Cold Stone & Ivy Book 2: The Crown Prince (The Empire of Steam)

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “Your doctor was skilled, then.”

  “Apparently.”

  Ivy swallowed again. Of all the surreal and unnatural things she had experienced in the last six months, now a clockwork princess with porcelain face carrying on like old friends with the Mad Lord under a blanket. Oh yes, in the middle of a Gilded ballroom no less. Her circles had widened considerably. She wondered when they would be considered orbits and she would attract some little moons of her own.

  Sophie stepped closer and Ivy could see eyes behind the slits, bloodshot and blue.

  “You see them, don’t you?” she cooed to Sebastien. “A room filled with the dead?”

  “Enough of this,” said Gisela and she took her sister’s arm. “Pappa wants us to join his tribute to Wilhelm.”

  “I do not pay tribute to a false prince,” Sophie said, her mask not leaving Sebastien for a moment. “The real crown is much nearer. Have you seen the red horse?”

  “The red horse?” asked Sebastien and he lifted a corner of the blanket to peer out. “What do you mean, a red horse?”

  “I thought it was white,” said Ivy.

  “The red horse is next,” trilled Sophie. “He will come with fire and a sword, taking peace from the world. You are prepared to take your sword, Bruder?”

  “Bruder?”

  “Sophie!” snapped Gisela, and she clicked her heels. “Forgive my sister. She speaks of nonsense, intrigues and mysteries, when this is a night to celebrate the Kaiser. Heil Wilhelm!”

  And dragged her sister away toward an alcove painted with trees.

  “That was odd,” said Ivy. “You honestly don’t remember meeting her before?”

  “I must have,” he said, the blanket dropping back down over his face. “But I don’t remember much of anything before that night.”

  That night. The night everything changed. The night his father murdered his mother, threw young Sebastien out a third story window and shot himself in the head while an even younger Christien watched it all. There was no other way to speak of it. That night spoke volumes.

  Ivy sighed, took a deep breath.

  “Sebastien,” she said. “Look at me.”

  “Again, Miss Savage?”

  “Just lift that damned blanket and look at me.”

  He did, but only so that his eyes peered out.

  “What do you see?”

  “Well, there’s a decapitated fellow standing behind you—”

  “No, dammit.” She surprised herself with her vehemence, but then again, she had downed an entire glass of champagne and just survived an encounter with two of the three terrifying Habsburg sisters. “I know the room is filled with the dead, but you need only look at me.”

  He swallowed.

  “Look. At. Me.”

  He did.

  “No horses, no dead, just me. What do you see when you look at me?”

  This time, he allowed himself to fall into her eyes and all time seemed to stop.

  “What do you see?”

  “Life,” he said finally. “I see life.”

  And he smiled like the sun.

  “Shall we dance, Miss Savage?”

  “Oh God, let’s.”

  He reached for her hand and together they stepped onto the floor, the blanket falling to the ground behind him.

  ***

  “God, I hate him,” grumbled Christien as he tossed back another champagne. “Why can’t he just stay home? He’s manageable back home but no, he has to go to London. He has to go to Vienna. I swear, Valerie, I will kill him myself someday.”

  The Archduchess lifted a flute to her lips.

  “Brothers,” she said. “I do love Rudolf but he will never be Emperor. Not if Father or Wilhelm or Taaffe have anything to do with it.”

  “All I ask is to take the airship. It belongs to the estate. I shouldn’t even have to ask.”

  “Your brother is Lord of Lasingstoke, not you. We are all slaves to something.” She smiled cryptically. “That is the woman you were to marry? The one in red?”

  “Ivy,” he said and he shrugged. “I was aiming for a sensible life.”

  “She seems very sensible, wearing a red dress to a Gilded Ball.”

  He grinned, despite his dark mood.

  “Forgive me, Valerie. I don’t usually talk like this. I don’t—”

  She placed a finger on his lips.

  “I am the same when talking about my father. It proves to me that you are not always so cool, so in control…”

  And she leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek, lingering just a moment as if to steal the breath from his mouth.

  “…and that you don’t have swans for sisters.”

  She grinned wickedly, eyes flicking toward an alcove where her sisters had retreated, watching everything with cold Habsburg eyes.

  “Swans?” he asked. “Black Swans?”

  She merely smiled and he raised a brow. The Black Swans, or Schwarze Schwäne, were rumours, urban myths, curious whispers in Ghost Club meetings. Generations of European noblewomen, trained in the arts of politics, espionage, seduction and murder. Intelligencers circulating at the highest levels. Many an assassination carried out by a woman of cunning and beauty.

  Or so the rumours went.

  “So,” she purred. “We are equal, yes?”

  “You are superior to me in every way,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. The clockwork gears whirred softly. ¨Is that why Sophie spoke to him? God, I hope she’s not planning to seduce him. He wouldn’t know what to do with that.”

  “They have a mutual past and according to Sophie, a mutual future. She has been obsessed with your brother for as long as I can remember. She calls him the Crown Prince.”

  “Why?”

  “Infatuation perhaps, or shared experience? Both children of a mystical mother and an iron father. Died as children, restored to life by a Czech doctor. I don’t know. Women are enigmatic creatures.”

  He kissed her palm.

  “And Gisela? She is married, yes?”

  “To Prince Leopold of Bavaria,” she said. “But she has no time for marriage. They are estranged.”

  “I thought you told me she was in love with Wilhelm.”

  Kissed her wrist, up her thumb. Didn’t care that they were in a crowded Habsburg ballroom. No one would stop them, short of the Gilded Emperor.

  “She would do anything for Wilhelm and my father would do anything for her.” She followed his progress with her eyes. “That is why we are having this Ball. Not for Wilhelm. For Gisela.”

  “She doesn’t seem the romantic type.”

  “As I said, women are enigmatic creatures. Why do you think there are German hunting parties in the Vienna Woods? Wilhelm asked her to entertain his friends and she could not refuse.”

  “As you said,” he looked up at her though his lashes, unleashing his blue eyes on her like a weapon. “Enigmatic creatures.”

  She arched a brow, undaunted. She was a warrior. She had defenses.

  “Valerie! Dear cousin!”

  He released her as a woman wheeled toward them from the crowd. She was slim and bejeweled with dark hair, flashing eyes and a smile as sharp as a knife. She grabbed his arm as if he were an old friend or a new possession.

  “Is this your secret friend, the English baron?”

  “Christien de Lacey,” said the Archduchess. “Of Lasingstoke, Empire of Steam. Remy, this is my cousin, Countess Marie Louise Larisch von Wallersee.”

  The woman named Marie grinned wickedly and leaned in to study his face.

  “Well he’s as pretty as you’ve described, cousin,” she said. “No wonder you are nearly making love on the ballroom floor. How scandalous. How delicious. And he’s managed to avoid the clutches of the London Ripper! All the world is aghast, eagerly awaiting his next strike.”

  “The Ripper has closed up shop,” he said flatly. “You’ll hear no more from him.”

  “Oh, one can never be so sure. Blood and fame are wicked compa
nions.” She glanced at Valerie, lights dancing like fireworks in her eyes. “Forgive me, Liebling. You know how I love to play.”

  “I do know,” said Valerie.

  Marie turned those fireworks back on him.

  “And your brother,” she said. “Is he always so entertaining at parties? First blankets, now dancing with little girls in red dresses?”

  He looked to see Sebastien sweeping Ivy around the floor, dark lenses pushed up on his forehead, eyes locked on her face. They were both beaming.

  “Good lord,” Christien said and he reached for another glass. “She may be the making of him yet.”

  “Men are hapless,” purred Marie. “But I’m afraid I must leave you now. I would hate for my husband to find me. He might make me dance with him and that would be very bad for my reputation.”

  She reached up to snatch his flute, tossing it back and laughing before wheeling into the crowd.

  Valerie slipped her arm through his.

  “Dance with me.”

  He took her hand and led her onto the floor.

  Under the gaze of two Black Swans.

  ***

  Penny swirled around the ballroom on the arm of first one duke then another. But while she twirled and flirted and drank champagne, she could not help but keep one eye open for the sight of a tow-headed rogue in white tie and tails.

  The Emperor of the Known World sat on a Gilt Throne next to his wife, the Empress of Avalon. She was the most beautiful woman in all the empires, and around her neck, the Star of Morocco. A clockwork locket of unspeakable beauty and unimaginable power.

  Next to them, their son, Crown Prince Maximilian of Pomerania, his special friend, Baroness Annaliese Goethe, and the three Princesses, Rosamunde, Sieglinde and Isolde.

  The music ceased and the Emperor rose to his feet, extending a hand to his wife. She took it and rose as well, accompanying him to the centre of the ballroom. He was shorter than she and bald, save for an enormous white moustache that ran up to his ears, and all the crowd watched as he placed one white glove on her hip. The Star of Morocco twinkled and gleamed.

  The orchestra breathed in, raised their bows, and immediately, the room was plunged into darkness.

  Chapter 5

  Of Arclight, Ghostlight, Moonlight and a Bullet at Dawn

  The music was loud and the waltz a lively three-four rhythm. Even though she was not a dancer, Ivy found it easy to follow Sebastien’s lead. In fact, he was completely at ease on the floor and she wondered how and when he would have had the chance to learn. Arvin Frankow, she realized, his surgeon, psychiatrist and surrogate father. The man would have done everything in his power to give Sebastien the hope of a normal life. She smiled as she imagined Agnes Tidy twirling the young lord around the dining hall, while Carl Feigenbaum played viola and a mad orchestra kept time.

  Around and around they whirled, her red dress swishing across the floor and she could feel tendrils of her hair breaking free of the twist at her neck. But she was happier than she had been in a very long while and chalked it up to a glass of champagne and a marvelous dancer. She began to wonder what it would be like to stay in his arms all night when suddenly, in the midst of a spin, Sebastien froze.

  It was as awkward as it was sudden, sending her stumbling into the pair beside and causing angry rumblings from across the floor. She glanced up at him and her heart began to thud. No longer white, his eyes were cycling through all the colours of the rainbow and she knew immediately that Arclight, the enigmatic second locket, was in the building.

  Through a far door, a uniformed man of about thirty pushed into the room, dragging a young girl behind him. A shorter man with silver chops was on their heels and Ivy recognized him in a heartbeat. Franz Joseph, the Gilded Emperor, Apostolic King of Austria and Hungary, King of Bohemia, King of Croatia, King of Galacia and Lodomeria, Grand Duke of Crakow and therefore arguing with him, his son.

  The crowd parted as Rudolf spun around and shouted again. The girl clutched his hand but around her neck swung the locket.

  “Arcus lux,” said Sebastien. “Ostium ad praeteritum, ad alterum mundum.”

  “Damn,” said Ivy. She tried to pull him to the door but his feet were stuck, as unmovable as the marble pillars along the walls.

  The argument escalated on the ballroom floor as the crowd formed a circle around Emperor and Heir. Sisi had joined them, taking her husband’s arm but it was obvious that her heart was with her son. Politicians watched, soldiers tensed, even the loud German hunting party had ceased their laughter and were now watching the spectacle with interest.

  All music and dancing had died and Ivy could not help but count the number of sabres, bayonets and rifles in the room. A now-familiar wind – deadwind, Sebastien had called it months ago – picked up, causing the many candles in the ballroom to flicker. With dread, she watched as Sebastien’s eyes cycled from snowy white to silver and across the room, the locket began to flash in response.

  “Rudolf?” The young girl grasped the pendant in both hands. “Was ist das?”

  “Sebastien,” Ivy pleaded. “Please, let’s go now.”

  “Fumus et specula,” said the Mad Lord.

  “Sebastien, please…”

  Suddenly, along the walls the gaslight roared then just as suddenly died, plunging the ballroom into darkness. People screamed and so did the girl when the locket flared with brilliant light. Beams of colour shot out from it, flashing across the ceiling and scattering throughout the room, slowing as if called back by her gravity. The beams disappeared leaving the ends to hover, breathless and still, spotlights without a source.

  “Res obscura,” said Sebastien in a voice that echoed as if through a drum. “Res obscura et materia obscura, veni ad me.”

  The deadwind died but the room began to hum with the sound of a great engine, although there was none in sight. It was the heartbeat of the locket, she knew, and the entire ballroom held its breath as the strange round lights floated over their heads, splitting like large soap bubbles, slick with oil. They hovered above faces open-mouthed in wonder, spinning like tops, twinkling like stars. Orbs like mirrored coins, they were beautiful, magical, more phenomenal than all the sparkling lights of Carnival.

  A collective murmur rippled through the crowd.

  "Was ist los?" said the girl.

  The locket had begun to spin, now rising from her chest as if pulled by invisible strings. Just like Ghostlight in the sitting room of Easterton Frederick Crumb.

  “Rudolf? Helfen Sie mir!"

  “Wer ist das? Sebastien de Lacey?”

  Rudolf drew the girl into his arms as his eyes fell upon the figure at the far end of the ballroom. Sebastien’s hand rose in the air and the locket mirrored his movement.

  Ivy grabbed his arm, tried to pull it down but it was unyielding as iron.

  “Sebastien, please…”

  Gisela pushed through the crowd, hands on the hilts of both sabres.

  “Stop this now!” she snapped.

  “Arcus lux,” said Sebastien, his voice hollow and echoing but now, everyone could hear. “Veni ad me.”

  In the crowd, a woman reached for an orb, caught it with both hands. Light flashed across her face and she stared into it, smiling. Others moved toward her, entranced by the otherworldly beauty of the thing. It was like a mirror made of light, a fragile bubble that teased and whispered at the edges of the soul. Her hands, glowing with light, seemed to dissolve within it and her eyes grew larger, her mouth wider. Suddenly, the orb shattered like glass into a thousand pieces, revealing fleshless bones where her hands had been.

  There was a heartbeat of silence before the ballroom of the Hofburg erupted in chaos.

  Orbs burst and guests screamed and the deadwind roared now as people fled for the doors, pushing and shoving in a mad dash for escape. Blood ran down the young girl’s throat, staining the fine ivory gown as the locket dug into her flesh, began to drag her across the floor.

  "Es ist er!" shouted Franz Joseph and me
chanical Hussars wheeled across the floor, weapons pointed at the man with the silver eyes. “Haltet ihn! Stop him!”

  “Arcus lux,” repeated Sebastien. “Mors tuae et timebitis.”

  “Kill him!” shouted Gisela.

  The girl screamed and a Hussar raised his rifle when Christien de Lacey snatched it out of his hand.

  He rushed his brother, swinging the rifle in a savage arc across the blond head. Sebastien staggered and immediately the orbs disappeared in a shower of ice. Christien swung again, this time sending his brother to his knees. Immediately, the winds died, the gaslight sprang to life and the young girl sagged into the Crown Prince’s arms, Arclight swinging sweetly about her neck.

  “Bekommen ihn hier!” barked Gisela, using her sabres as punctuation. “Get him out, now!”

  “Leave this country, the three of you!” echoed Emperor Franz Joseph. “Leave and never return!”

  A unit of Hussars surrounded them.

  As they hauled Sebastien to his feet, Ivy could see the odd masked face of Sophie von Habsburg, head cocked like a china doll, watching everything from the far alcove. Together, Ivy and Christien dragged the Mad Lord out of the ballroom and down the grand staircase of the Hofburg, leaving the blanket in a corner of the floor.

  The Crown Prince, Mary Vetsera and Arclight left through another door, into a carriage bound for Mayerling.

  ***

  New Vienna Daily: Special Edition

  Scandal in the Hofburg

  According to sources close to the Imperial family, a riot broke out tonight at the Hofburg Palace. Causes are not yet known but it is said that explosives were set throughout the palace in an attempt to disrupt birthday celebrations for Kaiser Wilhelm II of the Empire of Blood and Iron. A trio of French anarchists is suspected, as tensions between the Industrial Republic of France and the Empire of Blood and Iron are at an all-time high, and the Anarchist movement is wreaking terror across the continent. State police are currently investigating a variety of suspects, however, including a German hunting party taking up temporary residence at a lodge in the Vienna Woods.

  On a separate note, Vienna’s own Turf Angel, Baroness Mary von Vetsera was introduced to society last night at said party, wearing the most exquisite jeweled necklace. Had there not been such excitement caused by the anarchy, she would have surely won the day with her poise and charm.