Masks and Shadows (16 page)

“Not a great fortune, Your Highness. His sons retained the estate and the majority of the revenues. But I am left with a comfortable annuity.” Charlotte spoke quickly, hardly listening to her own words. Mad though it was, she found herself hoping that neither of the Princess's watchful companions could guess at the nature of her thoughts just now.

“Well, then.” The Princess nodded gravely, recalling Charlotte to the conversation. “You are, what, thirty?—and with your life ahead of you. I would not anchor myself again, in your situation.”

“I thank you for your advice.” Charlotte took a sweet from the tray held out to her, and firmly dismissed the image of Signor Morelli's smooth, disconcertingly feminine face. She turned the sweet thoughtfully between her fingers. “May I ask . . .” She gathered her courage. “May I ask, Your Highness, why you invited me here today? In truth, I would not have expected a welcome here.”

“What, only because your sister is my husband's whore? No, no, sit—sit
down
, Baroness! I am telling you the truth, as you asked for it.”

Ice dripped off the Princess's voice, as her two companions' faces went studiously blank. Asa looked down at her hands discreetly, while Jean turned his gaze to the ceiling.

“We are both reasonable women, capable of recognizing an adult truth. I do not blame that foolish girl for her position here. Had it not been her, it would surely have been another. My husband has built himself a grand new Versailles, and he requires a beautiful young queen to reign by his side, as evidence to all of his continued virility. What are the demands of propriety beside such need?”

And is propriety all that ever held your marriage together?
Charlotte wondered, looking at the bitter twist of the Princess's mouth.
Oh, Your Highness, I do not believe that for a moment
. She sank back into her own chair, swallowing hard.

“Good.” The Princess nodded. “Now, then. I do not blame you for your sister's misdemeanors, much less for those of my husband. Particularly as I've heard reports that you show no great fondness for their situation, either.”

“You must have . . . excellent information.” Charlotte's throat felt dry. How many of the servants in this palace reported to the Princess? And how closely must they observe?

“Of course I do. I may be invisible to the majority of those resident here, but that does not render me blind. I know everything that happens in this palace.” The Princess leaned forward, holding Charlotte's gaze. “It is out of friendship that I would issue you this warning, Baroness. There are more guests in this palace than you are aware.”

“Pardon?” Charlotte blinked. “I don't understand.”

“There is trouble brewing in this palace, far beyond any mere indiscretions of the body.” The Princess's eyes were icy blue. On either side, her companions were studying Charlotte openly now, their own gazes intent. “If you have anywhere else to go, Baroness, I would strongly advise you to leave as soon as possible. Eszterháza may not long be safe.”

Charlotte stared at her. “I've promised my sister a long visit,” she said. “I could hardly leave in under a year. Not without an explicit reason.”

“So be it.” The Princess leaned back in her chair. “I'd expected as much, but I thought it only fair to warn you.”

Asa looked primly satisfied; Jean's lips pursed in what looked like regret.

Charlotte lifted her empty cup to her mouth. The thin china felt cold against her skin, but it was her only protection from the three probing gazes fixed upon her. “Could . . . could you possibly explain a bit more to me, Your Highness? I should like to understand what you meant.”

“That, I regret, I cannot do. But if you will insist on remaining here despite my warning, may I ask you to join me now and then for refreshments and conversation?” The Princess nodded at the grandly laid-out white and gold room around her and her two silent, watchful companions. “I've seen fit, as you may see, to allow my own ladies-in-waiting the freedom of my husband's court. It is no great act of mercy to rid oneself of mindless chatter. Intelligent company and conversation, however, would be most welcome.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. I would be honored.”

“Excellent.” The Princess set down her own coffee cup and picked up the sheaf of papers from the bureau. “Let me show you what I have been studying. My husband chooses to indulge me in this one matter, as he will not allow me my true desire, to live away from Eszterháza while he resides here. These are my plans for a small menagerie . . .”

Charlotte stayed another half an hour, looking at the plans and chatting with the Princess about light topics that held no real interest for her—nor, she suspected, for her hostess. When she finally took her leave, the little dog jumped back up onto the Princess's lap, and the Princess's two companions nodded a grave farewell. As a maid closed the door behind her, Charlotte heard three voices finally mingle together in a calm murmur of discussion.

Undoubtedly, her judgment was being pronounced.

The door shut, and Charlotte stopped to collect herself in the silent corridor. She realized that her heartbeat was racing. There had been undercurrents to the Princess's every word. Of that, she was certain. Yet, what any of them had meant—or for what purpose she had just been measured by the Princess's two companions . . .
that
, now, she could hardly dare even to guess.

The sound of the clavichord began again behind the closed door. Charlotte took a deep breath and set off to find her way back to her own room, to gather her thoughts before she went down to dinner and to Sophie.

And this time, she wished for no observers.

No chanting sounded through the panels of the door. Within the room, the alchemist slept, head flat against his arms on the table piled with ancient books and papers. Inside a lantern on the table, dense gray smoke coiled and uncoiled itself. Strains of military music floated into the room through the cloth-covered window. A single stream of sunlight entered through a tear in the cloth and shot in a straight line to the corner of the table, setting the motes of dust aglow.

Quick footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. The smoke twitched within the lantern. A hard knock rapped against the door, and the alchemist jerked up, coughing. Within the lantern, two red eyes flashed open.

The alchemist staggered to his feet, still half-asleep. He smoothed down his dark hair as he crossed the room, and paused a moment at the door to clear his throat. His shoulders straightened as he turned the key in the door.

“At last!” Prince Nikolaus strode in, without sparing the alchemist a glance. His hungry gaze went straight to the table and to the lantern set atop it. “So here he is, eh?”

“Yes, Your Highness. At your service.” The alchemist's voice rolled out, deep and compelling. “I trust you are satisfied with his work so far?”

The Prince snorted. “Satisfied?
Agape
, more like. Astonished and very, very pleased.” He shook his head as he looked at the roiling mass within the lantern. “That such a creature can be contained within so small a space . . .”

“These elementals follow their own rules of matter, Your Highness.”

“And
your
rules, eh, Radamowsky? At least, I trust so.”

“Indeed.” The alchemist smiled tightly. “You may trust wholeheartedly in that, Your Highness. After all, he fulfilled last night's experiment, did he not?”

“So Rahier told me. He said he watched the creature float straight past him, mild as a lamb.”

“Quite.” The alchemist pinched his lips together and shuttered his gaze.

The Prince's own gaze never wavered from the bright red eyes of the elemental. “Impressive indeed, my dear Count. And you're certain that it will be ready on time? We only have seven days, remember.”

“Trust me, Your Highness.” The alchemist bowed his head. “It shall succeed beyond your wildest expectations.”

Chapter Eleven

Musket fire exploded across the stage. Smoke obscured the painted walls. Soldiers attacked and fell back, screaming.

A full mock-battle on the stage of the opera house . . . Carlo turned to look at the man who had ordered this. Prince Nikolaus sat still as he watched the battle, but his eyes darted back and forth, following every move. His mouth was set in a satisfied smile.
And why not?
Carlo thought. The seats in the audience around them were filled with noblemen shouting their partisanship for one side or another, while the ladies watched with a silent interest that was yet as fierce, clutching their fans in white-knuckled grips. How better, indeed, to distract a court from the threat of violence and death than by staging a true war?
Death as theater
.

Two soldiers crumpled and fell to the stage. Carlo blinked and glanced covertly at the Prince. He
hoped
that it was only theater . . .

The blue-coated army swept forward, overwhelming the red coats. The victorious commander leapt to the top of his enemy's cannon and raised his bayonet high.

“Esterházy triumphant!” he roared, and his soldiers roared it after him.

Cheers rocketed off the walls of the theater. They only died down when Prince Nikolaus finally rose, holding up his hands for silence.

“Let the commander accept the reward for his troops!”

The young commander saluted and jumped off the cannon. He ran nimbly between the rows of chairs, up the steps to the balcony, and into the royal box at its center. Then, with a flourish, he dropped down to kneel before his ruler. “Your Highness.”

“Madam?” Prince Nikolaus stepped back and gestured for Frau von Höllner to take his place.

She did so, beaming, and held out a wreath. “The laurels of victory are yours, Commander.” She laid the wreath atop his powdered head and stepped back, jewels sparkling and tall feathers bouncing in her ornately curled and piled, powdered hair.

“The laurels of victory are sweet indeed, but not so sweet as the fruits of loyalty.” The young man took off the wreath and held it out to the Prince. “My rewards are yours, Your Highness, just as my life, loyalty, and service belong to your house forever.”

Polite applause filled the opera house as the Prince accepted the wreath.
A pretty piece of theater
, Carlo thought, as he watched the Prince lift the young soldier to his feet. There was something about the way the two grinned at each other . . .
Aha
.

“A worthy answer indeed, Lieutenant Esterházy.” The Prince slapped him on the shoulder and passed him a bulging velvet purse. Under cover of the applause, he added more softly, “Well done, Anton.”

“I thank you, Cousin.” The young man grinned and pocketed the purse.

He saluted smartly and ran back down to the stage to march out briskly with the rest of the soldiers, while servants hastened to clear the debris and prepare for the upcoming opera performance. Carlo was relieved to see the fallen soldiers picking themselves up and laughing as they marched out with their companions. So, not everything was subordinate to the Esterházy quest for glory . . .

“What thought you all of our little play?” The Prince turned to the seats around him.

Baroness von Steinbeck's cheeks were flushed and her light brown eyes glowing with pleasure. “Most impressive, Your Highness,” she murmured.

Guernsey stared at her. The little man had been offered the rare honor of a seat in the Prince's royal box for this night's entertainment, and he looked near to expiration from sheer awe. “Impressive? It was astounding! Magnificent! I've seen nothing like it! I shall write of nothing else in my book, Your Highness. I am overwhelmed!”

Prince Nikolaus nodded graciously. “I shall look forward to reading your descriptions, Mr. Guernsey.”

“Indeed,” Carlo seconded blandly. “I can hardly wait to see them published.”
Now that would be a wonder, indeed.
He turned to the Prince. “Did the soldiers require much rehearsal for tonight's performance, Your Highness?”

“None at all. They practice such maneuvers every day.” The Prince chuckled. “I believe an opportunity such as tonight is their greatest pleasure, short of a true battle.”

“I'm certain they would prove themselves anywhere!” Guernsey's eyes shone. “How many troops could you summon, if the Empress and the Emperor asked it of you?”

Giving away your game plan, eh, Guernsey?
Carlo sighed and looked away as the little man drew the Prince into a discourse on troop numbers, strength, and deposition. No doubt the spy knew better than to take all of the Prince's boasts for literal truth, to be reported back to his master. When it came time to summon up troops for another Habsburg war, Carlo suspected there would be favors bought back and forth between Esterházy and his rulers, and a canny balancing of pride with economy.