Moonlight and Ashes (24 page)

‘It's dusty in there, Miss, and you must not make a sound. Now, please relax. The Count will join you shortly.'

The panel closed, and I was left alone in the dark.

I felt my way to the stool and climbed on. I found the knot of wood, slid it open and looked into the empty room. Minutes passed. It was very close in the space and dusty, too. I could feel my nose starting to tickle. I buried it in the handkerchief to stop myself from sneezing, and peered out, wishing desperately that Count Otto would hurry up.

Then I saw the door open and someone step into the room. But it wasn't Count Otto. It was Prince Leopold. I hadn't seen him in the flesh since that fateful night of the ball but he looked just the same: tall, handsome and elegant. There was a noticeable stain on the front of his white shirt, like a splash of wine or sauce. Perhaps he'd been at table when the Count called, and had not had time to change. My mind ran wildly. I'd thought about this moment so much but now that he was actually here my heart was racing so much I felt sick. And where was the Count? He should have been here first.

Leopold seemed quite relaxed. He went to the window and stood looking out for a moment. Then he turned around and pulled out something from his pocket. And my heart nearly stopped, for I realised two things: first, that the thing he held was a revolver; second, that the stain on his shirt wasn't sauce or wine at all –
it was blood, fresh blood . . .

In a quick, sudden movement, he drew the curtains, abruptly cutting out the sunlight, and sat down at the table, moving the chair slightly so that he faced the door. His face was still and perfectly calm. A shiver ran down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

Something terrible must have happened to the Count. I pictured him shot to death, lying in his own blood in the carriage while the Prince calmly went on his way to the supposed meeting. He must have guessed it was a trap, I thought. But instead of hiding he'd decided to come here to see who it was that the Count had so wanted him to meet. It was a bold move but then just about everything Leopold had done was. Evil, yes, but bold. He was a gambler; cool-headed, quick-witted and infinitely dangerous. But why would he have done it? Why would he murder his father's chief adviser in cold blood? Was it because he'd suspected he was being led into a trap? And then the answer came to me – the Count must have guessed his secret and shown it on the way here . . . and Leopold had assumed he'd got it from Max. He probably thought Max was the mysterious visitor he was being brought to meet . . . and had come to turn the tables on him!

Where were the others? Bastien? The servant? The driver? I could only assume that they were lying dead
somewhere while the Prince sat here calmly. I felt very cold. This was my fault. Max had said his father would be in mortal danger if he knew and he'd been right.

And now I knew why. There could only be one reason why Leopold would do the things he'd done. The secret he was hiding was no ordinary crime, but a crime which, if discovered, could send him to the scaffold even if he was the Emperor's son. And that was because he was striking at the heart of the empire. He hadn't wanted to wait for the throne to pass to him in due course.
He'd been plotting to overthrow his own father
– to kill him and seize the throne for himself
.
Somehow, Max must have found out and Leopold knew he had to act at once if he was to stop his secret from ever being discovered. And so Max had ended up in a Mancer prison.

It all made sense now. How I wished I had understood earlier! But the time for wishes was long past. The time for plans had gone, too. Now there was only one thing I could do. I slid the dagger out of my bag and eased the blade from the scabbard. And then I pushed the lever.

Nothing happened. I pushed the lever again. Still, the panel wouldn't open. Panicked now, I pressed again. Nothing. The lever must have jammed or somehow become stuck. I put my eye to the peephole and nearly fell back off the stool. For there was an eye looking back at me, blue, turned green by the yellow glass.

‘Well, well,' said Leopold, lightly, ‘are there rats in the wainscoting, I wonder. What do you think?'

For a moment I thought he was addressing me. Then another voice answered, in the same light tones, ‘There's always a rat, I've found, Your Royal Highness.'

I did not need to look through the glass to know who it was. Bastien! He must have been working for the Prince all along! He must have helped to kill the Count and the others. And it was he who must have jammed the mechanism, who had trapped me here like a rat to be killed at leisure. I was doomed. All I could do was to go down fighting.

I held the knife to my chest, the point facing out, with both hands clenched tightly over the hilt, and waited. But the panel didn't open. And when it didn't, I knew that they had no intention of letting me out. Not yet. I was to be held there, helpless, till I had seen and heard everything they wanted me to.

I could have chosen not to look, not to listen. I could have chosen to stay there slumped in the dark. But I had to see, I had to know. I looked through the glass and saw the Prince and Bastien sitting at the table, calmly quaffing some wine. They'd lit a lamp, which cast a pool of light over the scene. I could only see Bastien from behind, half in shadow. He still had that stupid cloak on, which in the shifting shadows looked black.

But that wasn't the only thing that caused the breath to stick in my throat. There was another man in the room, standing by the window and looking out through a chink in the curtains. He was tall and burly, in a dark overcoat and hat. He carried himself in such a way that you knew at once this man was the most dangerous of the lot. I'd seen him at the cemetery, in Thalia's mirror, and now. But there was something else, something that nagged at my benumbed brain, some half-formed sense of familiarity, of . . .

And then he turned. Time seemed to stop as I saw clearly who he was, and everything I'd thought I understood dissolved. I was suddenly in a world of such monstrous deceit and treachery that for a moment I felt as though I were going mad. A wicked son plotting against his own father; an evil father willing to destroy his own son for power.

Max's father stood regarding the others, a frown creasing his brow.

‘You'd better be right this time,' he snapped. ‘It's all very well saying your spies saw someone answering his description arrive at the river port this morning; but any amount of times you'd told us he'd been spotted, and every time, it was a false alarm.'

‘My dear Otto, there's no question of my being wrong this time,' said Bastien, calmly.

This was no servant, that much was clear. This was someone who felt himself to be absolutely the Count's equal.

‘He's been clever, I admit, but sooner or later, given his character, he was bound to make a mistake. That's what this girl gave us – his weakness. This is the only way it could have been done.' He held up something that looked like a small bag, no bigger than something you'd use to keep a pair of earrings in. ‘A strand of hair from her bonnet, a piece of her bloodstained glove and the lock of his hair you gave me.'

In a heartbeat I knew who he was. Or, rather,
what
he was. I thought of Olga gathering up my and Max's hair after we'd chopped it off on the barge. She had said it had to be destroyed for in her country such things as hair
and blood were used by wizards to bind powerful spells. Ignorant, gullible fool that I was, I'd left my bonnet and my gloves in the sitting room. And Bastien had known how to use them because he was
a Mancer
.

The rogue who had deceived his fellows. Or had he? What if he was acting with the full, secret authority of the order? His manner certainly did not suggest a low-level Mancer, but one used to dealing as an equal with an important courtier, a member of the Mancer Council . . .

Fretfully, Prince Leopold said, ‘Why should he come?
I 
wouldn't.'

Bastien shrugged. ‘No,
you
wouldn't. But he's not like you. And he's in love. The danger spell will bring him, there is nothing surer.'

I wanted to believe he was bluffing. I wanted to believe that there was no possibility that the spies were right and Max was at the river port on the way to Almain, not on his way here. I wanted to believe it because if what Bastien said was true, there could only be one explanation – that Max had been trying desperately to find me, that he had somehow followed my trail to Faustina. I wanted to believe so much, but I didn't . . . there was a dreadful certainty in me that Bastien was telling the truth.

I banged on the panel, cursing, but they did nothing. Uninterested, they didn't even look up. I was simply bait to be kept waiting till I had served my purpose. They didn't know who I was and they didn't care. They just knew I loved Max and he loved me, that he was brave and would not think twice about facing terrible danger to help the one he loved. And
I
told them that.
I
had given them the means to trap him. It was the bitterest thought
of all – that our love was what would put the noose around his neck.

‘Then all will be well, and nothing more can stand in our way,' the Prince said, his eyes bright.

‘Only if you do what I told you to do, for you have already caused us a good deal of needless trouble,' Bastien snapped.

‘But, Master, I
had
to kill the driver. He might have let something slip and we can't afford that,' the Prince said sulkily.

Count Otto and Bastien looked at each other in exasperation. Even if the Prince was the symbolic heart of the plot, it was clear that they were the prime movers in this vile affair, I thought, not Leopold. Whatever he might imagine, he was a puppet and they were pulling his strings. And Bastien wasn't even bothering to hide his contempt.

The Prince had called him ‘Master', I thought, so Bastien must be a top-ranking Mancer. That seemingly unimportant fact gave me the first ray of hope.
That
, I thought, was why Prince Leopold and Count Otto had gone to Ashberg. Only there, with their Mancer connection, could they be sure that Max would be destroyed, no questions asked; which must mean they most certainly did
not
have the backing of the Mancer Council. If only I could get word to them somehow . . .

If only the power of Dremda would help me. But its last reserves of power had been used to get me here and, even if it had not, there was no guarantee that it would help. For the Mancers are the moon-sisters' hereditary enemies and there is nothing in common between them. The magic of the moon-sisters and the magic of the Mancers are
opposites – indeed, they are opposing forces. Why would it matter to Dremda if the Prince overthrew his father to rule the empire? One Emperor was very much like another – all bad, that is. The prophecy had said that ‘the shadow would only be lifted when the last daughter of Serafina spilled the blood of the last son of Karl'. The shadow was likely the power of the Mancers. In Dremda terms, my mission had not just been about avenging Serafina's death; it was also about destroying the power of the Mancers, which guaranteed the power of the empire. And so warning them about a traitor in their midst hardly figured in that.

Besides, I'd left my hazel twig in my desk at the hotel. And then I remembered the leaf I'd picked that morning, which I'd tucked under my sleeve cuff on the way here. I extracted the leaf and held it in my hand. Suddenly, a thought came to me that was so unexpected and extraordinary that it was like a blinding shaft of light in the pure darkness of a cave.

Yes, the Mancers and the moon-sisters are enemies – but it hadn't always been so. Yes, their magics are opposites but once, a long time ago, before Serafina's rebellion, they had co-existed peacefully. And that meant that maybe, just
maybe
, they could do so again. At least, just this once.

I had to evoke both Mancer and moon-sister. And, ironically, it was Bastien who had shown me how. I had no idea if it would work but I had to try.

I picked up the handkerchief Bastien had given me – that had touched his skin. I rubbed the leaf with it, and it twisted, its edges curling, as if it was about to wither. Quickly, I picked up the dagger and, with it, nicked my finger. Drops of blood fell on the leaf and it went black,
curling up even faster. And just as I had begun to think it had died, to think I had wasted my one shot, the leaf gave a sudden shiver, a silver shimmer, and there in my hand was a mirror, like a small version of the one in Thalia's book.

In it I could see a chamber, within which a group of men sat around a table, the crest on the wall behind them bearing a snake and two wands. The man at the head of the table was older than the others, greyer, hunched and a little frail, yet there was a chill power to him that instantly commanded respect. Though I had never seen him before, I knew who he was: the General Secretary of the Mancers. They were all so still, their eyes all fixed on one point: at me. I knew they could see me – I could see it in their shocked faces. They knew what I was – the past rising up before them, the magic they thought was destroyed. I was the ghost of the vanished moon-sisters, and for a moment they could not move or speak, so total was their dismay. And I knew I only had that sliver of a moment before they would shut me out.