last year?”

“I was.”

“An apothecary told my agent in Colchise that Demoiselle de Joyeuse had purchased some expensive and poisonous herbs from him on the pretext that she was suffering from headaches. But my agent later saw her slip something into the iced tea she offered to Madame Andara, the painter. Madame Andara was later taken ill. Just beforehand, however, my agent heard the demoiselle pronouncing strange words and saw a bright light issuing from her bedchamber.”

An agent of the Inquisition at the villa? It can only have been the maid, Nanette. He had been assuming that Celestine was still safe in Mirom. But now the thought occurred to him that they might have captured her and were deliberately withholding the fact from him, to extract enough information to convict her of sorcery.
I can't take the risk. I can't betray her.

Visant signed to the two Rosecoeurs; they placed a contraption on the table in front of Jagu which looked like one of the metal gauntlets once worn by jousting knights. Except there seemed to have been a bizarre modification. Protruding from every digit, Jagu could see screws, evidently designed to slowly tighten the fit around each finger until the tender flesh and bone inside were crushed.

“You may have heard of the ‘Boot,’ Lieutenant? Well, we call this the ‘Glove.’”

The two Rosecoeurs took hold of Jagu's left arm and slit open the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, and began to force his hand into the open gauntlet.

“Wait. Show me his wrist.”

Jagu had tensed, trying to brace himself for what was to come.

“What's this, Lieutenant?” Visant rose to take a better look. “What is this mark of evil here?”

Jagu looked too. The magus's mark could faintly be seen, silver-pale, against his skin.

“Are you the member of some occult organization? You'd better confess, or it will go very ill with you indeed.”

“This mark was put on me when I was a boy. A magus put it there so that he could control me,” said Jagu, staring coldly back at Visant. “It's all in Maistre de Lanvaux's account of the destruction of the Angelstones at Kemper.”

Visant glanced at his secretary. “Make a sketch of the mark so that we can research its origins.” Then he turned back to Jagu. “I put it to you that you're using this mark to summon arcane help.”

“Then if I've summoned help, why has no one come to rescue me?” Jagu almost laughed aloud at the ridiculous situation he found himself in. He had told Visant it was a warning, and yet the Inquisitor persisted in his misbegotten belief that he was the malefactor.

“Your intransigence will do you no good.” Visant nodded to the Rosecoeurs, who proceeded to insert Jagu's left hand into the gauntlet. The unyielding feel of the cold metal against his fingers banished all other thoughts from Jagu's mind. He knew how fragile yet complicated a thing a man's hand was. Visant wanted information and he had selected the method he knew would be the most effective for extracting it.

“And now, gentlemen, if you would be so good as to begin to tighten the screws…”

“Kilian?” Alain Friard caught sight of a flash of pale ginger hair as a Guerrier hurried past him. His hand shot out and caught hold of him by the arm. “When did you get back from Muscobar?”

“A couple of days or so,” said Kilian offhandedly.

“And did you find Jagu? Or Celestine?” Friard did not relax his grip.

A smile of irritation flashed briefly across Kilian's face. “Celestine gave me the slip. What a complicated, devious piece of work that woman is.”

Friard heard more than irritation in Kilian's tone.
He must really hate her. Whatever can she have done to cause such a bitter reaction?
“And Jagu?” he asked.

“You'll have to ask the Inquisition.” Kilian tried to shake off Friard's restraining hand but Friard was not going to let him go so easily.

“What in Sergius's name do you mean, giving me an answer like that?” Friard pulled Kilian's face close to his. “What's come over you, Kilian? We were part of a team; we all worked together. Damn it, you and Jagu fought together at Ondhessar.” He caught hold of Kilian's jacket, tugging it open. Through the thin linen of Kilian's shirt, he could see a dark crimson mark, shaped like a rose on his left breast. “The mark of the Rosecoeurs?” So Kilian had undergone the secret initiation ceremony.

“People change. Allegiances change,” said Kilian with a shrug.

Friard, sobered and saddened, let go of him. “So I see.” Kilian straightened his uniform jacket, concealing the crimson mark of his new allegiance.

Had the Inquisition arrested Jagu and put him to the question?
At least I know who my enemies are. But whom can I trust?

As they left the shadow-wreathed gardens and approached the lamplit terrace, Aude stopped and stared at Celestine.

“Has my disguise worked?” Celestine asked anxiously.

“It's…
extraordinary,”
said Aude. Then she recovered herself and said with a laugh and a toss of her curls, “But no more so than anything else I've seen in the past months.” They could see the royal guardsmen on sentry duty, patrolling up and down the terrace. She sucked in a deep breath and whispered, “Ready?” Celestine nodded.

Aude walked straight up to the guard at the nearest entry and said in her clear, bright voice, “Good evening. I'm Aude de Provença, and I've just returned from Serindher. I'd like to speak with Queen Aliénor.”

The sentry gazed down at Aude's face in the flickering torchlight.

“Captain!” he called excitedly. “Over here!”

Aude's arrival caused, as predicted, a flurry of activity in the palace. The Queen Mother, it seemed, was away from Plaisaunces. One of her ladies-in-waiting, the motherly Marquise de Trécesson, came bustling into the lofty, pillared hall to take charge of the situation.

“Aude?” she cried and flung her arms about her. “How brown your skin is; I hardly recognized you, my dear. Thank heavens that you are alive! The duke and duchess will be so glad, so very glad.” A

little crowd of courtiers had already gathered, all murmuring together. The rumors would soon start to spread.

“Keep them guessing,” the Emperor had said, “for as long as you possibly can.”