Congress of Secrets

by Stephanie Burgis

  “Fine! Take her, if you must. Good riddance to her—and to you, if you’re fool enough to be taken in by the slut.” The emperor shook his head. Michael was alarmed to see a smile twist the corners of his narrow lips. “Unfortunately …”

  “What?” Michael heard his voice rise, but for once, he couldn’t stop the raw panic from breaking through. “What have you done to her this time?”

  “I? Nothing at all. I left her half an hour ago, entirely unharmed. However …” The emperor’s lips curved into a full smile of malevolent satisfaction. “I left her in Pergen’s able hands, with instructions to punish her in the way he best knew how. That may have been only half an hour past, but from my intimate knowledge of Pergen’s skills …”

  An icy chill swept through Michael’s body as he absorbed the emperor’s final words.

  “I doubt you’ll find much left of her to rescue.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Charles pushed Caroline back onto the settee, and she landed hard, the back of her head hitting the wall. Her face burned with pain from Pergen’s blow.

  She had sworn she would never be a prisoner again. Never again. The words repeated themselves in her head as panic swirled through her, too rapidly for reason to reassert itself.

  Her common sense told her to grit her teeth and endure it. She had been here so often before as a girl—not in this room but in this situation—too many times to count. She’d learned, then, how to wait out the pain and fear, how to numb herself to the distress. If she only stayed as calm as possible throughout, using the control she’d learned as an adult to restrain herself from useless struggling, she could marshal all her efforts for a rational state of alertness, seeking out any potential means of escape once her jailers were finally certain of her and had lost their wariness.

  Rationality be damned. She couldn’t bear it.

  Not again, after so many years. Not now.

  Caroline’s clenched right hand throbbed with pain. She glanced down, relaxing her fist. Warm, slippery blood pooled beneath her glove. The glass decanter of wine had cut her hand as it had smashed into pieces. Most of the fragments had been tiny, no more than pinpricks, but a few shards had cut into her skin so deeply that they hadn’t even hurt at first. Now that the numbness had faded, the pain was becoming a dull accompaniment to her thoughts—and the bleeding showed no signs of stopping.

  She would have found that worrying, under normal circumstances. Now, she sought for the first hints of dizziness and found herself hoping that the blood loss would make her swoon. She’d gain at least an hour’s respite from her torture if that happened—a full day, even, if she was lucky.

  Unfortunately, her head remained maddeningly clear. She saw Charles turn away to confer with Pergen in low whispers. He still kept one wary eye on her, though. Running for the door would do her no good.

  Caroline remembered the look on Charles’s face when she had performed the transference of power upon him, only a few nights before—the sick pallor, glistening behind the look of greedy excitement.

  She had been such a fool to give him that first taste of darkness. She had allowed her own need for him to blind her to his thirst for power. Just like Pergen’s. And she had brought him here to Vienna herself, giving him training and incentive to aid her enemy against her.

  Just as she had shown him.

  Caroline drew a deep breath. Desperation stilled her whirling panic.

  Think.

  She’d tried to run, and it had failed. Pergen had been right: it always failed. And yet she had never stopped trying as a child, and even now, as a grown woman. Imprisoned again, she’d reverted to her childhood mindset, helpless to think beyond her old patterns of mindless terror and flight.

  But she was no longer a child. She’d heard every dry, scientific explanation Pergen had given to the witnesses of her pain and degradation, all those years ago. And two nights ago …

  Caroline recalled the feeling of a hole opening inside her chest: darkness opening within her.

  She had more power than she had realized … or wanted to believe.

  All the candles were on the other side of the room, set in a bracket on the table; even as she thought it, she saw Charles walk across to retrieve them. Pergen drew a tinderbox from his coat pocket as Charles returned.

  Caroline didn’t need any candles. She had something more powerful, if she only dared to use it.

  Drops of her blood were scattered across the floor in the area where she had struggled with Pergen and along the path that she’d been dragged by Charles. They already formed a half-circle around the two alchemists. All she had to do …

  Caroline half-closed her eyes and slipped from the settee to the floor, pulling off her blood-stained glove along the way.

  Charles turned. “She’s fainted.”

  “I think not.” Pergen’s voice was dry. “You’ll become more familiar with her ruses soon enough, Mr. Weston. I believe she’s only trying to buy time for herself at this point—but just in case, do stand ready to catch her if she runs for the door. In the meantime, if you’d be so kind as to light those candles for me …”

  As the two men bent over the bracket of candles, Caroline raised her right arm with painful slowness. She couldn’t afford to draw their attention too soon.

  One drop, two drops, three … She inched forward, holding her breath. Four drops of blood, five …

  Tinder struck, and light flared in the corner of her narrowed vision.

  “Now,” Pergen said. His voice was rich with satisfaction. “Set these around her, Mr. Weston, if you please.”

  Caroline flung out her arm. Drops of blood flew out, scattering across the floor … and closing the circle.

  Charles turned. “What—?”

  Before he could step forward, Caroline spoke.

  She spoke the first words of the invocation while still lying flat on the ground, looking up at them. She saw Pergen’s shadowed eyes widen in sudden shock. He glanced down at the floor, and recognition dawned in his face. He tensed and lunged forward in a leap. Charles followed close behind.

  Pergen hit the edge of the circle of blood and was flung backward as if he had bounced off a wall. The silver vial flew from his hand as he fell to the ground.

  Caroline didn’t dare halt in the invocation. Words poured through her mouth as she watched the path of the vial that held her blood. The ritual wasn’t working as quickly this time as it had before. Why hadn’t it affected the two men inside the circle yet? She fought back panic, searching for reason even as the words left her mouth. Drawing power from two people must be a greater endeavor, and she had never done it before. Who knew how long it might take this time to have a real effect? Even now, if Pergen acted quickly enough, before it was too late …

  She saw the same thoughts pass across Charles’s face. He stumbled forward, reaching for the silver vial as it flew through the air. It hit the invisible wall and rebounded, flying back toward Pergen. If it reached him …

  Caroline’s breath caught in her throat, and she stumbled over the words she spoke.

  Charles grabbed for the vial. He was going to catch it …

  His hands knocked against the vial at just the wrong angle. It flew in the opposite direction and hit the floor with a crack that knocked off the stopper. Red blood slid out across the black and white tiles. Charles let out a groan of frustration.

  Relief pulled Caroline up to her knees, still chanting. The words flowed easily now, as she watched the blood stream safely across the tiles. Pergen couldn’t use it against her anymore, even if he had the strength. And soon …

  She met his eyes with bitter satisfaction. She had sworn never to perform alchemy again after her experience two nights ago. But as she looked at the man who had destroyed her childhood, she felt no regret. Even if it hadn’t been her only defense against him, she would have been glad to do it anyway. Glad to show him exactly how it felt.

  Even as she thought it, darkness fogged, then overwhelmed her v
ision.

  Power flooded through her in an icy wave that knocked her backward. She thought she might have landed against the settee, but she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t see, though her eyes were open. She couldn’t stop the words that formed themselves in her mouth as a hole ripped open inside her chest.

  A dark presence formed, squeezing itself through the hole. It stretched luxuriantly and reached through her.

  An opening in the veil, Charles had called it, when she’d asked him before. Every act of alchemy opened the veil. That opening functioned from both sides.

  But this time it was even worse … because this time, it felt familiar. And she knew, with sudden, bleak certainty, that the recognition, like the opening itself, worked in both directions.

  This was how Pergen had transformed.

  The presence settled itself within her, this time with the casual ease of familiarity. She felt its hunger and its satisfaction as clearly as she felt—oh, God—her own.

  No, she thought. No!

  Caroline reached out blindly, searching for something—anything—to anchor her. Her fingers only scraped against the cold, tiled floor.

  The power she’d tasted the first time had been nothing to this. The strength of it was overwhelming. But the difference was not in strength alone.

  Caroline felt the presence inside her chime in resonance to something within Pergen’s body. Even as strength and energy flooded into Caroline, something else flooded into the creature within her. She tasted the edges of it like a physical flavor—bitter, smoky, and intense. The creature within her swelled and grew with every mouthful. With every mouthful, it settled more firmly within Caroline’s chest.

  It had been long enough. Surely, it had been more than long enough to subdue Pergen and Charles for her escape. They couldn’t be any danger to her now. But Caroline couldn’t close her mouth. Her lips moved inexorably, controlled by the creature within her.

  Caroline flung her own hands to her mouth. It didn’t help. Her lips moved behind her hands, and the sound escaped between her fingers. She pressed her hands into her mouth with all the new strength that was flooding into her.

  The creature within her flexed with casual ease, and her hands fell away, turning numb.

  The smoky, bitter flavor faded away. That had to mean something, Caroline knew; something dangerous. But it paled in significance compared with the more pressing realization.

  The power was slowing in its path, as if it were trickling to a halt. Yet, the creature inside her was only gaining more and more control. If it were still in control of her—if her lips were still moving in the chant when the other two had been completely drained of energy and life—what would happen then?

  It might choose to leave of its own volition. But Caroline knew better.

  How does the man merge with the shadows? she had asked Charles.

  Now, she knew the answer.

  She had to stop before it was too late.

  Caroline flung herself to the side, until her face was pressed into the cushions of the settee. It didn’t help. Her lips kept moving, and the words escaped into the air. She tried to close her throat. The creature within her pushed it open.

  The power had slowed to a thin stream now.

  She tried to scream. No sound would escape around the words.

  Pergen was either dead or dying. For years, she had dreamed of killing him for all that he had done to her. Now, the act brought her only fear.

  If she didn’t stop in time, she would lose herself forever.

  When had it first happened to Pergen? When had the shadows formed behind his eyes? Had it frightened him, too, as he lost control to the power he had always sought?

  She’d never thought to feel pity for her enemy.

  The trickle of power slowed. It was only a dribble now. And soon …

  Caroline wanted to sob. The creature within her wouldn’t let her. She felt its triumph as it readied itself. Her willpower was slipping away, along with her consciousness. Only another minute, and then …

  A sudden sound caught her attention—the slamming of a door, in the distance. The incongruity of it gave her a moment of strength. She flexed her hands. If she could only wrest control away for even a moment—

  She heard the door to the chamber crash open. Footsteps halted a moment, than hurtled toward her.

  “Dear God, Caroline!”

  She knew that voice.

  Michael. Thank God for his arrival—the surge of emotion she felt at the sound of his voice gave her renewed determination, pulling her back into clarity. If she could only choke off the words for one moment …

  Even as she struggled, strong hands grasped her shoulders and turned her around. She couldn’t see through her darkened vision. She could only faintly hear the angry, frightened words Michael spoke to the companions who had followed him.

  But she felt it when Michael’s warm lips settled on hers. He kissed her with the passion of overwhelming relief.

  His kiss sealed off the words. Her lips moved irrepressibly against his, but the words they formed couldn’t escape into the air.

  The creature inside her howled with protest as the invocation was finally broken.

  The opening within her chest shrank and closed and pulled the struggling creature out with it. As the opening sealed itself, Caroline’s vision cleared.

  Beyond Michael’s head, she glimpsed the Prince de Ligne kneeling by a fallen body, his expression grimly satisfied. She heard the Comte de La Garde-Chambonas’s high, agitated voice asking question after question while more footsteps sounded on the tiled floor of the secret chamber. Michael’s arms pressed her against his chest as if he would never let her go again.

  Caroline closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around Michael’s warm, familiar shoulders, and kissed him back with all her strength.

  She had tasted the darkness, but this time it hadn’t won.

  After twenty-four years, she was finally free.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Twenty-four years ago, Michael Steinhüller had fled Vienna, crouched and shivering in the back of a butcher’s wagon, leaving everyone he loved behind him. This time, he rode through the city walls in a gleaming, aristocratic carriage, with his oldest and dearest friend at his side. The customs inspector bowed and let their carriage pass without question, requiring no paperwork beyond the affidavit signed by the emperor himself.

  As their carriage rolled away from the customs checkpoint, Michael opened the window to wave a last farewell to the travelers behind them, heedless of his royal dignity. Peter Riesenbeck leaned out of the open window of the Riesenbeck company’s own traveling carriage to wave back at him.

  “Come see us perform in Berlin for the Prussian king next month!” he called. “We’ll give you both free tickets!”

  “Empty promises!” Michael called back. “You’ll have no tickets left to give away.”

  Riesenbeck’s grin lit up his face. “From your lips to the Almighty’s ear,” he said. “As always!”

  Shaking his head, Michael closed the window.

  “Better?” Caroline asked. He heard the smile in her weary voice.

  “Better,” he agreed, and took her hand, still craning his neck to watch the actors’ inspection. Their affidavit should be enough to see them through, but … “Thank you for having the patience to wait while I saw everything sorted.”

  “We don’t leave anyone behind.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, visibly relaxing her guard. It only ever happened when they were alone, and each time it felt to him like a rare and precious gift. “Have you finally finished now?” she asked.

  “I have,” Michael told her. “It’s a strange feeling, you know. I’ve never done that before—actually cleaned up the messes I left behind me. But I think I’ve managed it this time.”

  The actors weren’t the only innocents he’d deceived in Vienna. Before leaving town, he’d sent a discreetly coded note and parcel to a room in the fifteenth district, where two you
ng pamphleteers worked above a fruit and vegetable shop. All of Prince Kalishnikoff’s political pretensions had ended forever the night before, leaving no necessity for the printing of angry pamphlets that could put Kaspar and Aloysia in further danger … even under a police regime that was finally free from alchemy.

  It was too late for him to save his old master. But perhaps it wasn’t, after all, too late for some redemption. And with luck those two young idealists would use the signet ring of Prince Kalishnikoff—or rather, its proceeds, when they sold it off—to perform more good than he ever could have managed with it.

  The Riesenbeck carriage rolled safely away from the customs inspection, and Michael turned in his seat to meet Caroline’s eyes.

  For himself, he could only feel a fierce gratitude for the deaths of the two men who had held her in that ungodly chamber two nights ago. For Caroline, he knew, more complicated emotions were at stake.

  Now, her right hand was thickly bandaged, and her pale face was drawn with exhaustion as well as deep new lines of grief … for her father, most of all, but even for her damned traitor of a secretary, who had died at her hands. It would take a long time, he thought, for all of her sorrow and her guilt to fade.

  But for the first time in years, they both had all the time they needed … and neither of them would have to face their demons alone anymore.

  As Caroline looked at him now, her expression was open and unmasked. She reached forward to trail her left hand lightly across his cheek, smiling ruefully.

  “Well, Prince Kalishnikoff?” she said, in the lilting Viennese German of their youth. “Do you think you’ll find a mere English country house exciting enough to please you, after all your years of adventuring?”

  Michael captured her hand with his own and kissed it. “We’ll just have to risk it,” he said.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  I usually feel at least a little bit guilty when I make real historical characters the villains of my stories—but I have to admit, I felt no guilt whatsoever about making Emperor Francis and Count Pergen the villains of this book. Nearly every academic historian I read in the course of my research referred to Pergen as “the sinister Count Pergen” or “the notorious Count Pergen”—a very atypical description in those otherwise dry and scholarly tomes!—and the truth is, Pergen’s real actions as the creator and head of Vienna’s infamous secret police, from the end of the eighteenth century onward, were more than horrifying enough for any villain, even without any alchemy being involved.