Blood Spirits (27 page)

“Cavalry commander.”

“Which for us here is the equivalent of a general. And so Dmitros, who is Jazd Komandant, can never be king.”

“Got it.”

“But their daughters can marry princes, and some of them have produced kings through the maternal line. Ever since Maria Theresia ruled the Empire, the maternal line has become increasingly important. Daughters can inherit the throne. Your grandmother would have.”

“Okay, so back to Honoré. Someone doesn't want him sniffing out something?”

“That's the strongest possibility.”

“Truth about what?”

“That we don't know. Maybe he's not supposed to discover that someone is lying.” She laid her hands flat on the table, fingers pressed together, as if she was keeping the furniture from leaping into the air. “Here is what bothers us most,” she said to the table.

Us?
Her and Alec—or her and Tony?

“If it is true that someone struck Honoré and set his house on fire, and that person was not you, then it was someone who Shurisko knows. Because he never would have permitted a stranger in the house.”

SEVENTEEN

“O
KAY,” I CONTINUED.“So you said the dog was barking like crazy when Honoré nearly fell down the steps after Anijka's visit.”

“Yes. That
could
have been because Honoré exclaimed when he fell, it
could
have been because someone was there who did not belong. Or . . . it could be nothing more than the fact that Shurisko wanted to go outside to relieve himself.
Vachement!
You see why I hate speculation, it is endless, yet with no answers.” She looked at her watch, and exclaimed under her breath. “And we are out of time. The memorial singing finishes at noon.”

“Memorial singing? Those girls I heard from my window?”

“They made their way around the city this morning, singing the Song of the Dawn.”

“Was that the
Roman
Song of the Dawn? Wow. I thought that melody sounded . . .”

“Ancient. Though the words have altered slowly over the centuries. In spring and summer, for state funerals, girls are chosen out of the religious communities, otherwise it's family. In winter, they circle the city from sunrise until noon.”

“It was beautiful. So where's the funeral?”

“At the cathedral. All the other places of worship will hold a state memorial. At the temple, we will sing a
nigun
in Ruli's honor. She would have liked that.” Beka's expression was troubled. Then she said briskly, “I would say come and hear it, but I think you should probably only attend the funeral proper.”

“Is there some kind of procession?”

“No.” Beka sighed. “It's been so very long since there was a state funeral, and because of the circumstances there was no lying in state at the palace, therefore no procession. She didn't even lie in state in the cathedral for three days, because of the holiday. Her casket was relegated to the smaller chapel.”

Poor Ruli, I thought. Always shoved aside, by family, by politics. I thought of Alec wearing the wedding ring, and conflicted as I was about how we were going to work things out (assuming there would even be a “we”) I was glad he had that much respect for her.

And how was I supposed to help her?

Beka went on, “Grandfather will be at the cathedral, as he has been asked to the ceremony at the vault.” She paused, then said tentatively, “You look surprised.”

“It's the first I've heard about this vault thing,” and I remembered that Alec hadn't wanted me to take to heart what was obviously a snub, as the duchess had not invited me. “It's separate from the actual funeral?”

“It takes place after the funeral, when she is entombed. It's traditional for at least one person from each of the five families to be present.” She gave her coffee a wry glance, and I knew she was thinking of the duchess's snub. But she neither rubbed it in nor commiserated with me by referring to it. “If you wish to know more about the prisms, my Great-Aunt Sarolta says that you may use her name. You can go to Tania Waleska for what they call the test.”

“Is your aunt's name like a password or something?”

“Nothing is ever written down about these matters. People are taught one at a time. One layer at a time.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“
On se casse
.”

 

When I got back to the inn, I found that the mauve dress had arrived before I did. As I changed I thought about that conversation, specifically about how carefully we'd tiptoed around the Alec-shaped elephant in the room.

A short time later, I slipped into a crowd walking into the cathedral. My skin felt rough inside my fine new dress, and my entire body ached, especially my head. It wasn't the sinus throb of a smoggy day. My skull felt sensitive, as if I'd lain out in the California sun and my brain had taken sunburn.

When I saw Alec alone in the front pew, the sensitivity sharpened. He sat not ten yards from where the magnificent casket lay, surrounded by hothouse flowers limned in the peaceful golden light of a Paschal candle. He was dressed in a fine black suit, and he was so straight and so still I didn't need any psychic powers to sense the stress he was under. Madam Aradyinov, his gentle, maternal great-aunt who had been my nominal chaperone during summer, stood by his side, wearing a hat and a veil over her black dress. Otherwise Alec had no other relations with him—his father wasn't there.

Behind the mostly empty first pew sat the Trasyemovas. There was young Sergei in a black suit, handsome Dmitros in full uniform, and another man in uniform—had to be Sergei's father—next to a fortyish woman who I recognized as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine from the masquerade ball last summer. Beka's grandfather, the Prime Minister, sat with them.

Of course, there were no Dsarets.

Should I go up front? I hung back uncertainly until there was a stir at one of the side entrances. The door opened, and in came the von Mecklundburgs, like a group of elegant black and gray swans. They stood around the door, partially obscured by marble pillars and decorations, but because of where I stood, I could see them all.

The Danilovs and Tony stood out, their light hair contrasting with the somber colors of their clothing. With them walked red-haired Parsifal, his sober expression making his long-chinned face look even more horse-like. But he was not the only redhead. Walking next to the duchess was a tall man with short, curly, silver-touched red hair. He wore a fine black suit. As the duchess peered around the cathedral, I snuck a good look at him and wondered if I was seeing Percy's father. But no, an older version of Percy trailed behind the family. And then I remembered meeting Percy's dad, a baron, at one of the parties the summer before. Someone had mentioned that he rarely came down from the mountain, where they had a small castle.

My attention returned to the duchess. I had so visceral a desire to avoid that black veil's turning my way that I slid into a pew midway along the aisle.

As soon as the von Mecklundburg contingent sat down, the choir began to sing from the hidden galleries above. I recognized the
Requiem
by Gabriel Fauré and closed my eyes to listen.

Beautiful music can be painful, and so it was now. I hadn't known poor Ruli for more than five minutes, though I'd worn her clothes, fallen in love with her intended husband, and spoken for two seconds with her ghost. The song evoked the pain that transcended this moment, enveloping everyone who has sustained loss.

Next was the
Pie Jesu
, sung by children's voices. I opened my eyes—and there were the ghosts. Hundreds of them, drifting, blending, some as diaphanous as a curl of smoke, others clearer, faces and forms etched in white and silver and gray, children drifting upward like a skyward rain of angels, as above us in the gallery the living children sang. Like drawn to like.

Blink.

One wall of the cathedral had dissolved into a stippled white, like a blizzard, into which the ghosts ebbed and flowed. I searched among the faces for Ruli.

She was not among them.

So I looked for Gran's twin Rose, who I'd seen in a vision of the past. I didn't see her. So I looked for Grandfather Armandros. Was he there, behind the tall blond woman?

Though the mass had flowed around me, it was the half-choked, wrenching sob that broke the vision. Percy gulped, hands covering his face. The duchess's thin shoulders shook.

The bishop had finished the Prayer of Commendation, and the world around me reasserted itself in magnified sounds—the shifting of cloth, the shuffle of feet and scents—incense, the blended aromas of perfumes and soaps and, to my right, mothballs, probably from a stored funeral outfit. I gripped my hands together and gradually those, too, subsided into normal. In the first pew, the silvery-red head next to the duchess bent toward her protectively, and the duchess lifted her veil to drink a tiny glass of water that the man with the silver-touched red hair thoughtfully offered.

“You okay?”

A whisper on my left. It was Natalie. I didn't remember her sitting beside me.

“Fine.”

“You didn't get bopped on the head by a marble bust, did you?” She leaned around to look into my face.

“Nope. Weird mental space.”

“Okay. I gotta say, though I'm not one for church, that was a beautiful service.”

Up in front, pall bearers were stationed all around the casket, waiting for some signal. Obviously from here on the ceremony was private. People were leaving—I'd missed it all, except for an elusive memory of the music. “They've had two thousand years to find what works,” I muttered as we filed out of the pew.

“I'll grant 'em that.”

Sound carried in spite of the lofty ceilings. As we reached the aisle I heard the duchess say, “But you must. I insist, dear boy.”

I whipped around, and almost stepped on Nat's toes. She backed up, hands raised, and I mumbled, “Sorry. I thought she was right behind us.”

“Acoustics.” Nat jerked her head backward.

At the side of the first pew, the entire von Mecklundburg clan was gathered around Honoré, who leaned white-knuckled on a beautifully carved cane.

“It's no trouble. I can stay with Danilov,” Honoré was saying.

Danilov said from his place as a pall bearer, “I sent a message over last night.”

“But I insist,” the duchess replied in caressing tones. “It will be like old times. Such a comfort, to have young people around me.”

“We have plenty of room,” Phaedra drawled, her high voice sounding like a little girl's in that vast space. “We can have the guest wing warm by sunset.”

“Your own room awaits you.” That was the older, red-haired man. His voice matched his charming lopsided smile. “And it is already warm.”

“No one has touched it. Everything in that suite is the way you and Gilles liked it when you were boys.” Count Robert spread his hands, a huge diamond glinting on his little finger. He looked like Henry VIII in a Brioni swallow-tailed jacket.

“They sure are piling it on,” I whispered, remembering Beka's revelation about Honoré.

“Popular, isn't he?” Nat grinned, and whispered behind her hand. “My guess is, they don't want him contaminated by his low-class girlfriend when he's vulnerable. Or maybe they're worried because some think he's a taco short on his combo plate.” She tapped her forehead.

“Crazy?” I stared. “He's not.”

She shrugged. “You were alone with him. Did he pop obscure German at you? And watch out when he starts hurling Latin around, Beka says. Sure sign that he's seriously pissed.”

He hates being used as a lie-detector
, I wanted to say. But I didn't. Whatever other secrets Beka shared with Nat, the aura thing couldn't be one of them. While I was thinking that, I almost missed the decision, it was so subtle.

Honoré lifted his head, Tony made a gesture, and then Honoré said, “Very well. Thank you, Aunt Sisi. Robert.”

“Come, dears.” The duchess sounded pleased. “We must not leave poor Alexander standing in the cold vault. Honoré, dear boy, you should not attempt those steps. Anton will see you home.”

“Want to go with them?” Natalie asked.

I grimaced. “I wasn't invited.”

Nat chuckled. “Big surprise, eh?”

“What surprises me is the duchess sending Tony away, if this is all about appearances.”

Nat shrugged. “My guess is, everyone will assume he was there. But one thing for sure, Honoré ain't getting down those steps into the vault any time soon.”

The von Mecklundburg posse and their chosen few from the Ridotski and Trasyemova families vanished through another side entrance as Tony bent to pick up Honoré's long coat from the front pew.

I turned my back on them and started up the aisle. “Where is the cemetery? I don't think I've seen it.”

“Catacombs right below us. Royal families only. Otherwise the posh set pretty much have their own vaults at their estates.”

“So why isn't Ruli being buried up at the Eyrie? Oh, because there's more points to being stashed with all the kings?”

“That would be my guess.”

“Where's everybody else get put?”

“Up on the mountain, near my neck of the woods.” She jerked her chin toward the north end of the city. “It's really pretty up there.”

We followed the last of the crowd through the great double doors, carved with medieval scenes of saints and angels. “Are the catacombs open to the public?”

“No, but you could get permission from the bishop if you want to take a gander. Also, it's pretty much fifteen hundreds and up, I hear. Around here, that's practically postmodern. The medieval kings are in a crypt in that rose garden between the cathedral and the school over on that side. There are a bunch of little gardens with high walls built all around it.”