Lord of Snow and Shadows (27 page)

“But could you and my father have withstood the Drakhaon’s powers?” Kiukiu whispered. “Wouldn’t you have been destroyed too?”

“Aye, and that would have been a merciful thing. But then who would have cared for my lords and ladies? And who would have been here to rescue you from the snows?”

Her grandmother’s logic was a little skewed, but Kiukiu could see that, in a way, it made sense.

“Some nights, when the loneliness is hard to bear, I go down those mist-shrouded, winding paths into the Ways Beyond,” Malusha said distantly, as if she were talking to herself. “But ghosts make sad company. . . .”

“You went there looking for my father?”

“When I could not find him in the land of the living, I knew where I had to look. We said a kind of farewell to each other.”

“He wasn’t in that . . . that terrible place of dust and ashes?”

Malusha leaned across and squeezed Kiukiu’s hand.

“No, child, he passed across that barren landscape long ago. As a Guslyar he knew how to find the Ways that lead Beyond. But wretched souls, such as Lord Volkh, weighed down, blinded by their burden of cruelty, cannot see where the true paths lie.”

“I couldn’t see any paths.”

“Because you have not been trained. But now that will change.” Malusha turned Kiukiu’s hand over, raising it to inspect her fingers. “Good, long fingers. Strong fingers. But your nails, child! All worn and chewed. A Guslyar needs nails of iron to pluck these metal strings.”

“I had to wash dishes,” Kiukiu said. It seemed a feeble excuse.

“You’ll have to use these.” Malusha fished out some pieces of curiously fashioned metal and slipped one onto Kiukiu’s index finger. “These are plectra. Until your nails grow strong and hard, you’ll have to practice with these.”

“But why do Guslyars need to play songs? I didn’t make any music before Lord Volkh appeared in the mirror.”

“Mirrors? Bah,” Malusha said dismissively. “Crude peasant magic. A Guslyar uses music for many purposes. The first is to sing the Praise Songs, the
bylini
. Each Lord of Arkhel has his own Praise Song. I shall teach you all the Songs of the House of Arkhel. And then there is the
other
music.”

“Other music?” Kiukiu echoed.

“We can make the sound of the gusly act as a bridge between our world and the Ways Beyond.” Malusha plucked two of the strings, setting up a weird and disconcerting resonance that seemed to pulse to the core of Kiukiu’s body. “We can summon spirit-wraiths by the sounds we make with our voices and these strings. These sounds send us into the trance state where we unlock the hidden portals and travel the Ways unknown to ordinary men, the Ways untraveled by the living.”

“You said you went to find Malkh, my father. Can I find him too? And my mother?”

“Child, child, have you not heard a single word I’ve been saying? Every time you walk those paths, you shorten your own life span. You must be properly trained before you venture out on those uncharted paths again. Or the Lost Souls will drain you of your life- force, and you will have no strength to return to your body.”

“You mean I have to learn to play first?” Disheartened, Kiukiu looked down at the strings. How was she ever to make sense of them all?

“You have a lifetime’s work to make up. So we’d better get started!”

At sunset, Kiukiu went to feed Harim the pony. She was glad to escape Malusha and her scolding for a little while. She was well used to scolding, but her brain was dizzy with all the instructions her grandmother had given her in her first gusly lesson. “Hold the instrument this way, your left-hand fingers are here, no,
here
. . .”

Her arm ached from the unfamiliar weight of the gusly, and her fingers were sore. Her mind jangled with the discordant sounds she had made. It was a relief to come outside and listen to the quiet.

She ventured out beyond the gateway to the edge of the moorlands. It had stopped snowing, and the setting sun had stained the snowfields with a glitter of pale fire. The intense cold took her breath away. Now that the wind had dropped, it was so quiet. It was as if she were the last living being in this winter wilderness.

She turned to go back into the warmth of her grandmother’s cottage.

Suddenly the twilight sky flashed blue, intense lightning blue. The air shuddered and crackled. The ground shook beneath her feet. In his stall she heard the pony whinnying in terror. The snow owls burst up out of the tower in a flurry of white wings, shrieking and jickering.

Malusha came running out of the cottage. Kiukiu moved toward her, clutching at her in her fright. Her grandmother’s face had turned gray.

“Grandmother,” Kiukiu stammered. “What was that?”

Malusha could not speak for a moment. Her lips moved, but no sounds came out. One hand waved feebly in the direction of the moors. At last the words began to come, faint yet tainted with a virulent and bitter hatred.

“Hoped . . . never to have to see
that
again in my lifetime . . .”

“What, Grandmother?”

“Arkhel’s bane. Drakhaon’s Fire. Your young Lord Gavril is no longer human, Kiukiu. Nagarian bad blood will out, sooner or later. He has become truly Drakhaon.”

CHAPTER 21

Madame Andar-Nagarian,

I must apologize for my behavior; it was quite unpardonable. To make amends, I wish to propose a meeting at the Tea Pavilion in the Water Gardens at three today.

Altan Kazimir.

Elysia glanced around again. She had gone out unaccompanied on the pretext of needing to purchase some new oil paints. Yet since she left the shop with her purchases, she had been certain someone was shadowing her.

Now that she had reached the Water Gardens, she hurried along the winding paths, following the signs to the Tea Pavilion, hoping she had been mistaken. Frost still dusted the frozen grass. The last of the autumn leaves were slowly drifting down from the bare branches; as she reached the lake, she saw the Tea Pavilion, a graceful summerhouse painted a delicate shade of willow green, standing beside the gray, still waters.

The Tea Pavilion was busy, and the scent of roasting coffee beans warmed the steamy air. To Elysia’s astonishment, many of the customers were eating ices in spite of the frosty temperature outside. She saw glass after glass of pale green pistachio, apricot, and vivid pink raspberry being eagerly consumed as she gazed across the room, searching for Doctor Kazimir.

She caught sight of him in a window seat overlooking the lake, staring into the distant reed beds, lost in thought.

“Doctor Kazimir?”

He started. Below the window black swans glided past on the lake.

“Madame.” He rose to his feet. “I’m so glad you came. I wanted to apologize.” He was neatly dressed today, clean-shaven, with his fine fair hair combed back off his face. With relief she saw there was no sign of the drunken, disheveled Kazimir she had met above the Orrery tavern. She prayed this meeting would prove more fruitful than the last.

“No need to apologize, Doctor,” she said. “You have been through a terrible ordeal. And I caught you at an inopportune moment. I should have sent a letter. It’s just that I’ve been so worried about Gavril.” She sat down at the little table. “And I must confess, what you told me about your discoveries did little to allay my fears.”

“Will you try the ices, madame? They’re the best in Mirom.”

“Ices?” Ice cream had been the last thing on Elysia’s mind. “Oh, yes, thank you,” she said distractedly.

A waitress came past, and Doctor Kazimir beckoned her over. “Two sundaes,” he said. When the waitress had gone, he leaned forward and said in a low voice, “There is something else you should know.”

“I’d hoped there would be more to this meeting than ices,” Elysia said, unable to resist smiling.

Kazimir glanced around, as though checking they were not overheard. The general noise of conversation and clinking spoons on glasses was enough to afford a little privacy.

“I may have mentioned Lilias Arbelian,” he began, but broke off as the waitress appeared with two glass dishes filled with scoops of the brightly colored ices.

“You said she was Volkh’s mistress,” Elysia said bluntly. She picked up her spoon and began pressing the pistachio ice with it.

“I’m sorry I was so unsubtle.”

“No, no. Plain speaking. That’s what I prefer.”

“What I didn’t tell you,” and Kazimir leaned forward across the table, “is that she was working for Velemir.”

“Count Velemir?” Elysia said, genuinely surprised.

“Ssh.” Kazimir glanced around uneasily again. “His agents are everywhere.”

“You mean she was officially representing Muscobar’s interests in Azhkendir?” Elysia sampled the red raspberry sorbet; the flavor was both sweet and refreshingly sharp.

“Lilias?” An ironic little smile twisted Kazimir’s lips. “Good heavens, no, there was nothing official about Lilias. I mean she was sent to spy.”

Elysia laid down her spoon in the saucer. So the charming Count Velemir was Muscobar’s spymaster. Suddenly she found she had lost her appetite for ice cream.

“You didn’t know, madame?”

“No.” All Velemir’s talk of diplomacy and embassies was merely a cover; how could she have been so blind? She tried to dismiss the sense of betrayal from her mind, but somehow she felt cheapened, naive. “But what was so important to Muscobar about Volkh?”

“His powers, of course.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They thought your late husband had developed a weapon of massive destructive potential. They heard the stories of explosions, blue fire; hundreds, thousands dead. So they were more than a little perplexed when they heard the true explanation.”

“It does defy rational analysis, doesn’t it?” Elysia said wryly.

“They had hoped for the recipe for a new kind of gunpowder that could be manufactured here and used to defeat Eugene’s armies. Instead they were spun fairy tales about flying dragons and shape-shifting wizards.”

It was all so ludicrous that Elysia wanted to laugh. She clapped one lace-gloved hand to her mouth to hold the laughter in.

“But your son, Gavril. He is in a decidedly tricky situation.”

Sobered, Elysia nodded.

“Did I tell you Lilias was pregnant?”

“Pregnant? With Volkh’s child?” The possibility had not occurred to Elysia till now. She was not sure how she felt about the news.

“Well, no one was entirely sure whose child, including Lilias herself.” Kazimir’s expression had become cold and distant but Elysia sensed a slow simmering of suppressed emotion. “But she made certain everyone thought it was Lord Volkh’s.”

“You think it might be your child?” Elysia said, with a sudden rush of understanding.

Kazimir did not reply but beckoned the waitress over. “Vodka,” he said.

“And for madame?” the girl asked.

“Nothing else for me, thank you,” Elysia said with a sigh. Vodka again. Was this where the conversation ended, just when it was beginning to prove fruitful?

Kazimir was silent until the vodka came in a slender glass bottle; he poured a measure and swallowed it in one gulp. Elysia watched, not knowing what to say.

“Lilias is a dangerous woman,” he said at last. “Manipulative, clever . . . and very beautiful.”

“You are in love with her.”

“Was,” he corrected.

“In what respect is she dangerous?” persisted Elysia.

“She’s ambitious. She wanted to be Drakhys, mother to the heir of Azhkendir.”

“And still spying for Muscobar? Oh, please!”

“I said she was dangerous. Dangerously fickle. Now that Lord Volkh is dead, do you think her aspirations have changed? Her son is to be Drakhaon.”

Kazimir reached for the bottle again but she put out her hand, covering the top. She wanted him to be lucid, not to slide back into inebriated incoherence. To her surprise, he did not protest.

“I should never have let myself be tempted. I should have been stronger. But she was lonely and I was lonely. You know what a dismal place Azhkendir can be in winter. . . .”

“Yes,” Elysia said, remembering. “I can see it would have been indelicate of you to stay.”

“I begged her to come away with me. But she refused! She didn’t love your husband. She admired him, in her own warped kind of way, for his power—and his cruelty. Oh yes, that appealed to Lilias. But love?” His voice trembled. “She doesn’t understand the meaning of the word.”

He pushed back his chair, turning away from Elysia to gaze out over the mist-gray lake. Elysia thought she saw the glisten of tears in his eyes. In spite of herself, she found that she felt a little sorry for him.

“She must be a bewitching woman, this Lilias,” she said softly.

“And that is why your son, madame,” he said, clearing his throat, “is doubly in danger. He is a threat to her ambitions.”

“Are you saying she is ambitious enough to try to kill my son?”

“I believe she used me, manipulated my affections, with the sole purpose of gaining access to the elixir. And then I believe she used it to poison Lord Volkh.”

“Lilias?”
Elysia exclaimed.

“Now I’ve alarmed you. I’m so sorry. That was never my intention, madame, I assure you. I only wanted to—”

“Yes, yes.” Elysia nodded, angry with herself for showing any sign of weakness. “But you haven’t really answered my question, Doctor Kazimir. How can
you
help Gavril?”

“Altan!” A man’s voice rang out above the buzz of conversation. Heads turned to stare.

Elysia looked up and saw to her annoyance that the man she had met in Kazimir’s room was forcing his way toward them. Matyev.

“Altan, where the hell have you been? Had you forgotten the meeting? Of the
philosophical
society?”

“Oh, sorry, Matyev, I must have lost all—”

Matyev picked up the vodka bottle; now he set it down hard on the table.

“And you’ve been drinking again! What use are you to our philosophical society if your brain’s soggy with alcohol?”

Matyev had ignored Elysia during the whole exchange. She looked coldly at him.

“M-may I present Madame El—”

Matyev turned to stare at Elysia.

“We’ve met,” he said curtly, turning away.

“Elysia Andar,” Kazimir finished.

Matyev turned back. “Andar? You are the portrait painter from Vermeille,” he said, eyes burning. “You work for the Orlovs.” The scornful way he pronounced the name left Elysia in no doubt of his feelings. “The gardens are crawling with
his
men. How can you be sure she’s not in his pay as well?”

“If you have an accusation to make, sir, at least make it to my face,” said Elysia, affronted by Matyev’s belligerent manner. “Do I take it to mean that you suspect me of some kind of double-dealing? Because—let me assure you—my meeting with the doctor here is of a purely personal nature. And none of your business!”

“Madame is a friend—” Kazimir began.

“Altan, Altan, why still so naive? Friend? When she keeps company with Butcher Velemir?” Matyev’s voice trembled with anger. “Haven’t you heard, man? Stepan is dead.”

“D-dead?” Kazimir looked up, stricken.

“Stepan?” Elysia murmured.

“The official version is that he hung himself in his cell. But they won’t let anyone see the body, not even his wife Natalya. I say
they
put him to the question—and botched the job.”

“Do you think he talked?” Kazimir said, suddenly agitated, shaking hands reaching for his glass. “Mentioned n-names?”

“Listen, you drunkard.” Matyev’s hand clamped down on his wrist, stopping him raising the glass to his lips. “Are we going to let this pass? Another ‘suicide’ in custody? Another unofficial execution?”

“The regime is corrupt, we all know it.” Kazimir said. “But what can we do?”

“Do? What can we do?” Matyev repeated in a harsh parody of Kazimir’s tone of voice. “I’ve just come from Stepan’s house. Natalya’s distraught, half-mad with grief. Four children to raise and her husband dead.” He glanced up and glared at Elysia. “And now I suppose you’ll go running back to your friends at court and blab all this out?”

“I can see why you have no reason to trust me,” Elysia said with chill disdain.

“You’re in a privileged position. You could be of use to us.” Matyev’s voice dropped, low and confidential as he leaned toward her across the table. “You know details, intimate details of the Orlov household. Who will leave the palace, by which gate, at which times—”

“Matyev, no!” Kazimir interrupted.

“You’re asking me to betray the confidentiality of a patron?” Elysia said, her voice brittle with contempt. “Do you think I have no professional ethics?”

“You see?” Matyev said with a shrug which said all too obviously what he thought of her professional ethics.

That was enough. Why should she stay only to be insulted? Matyev might be passionate about his beliefs, but he was a boor. Elysia rose. “It’s getting dark; I must be going.”

“M-madame, I—” Kazimir struggled to stammer out an apology.

“Thank you for the ices, Doctor,” she said crisply. She had no wish to hear his excuses. She had wanted his help, and he had let her down. “They were most . . . refreshing.”

She had the distinct impression as she threaded her way through the crowded tables that Kazimir had made a blundering move to come after her, but that Matyev had held him back.

Twilight had faded into night, and the Water Gardens were shrouded in the gloomy autumnal fog that Elysia had already come to associate with Mirom. She shivered, pulling her cloak up to cover her mouth so that she did not breathe in too much of the damp, chill air.

That infuriating man Matyev! Twice now he had interrupted her meetings with Altan Kazimir—and twice now she had come away frustrated, with only glimmers of answers to her questions.

Lamps had been lit along the paths but their thin light illumined little. As she hurried under the black, dank foliage and dripping branches, she began to wonder if she had taken a wrong turn. She had been walking briskly for some minutes and had come no closer to the gates.

Surely they would not lock the Water Gardens, with so many people still inside the Tea Pavilion?

A man loomed up out of the fog. She slowed her pace, glancing behind, to see if there was anyone else on the path. To her dismay, she realized she was quite alone. She turned around and began to hurry back the way she had come.