Chapter Twenty-Three

Gossip flew along the musicians’ dining table all through dinner, but Anna didn’t know what to believe—nor, in her miserably hungover state, could she force herself to care much, either way. She dragged herself back to rehearsal at one o’clock and found the kapellmeister nearly rabid with impatience.

“Hurry, hurry! Ladies and gentlemen, we are honored—beyond all of my hopes are we honored!” He gathered them around him on the stage, his back to the audience where Lieutenant von Höllner was snoring in his accustomed seat. “The Archduke has arrived indeed—and has brought with him the Emperor and the Empress herself!”

Whispers rippled through the company. The wildest rumor of the day had been confirmed. Anna rubbed her aching forehead and tried to summon up excitement.

“Tonight we perform Traetta’s comedy, as rehearsed. Tomorrow, though . . .” Herr Haydn swelled with pride. “Tomorrow, as the climax to a day and night of royal celebrations, the Prince wishes us to premiere my new opera for his great visitors. And everything, my friends, must be perfect.” He clapped his hands together. “We rehearse them both today!”

Wonderful, Anna thought drearily. Her head already hurt. Now she would have to try to recall two sets of Italian at once.

Herr Pichler, too, looked pale and wan. He caught her gazing at him and smiled briefly at her.

The door to the audience opened and he jerked his gaze away.

For one terrible moment, Anna expected to see Lieutenant Esterházy step into the theater. She couldn’t bear it. Not now, not after last night’s humiliating encounter. She stiffened, turned away—

But it was an unfamiliar voice that spoke. “Herr Haydn? Is that you?”

The kapellmeister spun around. His face lit up, and he bowed deeply.

“Your Highness!”

The young man grinned, openly appraising the group of singers on the stage. His face was plain but good-natured beneath his powdered hair. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, sir. My uncle couldn’t escape the formalities this afternoon, so he sent me in his place to hear your rehearsal.”

“I am delighted, Your Highness, and deeply honored. Won’t you take a seat? I’ll call for refreshments.”

“I won’t turn them down, sir. It was a long ride from Vienna.” The Archduke’s eyes rested briefly on Anna and on Frau Kettner, the leading lady. His smile broadened. “I’m delighted to finally be here.”

As the Archduke turned to find a seat, Herr Haydn hurried offstage to find a footman. Madame Zelinowsky drifted close to Anna.

“I hope you remember our little discussion, my dear. Lieutenant Esterházy is all very well in his way, but the Archduke is a very fine figure of a man. And he certainly noted you.”

Anna was horribly conscious of Herr Pichler, listening in. “Lieutenant Esterházy and I are . . . not a concern, madam.”

“No? Last night—”

“Ended. Last night.” Anna’s cheeks burned. “I thank you for your kind advice, madam, but I am not interested in advancing my career in that fashion.”

The older woman tsk’d. “No need to be self-righteous, little Anna. A fine voice can only carry you so far. If you ever wish to rise higher—”

“I’ve risen quite high enough. Thank you.”

“If you say so. Once a maidservant, always . . .” Madame Zelinowsky’s voice drifted off meaningfully. She walked away, skirts rustling.

Anna let out her held breath. She couldn’t stop herself from looking to Herr Pichler for his reaction.

He was frowning. “Is it—Fräulein Dommayer, were you telling her the truth?”

It was the end of enough. Anna’s temper snapped. “Unlike some people, I don’t make a habit of lying, Herr Pichler! Even to malicious, gossiping cats like her.” She cut herself off belatedly and spun around to look for eavesdroppers. “Oh, I shouldn’t have . . .”

But he was laughing. “I thank you, Fräulein. It is good to hear truth spoken on this stage, for once.”

Anna lifted her chin. “I always tell the truth.”

“I know.” His eyes were warm. “It’s one of the things I most admire about you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened.

He took a breath. “Fräulein, I am not permitted to speak to you. To spend time with you, or show admiration for you.” He grimaced. “Or, in other words, to offend Anton Esterházy in any way.”

“What?” She stared at him. “Anton Esterházy is not—! I mean to say, I refused him.” She flushed anew, but forced herself to continue in a low voice. “Last night I told him I would not—could not—be what he wanted me to be.”

“I’m glad of it,” Herr Pichler said. “But it’s the worse for me, if he blames me for it.”

The audience door opened and he jerked away, but it was only Herr Haydn, joining the Archduke for one last moment of conversation. In the back of the audience, Lieutenant von Höllner stirred in his sleep.

Herr Pichler finished in a hasty undertone. “I only wanted to tell you, because you have been kind. I don’t avoid you out of dislike or . . . any other cause. I would do otherwise if I could.”

“But why can you not? I don’t understand!”

Herr Haydn leapt up onto the stage and brushed his hands against his breeches. “Places, everyone! We shall begin with the Traetta. Kettner! Pichler!”

Anna gritted her teeth as Herr Pichler walked away from her without a backward look.

When she looked up and out into the audience, she found the Archduke watching her with bright attention.

Anna stifled a groan.

Franz waited until Monsieur Delacroix was deep in rehearsal of his buffo aria before he went in search of Madame Zelinowsky. He found her standing in a corner backstage, writing quickly.

“An important letter, madam?”

She straightened hastily, slipping the paper into the folds of her skirt. “Why, Herr Pichler, you startled me. You ought to be more careful—if you keep creeping around this way, people will start to take you for a spy.”

He smiled and propped himself against the wall beside her, carefully angling his still-healing back. “A spy, madam? What would make you think of that?”

Madame Zelinowsky tsk’d irritably, even as her color rose. “I am no young ingénue to be intrigued by your riddles, Herr Pichler. And, if I recall correctly, we both have a rehearsal to think of.” She paused, widening her dark eyes in mock-horror. “Unless you’ve been tossed out?”

“Your wit is remarkable, madam. As is your persistence.” He leaned closer, watching her hands in her skirts. In just one move, he could—no. Not yet. “Tell me,” he said smoothly, “why did you send Monsieur Delacroix the letter that incriminated me?”

“What?”

She stumbled back, her hands slipping for a moment from their hiding place. He leapt forward and snatched the half-written note.

“Give that back!”

“I think not.” He whipped it behind his back. The painful stretch of muscles along his scabs only intensified his resolve. “Now tell me the truth, madam. Why did you inform on me?”

She dropped her gaze. “I don’t know what you mean, but—”

“You knew I’d helped them. That much I could see even at the time. But what possible reason could you have had for telling Delacroix? You’d heard Marianna Delacroix—we all did!—when he beat her. You knew . . .” He drew in a shuddering breath, fighting to retrieve his self-control. But it was a lost cause, just like his poor doomed attempt at heroism had been, when he’d sought to help his friends. “Poor Antonicek sincerely loved her. Now they are both dead and buried, for their pains! How could you?”

“I didn’t,” she hissed. “Antonicek and Marianna would have died regardless. The Prince had no information from me on where they fled. I didn’t even know which direction they would take.”

“And I? How had I fallen into your bad graces? Enlighten me, I beg you.”

“You—idiot—boy!”

She darted for his hand and the letter, but he jumped back too quickly for her.

“Now, now, madam. You’ll have to wait before you inform on someone else. Would it be Fräulein Dommayer, by any chance? Do you write to Lieutenant Esterházy to accuse her of some imagined infidelity?” He shook his head. “By God, you are a cat.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She glared at him, nearly spitting. “I didn’t write to Delacroix, you fool.”

“No?” He raised the letter before him, still unread, and set his hands atop it to rip it in half.

“I wrote to someone else! Just as I pass on all interesting gossip. It means nothing, it’s perfectly harmless—”

“And then the anonymous letter was sent to Monsieur Delacroix, using the information you’d given.” Franz lowered the letter, staring at her. “You kept sending more information after that?”

She shrugged. “I could hardly take back the strokes of the bastinado from your back, merely by giving up a perfectly good source of income, could I?”

“But . . .” Franz glanced at the heading of the letter in his hand. My dear sir, it began, without a name. “Why harass Fräulein Dommayer? I heard you working to persuade her.”

“She’s young and ignorant. I only tried to help her a little, as a kindness.” Madame Zelinowsky stepped forward. “Now give me my letter.”

Franz backed away. “You’ve no interest in helping out beautiful new, young singers. Someone told you to do it. Someone who wants her to attract the Archduke. Why?”

“I am not writing about Fräulein Dommayer and the Archduke, you fool! She’s of no interest to him. At least . . .” Her eyes slitted. “Not directly.”

“Then—”

“I am weary of your importunities, Herr Pichler, and of your wild imagination. If you’d please—”

Herr Haydn’s voice sounded through the closed stage door. “Zelinowsky! Pichler!”

“There.” She snatched the letter back from him and flashed a triumphant smile. “Now, if we can finally return to work . . .”

Paper whispered against cloth and then against the floor—a different, folded letter, fallen from her sleeve when she had reached for the first note.

They both dove for it. Franz’s hand reached it first, and he snatched it.

“Yet another secret letter,” he purred. “How intriguing.”

Voices called their names from the stage. Still kneeling, he raised one arm to block her reaching hands. He turned the letter over to open it—and froze.

The seal was black and only too familiar.

Franz’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked up and met Madame Zelinowsky’s petrified stare.

The stage door burst open.

“There you are!” The kapellmeister glared at both of them. Other actors peered over his shoulder. “If the two of you would be so kind as to indulge us in a moment or two of dull rehearsal . . .”

Madame Zelinowsky twitched the letter from Franz’s frozen hand. She stood up, smoothing down her skirts.

“Of course, Herr Kapellmeister. I am so sorry for the delay, but to be fair, I can hardly accept any blame for it.”

She sailed out, past Herr Haydn’s waiting figure. After a long, paralyzed moment, Franz managed to pull himself up from the ground to follow her.

Every inch of abraded flesh on his back ached with the movements.

Fräulein Dommayer was among the group of singers watching him. Her eyes were wide and worried. He winced away from them.

Sweet Christ. He passed through the door, past Herr Haydn, and stepped onstage. All he could see, though, was that familiar seal.

How could he have been such a fool?

Kettledrums crashed, and Friedrich woke with a start. He’d been dreaming confused, whirling dreams of fire and darkness, cloaks and skeletons, and a deep voice saying, “In just five days . . .”

Five days, Friedrich thought sleepily. It sounded familiar. He blinked and yawned and took it in. It was what the leader had told him, four nights ago, at that nightmare ritual. “In just five days, you will be our shining star.” More bloody riddles. Riddles and . . .

Tomorrow.

Friedrich shot up in his seat, heart pumping. Five days from that ritual meant tomorrow, damn it. All their plans would be coming true, and they wanted him to be their “star”?

He bloody well thought not.

If he ran . . .

“There you are. Might’ve known it, hmm?” Anton slid into the seat beside him, shadowed eyes already fixed on the stage. “Surprised you’re not asleep yet.”

“I was.”

Those actors had tried to run, hadn’t they? Tried, and been devoured for their plans. And the leader of the Brotherhood had laughed about it.

Anton frowned into the audience. “Isn’t that the Archduke?”

“Mmm . . .” Friedrich blinked. “Suppose so.”

“I haven’t seen Ferdinand in years. We’ll have to go greet him properly in a moment. But not yet.” Anton leaned closer. “Listen. My cousin had his administrator look into that Pichler fellow, but they haven’t found anything yet. So I’m taking the matter into my own hands. After tonight’s performance, I’m going to follow him. See where he goes, what he does . . . who he sees.” Anton grinned fiercely. “Are you with me?”

Friedrich sighed. “No.”

“No?” Anton stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I want to go drinking tonight. Relax. Have a bit of fun.” It might be my last. Where would he be, two nights from now? Dead? Strapped against the rack, being tortured in one of the Empress’s prisons? Or, worse yet, trapped in that private room in Hell where the Brotherhood had met the other night? Friedrich shivered. “Trust me. Tonight is not the night for me to go creeping around bushes in the dark.”

“Come on, man. I have to do this!”

“Then you’ll have to do it on your own.”

“Von Höllner . . .”

“I mean it.”

“Who says it won’t be fun? Creep around a bush or two, pretend we’re spies in enemy territory . . .”

Friedrich snorted. Anton beamed.

“You see? I knew you’d get into the spirit of it. It’ll be as if we were boys again, skipping our lessons, playing at soldiers. And if we haven’t seen anything interesting in an hour, then I promise we’ll go straight back to the tavern and drink till we fall over. Eh?”

“Until you fall over, you mean,” Friedrich said.

“Ha! Western weakling.”

“Barbarian.”

They grinned at each other.

What the hell, Friedrich thought.

He still had one more day.

Half an hour after Edmund Guernsey had left it for the first and last time, the door to Count Radamowsky’s room opened. Inside, the Count started up from the table, his face pale. Beside him, the elemental roiled within its lantern, constantly seeking escape.

Ignaz von Born closed the door behind him and snorted at the look on Radamowsky’s face.

“What? My dear Count, don’t tell me you were actually concerned for me? Our Mister Guernsey was hardly a fearsome challenge to confront.”

“And if you had been caught?” Radamowsky subsided back into his seat, scowling. “That door might next have opened to a squadron of Prince Nikolaus’s guards.”

“Surely not,” von Born said. He dropped into the chair across from Radamowsky, fingering the head of his walking stick. “I’m certain only three or four of the Prince’s guards would have been sent for your arrest.”

“Your jest’s ill-timed. As are you, I might add.” Radamowsky regarded him sourly. “You were gone too long for my liking.”

“Not more than half an hour, surely. Your nerves are running away with you. Have you never entered into a simple scheme before?” Von Born’s eyes narrowed. “The little spy’s been taken care of, as I promised, and there’s nothing left for you to fidget about. You know exactly what we need from you tomorrow, and what prizes you’ll win from it, now that we know how useful you can be. Only be prepared, do what’s required, and—”

“Don’t talk to me like a lackwitted servant, or one of the serfs from those miserable shacks outside the palace!” Radamowsky’s lips curled into a snarl. “I’m your equal, by birth and abilities. And if I choose to walk away—”

“Then you’ll never have access to the funds and space that you require.” Von Born’s voice softened to a hiss. “Not to mention official support and sanction for the . . . less savory experiments you’ve been dreaming of for years. Do you think our prudish Empress would ever condone them? Or her son? No matter what you may like to think, you’ve exhausted the limits of Prince Nikolaus’s generosity, and you know it. All he wanted from you was his chance to impress the world, and you’ve handed it to him on a platter.”

Von Born snorted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “You must have been desperate indeed, my friend, to agree to hand over all those years of hard-won knowledge in exchange for mere room and board and the repayment of your debts. Once the Prince presents his fabulous new weapon to the Empress and her co-regent, what then? Do you plan to spend the next ten years tromping around imperial battlefields like a common soldier in its wake?”

Radamowsky bit out his words. “I am no commoner.”

“No, indeed,” von Born agreed smoothly. “So I can only imagine that you must have agreed to teach Prince Nikolaus’s own officers how to control your creature themselves . . . thus leaving yourself with nothing more of value to offer the Prince afterward. Eh?” He raised his eyebrows, his lips curving in contemptuous amusement. “Have I guessed aright?”

Radamowsky did not answer. But his hands clenched around his desk.

“Ah, my poor, unworldly friend.” Von Born sighed, laying his walking stick across his legs. “Your mind may be keen enough in the quest for alchemical power, but you should have learned what I did, years ago—that power over men is so much more important. Once our petty Prince has his imperial honors, and your elemental in his keeping, he’ll toss you out of Eszterháza without a second thought. And then where will you turn for your support?” Von Born shook his head slowly. “No, Radamowsky, you may bluster all you like, but I don’t think you’ll be walking away from what I offer.”

Radamowsky took a deep, shuddering breath, but his voice remained even. “And if you choose to rescind that fine offer, when the moment finally comes? Once the Emperor and the Empress are dead and you’ve had what you wanted—your new Emperor calling a halt to his older brother’s reforms, his new government filling up with all of your cronies, your precious Brotherhood running it all behind the curtains . . . What then? Why in God’s name should I trust you to deliver on any promises?”

“Come now, Count. Have a little respect for both of our intellects, please.” Ignaz von Born gave him an indulgent smile. “We all know what an impressive mesmerist you were even before your recent alchemical advances. But really, are you fooling even yourself with these maunderings now? Because we have may have been opposed for most of our lives, but at the moment, we both know I’m the only patron you have left. So the truth is . . .” He cocked his head. “Like it or not, you have no option but to trust me. What a novel experience for both of us!”

Radamowsky regarded him in seething silence. Von Born stood up, tucking the walking stick beneath his arm.

“I can’t linger to calm any more of your fears, my friend. If anyone sees me coming out of your room, there’ll be questions enough for me to answer. But don’t forget, when we see each other at dinner . . .” Von Born’s lips stretched into a thin smile. “Do, please, remember to act as if we are still bitter enemies.”

He closed the door softly behind him. A moment later, Radamowsky heard the walking stick rapping down the corridor into the distance. Within the lantern, the elemental pressed against the glass, compressing itself into a quivering ball of rage.

“Shh, little one,” Radamowsky murmured. He reached out to stroke his hand soothingly down the lantern’s side. “Shh . . .”

But as he gazed at the closed door, his eyes burned as fiercely as the elemental’s own.