Masks and Shadows (42 page)

Anna knew as soon as she saw the guards in front of the royal box that mere arrogance would not serve to carry her past them.

“No admittance during the performance,” the first guard whispered. “I beg your pardon, madam, but the Empress gave explicit instructions that they not be disturbed.”

“I am here on a matter of the greatest urgency.” Anna tried to step past them. “They would wish to see me. I have—”

The second guard stepped in front of her, holding out a bulky arm. “I'm sorry, madam, but that's simply not possible.”

The chorus was beginning their final verse. Anna could have screamed with impatience. “I'm here to warn the Empress. There—”

An unfamiliar voice rapped out from the steps to the gallery above them.

“Shame on you, Fräulein Dommayer.”

Anna jerked around. A tall man in a richly embroidered black coat and satin breeches was running down the carpeted stairs toward them. He covered the last two steps in a bound, despite the walking stick he carried. His eyes glittered feverishly.

“Masquerading as a lady?” he asked. “Surely you couldn't have expected it to work. The fact that you're Lieutenant Esterházy's whore won't save you from his cousin's wrath.”

“I—what?” She stared at him, rendered momentarily speechless.

The first guard blinked. “Sir?”

“This is Lieutenant Esterházy's actress,” the man said. “Publicly cast off by him only a few days ago—and here, no doubt, to make a scene before both his cousin and the Empress.”

“I am not!” Anna regained her breath. “I wouldn't—I wasn't!” She raised her voice. She was a professional singer, at least for this one last evening. Surely she could project her voice through the thin walls of the royal box. “I am here to save their Majesties' lives!”

“A sweet attempt.” The man smiled thinly. “But not, I'm afraid, quite good enough.” He nodded at the second guard. “Take her away.”

Raised voices filtered into Charlotte's consciousness, through the music and the air thick with tension. Voices, arguing, familiar—

“I am here to save their Majesties' lives!”

“Anna,” Charlotte breathed. “What's happening?”

The Empress scowled. “I can barely hear the music. Nikolaus, do take care of it.”

The Prince gave an irritated jerk of the head, and a footman jumped to open the door. He peered out, whispering to one of the guards; through the narrow opening, Charlotte glimpsed her former maid struggling against the second guard.

The door closed. The footman bowed.

“One of the singers, sir, trying to intrude and make a scene.”

“Anna wouldn't do that!” Charlotte said. “She isn't like that.”

The footman coughed. “The lieutenant says she is . . . ah . . .
was
acquainted with Lieutenant Esterházy. Until he, ah, dismissed her a few days ago.”

“Ah.” The Prince grimaced. “Tell them to get rid of her and let us enjoy the rest of the performance in peace.”

The Empress nodded firmly.

Charlotte spoke in a fierce whisper. “She said she was trying to save their Majesties' lives. Won't you even listen to what she has to say?”

The Prince snorted. “She was trying to frighten the guards into letting her in.”

“With respect, Your Highness, the Baroness may have a point,” Signor Morelli murmured. “Fräulein Dommayer doesn't seem to be—”

“May we please stop discussing this and listen to the rest of the act?” the Empress said. “For heaven's sake, Nikolaus, have the guards question her somewhere else, if you must, but let us—oh. It's over!”

The theater hung in silence. The audience and the singers onstage all peered up at the balcony, waiting for the Prince to signal the beginning of the applause. Only the sound of Anna arguing with the guards filtered in through the walls of the box. Charlotte watched the Prince glance covertly down to where Count Radamowsky waited in the shadows beside the stage.

“Please,” Charlotte said urgently. “I truly believe—”

The Prince cut one hand through the air. “Enough.” He nodded at the footman. “Tell them to take her somewhere quiet. I'll question her myself, tomorrow.”

“Nikolaus,” the Princess began, mildly.

“No!” Charlotte said, at the same moment. “Your Highness, I beg you—”

The footman opened the door, interrupting the argument outside.

“Your Highness, please!” Anna lunged at the opening—

—And Herr von Born stepped into view, his walking stick flying up in his hand. He hit her hard on the head with the knob of the stick. Anna crumpled to the ground. Charlotte cried out, jumping to her feet.

“How dare you?”

Herr von Born bowed at the royals through the open door. “She won't intrude upon Your Majesties now.”

The Prince nodded back, breathing heavily. “Our thanks, von Born.”

Charlotte gripped her hands together, shaking. “Your Highness, I must protest! This is an intolerable abuse of—”

“You may protest later, Baroness, but not now.”

The Princess's gaze flicked to von Born and back. “Nikolaus, perhaps we really ought—”

“
Enough
, madam.” He dropped his voice, but Charlotte still heard his piercing whisper: “I have heard more than enough of your fretting already tonight.”

With his jaw set hard, the Prince signaled to the stage, and the four hundred audience members burst into loud applause. The guards closed the door to the royal box, shutting out the view of Anna's crumpled form. The singers onstage leapt into action, sweeping deep bows and curtseys, and then clearing off the stage with unusual haste. Anger and fear simmered through Charlotte's chest as she slowly sank back down into her seat. There was nothing more she could do now, with the Prince in this mood. All she could do was wait and hope that, in his pleasure at the end of the operatic performance, he would be more open to her persuasion.

But helpless rage nearly strangled her. If Anna had been seriously hurt . . .

The Prince's smile looked strained as he turned to his guests, rubbing his hands together.

“I have a surprise planned for Your Majesties,” he said, “to erase even the memory of all such unpleasantness. A surprise . . . and a gift.”

The Emperor and Empress turned together to their host.

“What sort of gift?” the Empress asked.

The Prince took a visible breath. “One more powerful than any cannon. One before which even Turkish or Prussian soldiers would have no strength, nor courage to stand and fight.”

What?
Charlotte thought. And then, as perception pierced through rage:
Oh.
She sucked in a gasp. He wouldn't. Would he? Not after what had happened to the poor Englishman. Not . . .

The Emperor leaned forward, his face hardening. “Explain.”

Prince Nikolaus's smile relaxed. “You'll see for yourself, Your Majesty, in only a minute's time.”

At the Prince's nod, Count Radamowsky stepped up onto the stage.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Ladies and gentlemen. Your Majesties. Your Highnesses.” Radamowsky strode to the center of the stage and bowed deeply.

The lighting had not changed, yet Charlotte could have sworn that darkness gathered behind him. The shadows seemed to thicken and bunch together.

Nonsense
, she told herself. Yet she couldn't rid herself of the illusion.

His voice rolled out, projecting easily through the theater. “His Highness Prince Nikolaus Esterházy has entrusted me with the great honor of studying a source of power and strength previously unknown to any monarch on earth. Allied to this elemental force and its kin from beyond the aetheric veil, any army would prove irresistible. This, Your Majesties, is His Highness's royal gift to the House of Habsburg.”

The Empress's plump face tightened into hard focus. Beside her, her son's figure was a pure line of intensity, aimed at the stage. Charlotte fought to stay decorously seated instead of running for her life. Had no one told the imperial guests what had happened the last time this elemental had been summoned?

It had to have been tamed by now, she told herself. Prince Nikolaus would never countenance any danger to his honored guests.

A week ago, that reassurance might have comforted her. But now . . .

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests and hosts, if you will only grant me your attention, we may prepare for the presentation of this royal gift. If you will but close your eyes and focus on my voice . . .”

No
, Charlotte thought.
Not this time!

She saw Signor Morelli's hands clench into fists as Radamowsky's voice turned into a drone. Beads of sweat stood out on Morelli's forehead. Dizziness spun through Charlotte as she fought to resist the pull of the Count's voice. His words pushed at her head, tugging at her, pulling her down into the trance and filling all her limbs with torpor. She wouldn't give in this time—she wouldn't let herself—

Something clicked in the back of her head.
Enough
.

She had done what was expected of her every year and minute of her life. She had never offended a host or disobeyed her parents, husband, or superiors in rank. She had paid scrupulous attention to the laws of polite society. She had followed every one of those laws . . . until tonight. Tonight, she could finally see with cold clarity that none of them truly mattered—not enough to risk her life. She
would
escape this!

She threw herself forward. She would jump from her chair, run out of the theater, run as far as she needed to escape this bloated travesty of power—

But she couldn't move. Her arms and legs had turned to lead. She struggled desperately, trying to scream. No sound came out. She saw her arms lying quietly on her lap. Her mind floated high above the rest of her body, shrieking silently.

Charlotte's eyes closed. Her head tipped forward.

Franz waited until he saw Radamowsky's signal before he took the wads of cloth out of his ears. Lieutenant von Höllner, at the other end of the stage, did the same. They walked out to join the Count in the center of the stage.

Radamowsky bowed. “The field is yours, gentlemen.” He did not bother to lower his voice.

Franz looked out into the audience and shivered. Four hundred people sat before them, eyes closed, entranced. Insensible. Waiting for their deaths.

He'd thought his own voice had power. He'd had no idea.

This had to be more than mere mesmerism. There was dark, frightening magic mixed in with this man's skills as a performer . . . and he had chosen to use it all for
this
?

Franz shouldn't have said anything, he knew that. Now that he was committed, he should have been able to ignore the self-loathing that gnawed at his stomach. But his voice came out in a cracked whisper, far beyond his control.

“Why are you doing this?”

Radamowsky raised his eyebrows, looking amused rather than offended. “For much the same reasons as you, I'd imagine. What fool wouldn't desire the patronage of powerful men?” He smiled. “In my case, the new government in Vienna will be infinitely supportive of my researches and of my, ah, personal requirements for them.”

Franz blinked. “New government? But there's an heir—the Emperor's brother—”

“Ah, but who do you think will step in to rule the new Emperor, in this crisis?” Radamowsky shook his head gently. “Especially once Austria's relations with the Hungarian magnates are thrown into chaos by tonight's massacre? And—”

“Enough!” von Höllner snapped. The lieutenant was visibly trembling. “Let's get it over with, damn it!”

“An excellent notion.” Von Born called the words down through the theater as he stepped up above the royal box, setting his walking stick down on the floor. “Radamowsky, I thank you for your help. It will be well-rewarded, as we've discussed. Von Höllner, Pichler, take your positions. It is finally time.”