The Spirit Lens (67 page)

Father Creator!
Fear a viper’s fang in my craw, I bolted for the east wing.

Dante’s door stood open. Beyond it lay a horror to chill the soul. The mage’s staff belched a scarlet whirlwind that had trapped Ilario at its heart. The young lord hung in the red mist above the circumoccule, a blur of pale skin, flailing limbs, and ragged lace and satin, spinning like a child’s top.

“Was it the priggish librarian who allowed you to imagine you have a mind, peacock? Perhaps I must send you through the glass and leave you a splotch on the paving to convince the earnest little insect that I mean what I say.”

As I held speechless in the doorway, the red blur raced toward the windows, the garish reflection doubling the dread spectacle. But before a disastrous collision, the scarlet light vanished in an explosive brilliance, and Ilario plummeted to a heap at Dante’s feet.

“Th’art a devil, mage. A dastard.” Speech slurred, the chevalier pulled himself to his knees. “Don’t need a fine education t’see it. You must heal the—Oof.”

The heel of Dante’s staff slammed Ilario’s belly hard enough to shove him backward. “
Must
, cloudwit?”

“Stop this,” I said.

“Must heal . . . contessa . . .” Another blow and Ilario gasped and doubled over. His hand twitched toward his sword, but he merely clenched his fist and shook it feebly . . . impotently . . . at the mage. Merciful god, he was not going to break his mask.

“
Must
, fool?” Another vicious blow.

Ilario groaned. “You. Ensorceled. Lady.”

The mage raised the staff again.

“Dante!”

The mage’s head jerked up, and his cold green eyes met mine. With a snarl, he slammed the staff down on Ilario’s shoulder. Ilario bellowed in agony.

I charged. “Stop this, you misbegotten Souleater! Are you mad?”

Ilario bellowed, as the carved hornbeam landed yet again, this time on his upper arm. The bones cracked and ground. A quick blow to his side silenced his cry, just as I skidded to my knees and threw myself over him.

“Get this whining, lying dancepole out of my apartments.” Dante raised his staff again, but it did not fall.

Shielding the chevalier’s head, I slid my arm under his shoulder on the side opposite his injuries. “What’s happened to you, mage?” I said. “Since when is Ilario the enemy?”

“He burst in here, threatening murder and issuing orders. I’ll not have it, no matter who he is.”

“Did Madeleine de Cazar threaten you?”

“Creeping aristos who dabble with secrets and sorcery break themselves.” Much as he had opined at Montclair.

But the lady’s sudden collapse violated every expectation . . . and Dante had made a point of touching her. And of all men, I knew that he could influence the minds of others. God’s hand, he
had
done it.

I helped Ilario to his feet. Expecting the cursed hornbeam to land on my own back, I guided him into the passage. Though no hand touched it, the door slammed behind us.

Ilario cradled his left arm and gritted his teeth as I half carried him away. The moment we arrived at his apartments, I dispatched a gaping John Deune to fetch the chevalier’s physician. “What were you thinking?” I said as soon as I had him on his couch, pillows supporting his arm. His complexion was the color of alabaster.

“Devil drove the woman mad,” he spat through clenched teeth. “Jacard saw him work the magic. Couldn’t leave it go without a word.”

“But you knew you wouldn’t draw a sword on him, either.”

“Never thought he’d—” He tried to shrug, a disastrous move.

When he had finished puking up his last meal and lay wasted and trembling on his couch, he summoned a wobbling grin. “Could’ve. Could’ve taken him. Easy. Some of us have to live on could’ves.”

The physician came and went, leaving Ilario trussed in plaster and linen. I shooed away John Deune with a promise to see the chevalier imbibed the prescribed poppy extract.

Despite a posture rigid with pain, Ilario made it clear he would do no such thing. “Can’t,” he said. “Might blab something I oughtn’t.”

The consequences of his chosen life seemed worse by the moment. “Can I fetch anything to help you sleep?”

“Stay till I’m snoring,” he mumbled. “Might be tempted to throw myself off the balcony if I heave again.”

For the next hour, I recounted the events of the trial and its aftermath. “I’d a mind to drop in on Dante after speaking to you,” I said when I’d gotten through most of it. “Thought to inquire if it was my blood he used that night.”

“Dante’s gone rogue, Portier. He’s more dangerous than the Aspirant or Gaetana or Orviene or any of them. Geni says not to bother my head, that she has ‘an understanding’ with him. But Madeleine’s been in that courtyard seven days. Refuses to go inside. Refuses to change her garments. Sleeps where she drops. They try to coax her out of the sun, but it’s all they can do to get her to eat or drink. Curdled my blood. And my good sense, obviously.”

“I’ve been unconscionably blind,” I said. “He has such a unique and marvelous vision of the natural world. I’ve never met a man whose passion burned so singular . . . and so bright. After Eltevire, I was certain we’d come to the beginnings of true friendship. But he was so angry when he found out I’d written that letter to the Camarilla. . . .”

“You’re more a mush-headed idiot than my sister. Risking your lives for Maura against all evidence. Neither of you willing to condemn this villain mage. At least Geni doesn’t claim to
like
him.” He shifted uncomfortably, and I stuffed a silk cushion under his rapidly bruising left side. “You did not cause this, Portier. The Camarilla might have scared Dante a bit. Any sane man would get over it. And she’s no friend of mine, but Michel de Vernase’s wife is no weak-minded ninny. No
strain
or
questioning
broke her.”

“I know it,” I said. The admission wrenched my spirit. To imagine I’d allowed such talent as Dante’s to plunge into an abyss of wickedness pained me more deeply than I could speak. But the escalating violence, breaking a woman’s mind, coldly and deliberately brutalizing a man who posed no threat to him . . . Such acts demonstrated a ruthless intent far beyond playacting—beyond healthy anger. Beyond humanity. Not even I could excuse him any longer.

“Indeed, I’ve been the world’s greatest fool,” I said, wishing I dared down his neglected poppy extract and sleep for a year. “So tell me reasons. Why harm the contessa if he thinks to join Michel’s depleted band? Naught in her answers hinted at complicity in anything criminal.”

Ilario raised his brows in disbelief. “You really must learn more of the wicked world, Portier. What does one do to announce one’s arrival in a new milieu? You demonstrate your power to the elite in a small, but very important way. Force them to take note of you. If the one whose attention you crave is a villain, then you demonstrate your power in villainous ways. If the elite decide you are a valuable addition to their circle, they invite you inside.”

This is exactly what I had set Dante to do, only we had purged the palace of its villains. But perhaps that was not the circle he aspired to. “That cannot explain this particular villainy,” I said, feeling the sealed testimony of the day begin to rip open. “This will not endear him to Michel. If
Michel
wanted her silenced, he could have done it any day this past year.”

Ilario drained his cup of wine and passed it to me to refill. “Ah, you see, Dante’s act will only gain attention if Michel is a part of the circle he wishes to join. Its nature just tells us that Michel is not the
sole
part of it.”

My conclusion followed immediately. “And not the most powerful part.”

“He’s made a bid to join them, Portier.”

I returned to my apartments profoundly troubled. I could not disagree with either Ilario’s premises or his conclusions, so clear and obvious when I looked back at the days since Eltevire. Why had I held such fierce certainty in Dante’s character? I must be the world’s purest idiot. Recalling the mage’s pitiless face as he splintered Ilario’s bones shook my very soul. What could drive a man to such a reversal of character?

Loyalty and causes, no matter how noble, meant nothing to Dante. His mutilated hand testified of pain as wretchedly familiar. For a man of his talents and will, I doubted any physical danger could coerce. And certainly no personal ties could be used to force him to some behavior unwillingly. Family was anathema, and he recognized no friends. Which left desire.

What Dante loved and desired was magic. He had been willing to sacrifice his physical well-being to delve deeper into sorcery. Had something he’d seen or heard in the Bastionne convinced him he would learn more on this divergent course? Certainly scruple would not restrain him in its learning or its use. What Sabria had seen on the night of the Exposition had likely been but the first hints of his delving.

Father Creator.
I had brought him here. I was responsible for whatever he wrought.

But so was one decision made, at least. I sat down and penned an answer to my cousin.

ON THE TENTH DAY AFTER his queen’s release from Spindle Prison, Philippe de Savin-Journia returned to his Presence Chamber to conduct his public business and welcome a troupe of traveling players who would present a masque in celebration of his birthday. To the surprise of his courtiers and the pleasure of the king—and all gossips—Queen Eugenie graced the audience with her presence. Her pale rose gown trailed behind her like shredded clouds as she made her obeisance.

I had never seen such a genuine smile on my cousin’s face as when he raised her up. Open, illuminating, transforming, that smile explained a great deal about Philippe’s soldiers’ and subjects’ affection for him.

The king led Eugenie to her chair across the dais and one step lower than his own. She whispered in his ear. He kissed her hand. The chamber rang with cheers and joyous applause.

I stood in the mass of courtiers along one side of the Presence Chamber observing this happy evidence of reconciliation. Gossips would note that Queen Eugenie’s household had taken on a new shape this day. Certainly Lady Antonia was there, as always, her browless eyes scrutinizing the assembly. Ilario stood close, as well, in a rakish, feathered hat and his most outlandish doublet of yellow brocade, skirted to his knees and rife with silver beadwork that rivaled Eugenie’s gown in elaboration. Bands of beaded silk strapped his shoulder and arm, broken in a riding accident, so rumor had it. The colorful crowd of acolytes and adepts was reduced to a pale, subdued Jacard and the queen’s new First Counselor, the gaunt, dark-browed mage at her right hand. Gaetana’s and Orviene’s place was now Dante’s alone.

Retaining him made sense. Naught had happened to change Eugenie’s desire to feel her mother’s hand and ensure the happiness of her dead children. The dread I had carried since the Exposition, reinforced at the sight of Madeleine de Cazar’s madness, settled deeper in my belly.

“It is our delight that our queen joins us today in the business of the realm,” said the king, now returned to his chair in front of the great planetary. “Before we welcome these visiting players, she wishes to announce an appointment. My lady . . .”

“It is my pleasure to name the new administrator for my household,” said a beaming Eugenie, ignoring the chill that spread like hoarfrost from her First Counselor’s grim countenance. Strong and determined, her voice carried all the way to the back of the Presence Chamber. “Someone to bring order to my frivolous life and see to the comfort of my dear ladies and valued counselors. A gentleman of quiet demeanor and superior skills—and excellent family connections.”

Suppressing a sigh as I noted the hard twitch of Philippe’s brow, and a shudder as Dante’s gaze speared me with green fire, I made my way forward to kneel at my gracious lady’s feet.

EPILOGUE

MIDSUMMER

T
he Midsummer Fete was quiet this year. All celebrations pale after the Grand Exposition, a mere six months ago, and the public notice of Michel de Vernase’s trial and conviction. The traitor is not yet found; nor, thank all benevolent angels, is Maura.

My work in the queen’s household is satisfying, and I am fading into bureaucratic anonymity—as I intend. But I am free of business for the evening and so wander into the Great Hall and Rotunda for my nightly visit, a habit I took up on the night I finally admitted Dante had turned. It is here I’ve found confirming evidence of my fears.