by Rosalyn Eves
With a gasp, I broke free of her gaze. I knew this feeling, this yearning so strong it left a taste in my mouth like honeyed wine. I whirled around, spotting an impossibly beautiful man with golden eyes standing just before a column of illusory fire.
“Hunger.” I ought, perhaps, to have offered him my hand, but I knew how his touch burned. “What a delightfully calculated pose. You look like an avenging angel, fire spouting all about you.”
“Or demon.” He grinned at me.
He must be here for the Congress that was to decide his fate and the fate of others like him. Yet I wished he were not. Hunger had been with me when Mátyás died; he had helped me drive the bone blade into my cousin’s heart to break the Binding spell. He knew the darkest of all my secrets—and I did not know if I could trust him. “Have you been watching me?”
“No more than any other man here. Did you wish me to?” Hunger’s eyes glinted with amusement, as if he liked the taste of my discomfort. “I’ve come to beg a favor of you.”
My fingers tightened, the chain of the dance card snapping off in my hand. “Your favors cost too much.”
Vasilisa laughed, water falling on stones. It was a graceful sound, but it grated on my ears. “We need allies in the Congress. Every nation in Europe has a right to representation here, even the states so small they are only a dot on a map. But we are excluded.”
We. “You’re praetherian,” I said.
Vasilisa preened, sliding her shoulders back to expose her lovely, long neck. “Did you not guess?”
“In any case, I can’t help you. I have no voice in the Congress.”
“Oh, but you could. If you wanted to. If you were not hiding.” People were starting to look, drawn by Vasilisa’s rising tones.
A mix of irritation and fear prickled my throat. I was not hiding. But—
Unwanted, a memory bubbled up. The resistance then give of Mátyás’s skin beneath the bone knife. Power filling my body until my very blood burned, and a sky collapsing at my word. I did not regret what I had done in breaking the Binding: releasing the magic it bound to the upper class, freeing the praetheria held by the spell, bringing a praetherian army to defeat the Austrians, and liberating my friends who had been under a death sentence for rebellion. I could not regret it, as regret would negate Mátyás’s death—but the scope of that power and the bloodbath that followed haunted me. No one should hold so much power, or be capable of such devastation. Perhaps least of all me.
Catherine scurried toward me, weaving through the crowd at the fringe of the dance floor. When she caught my eye, she stopped and beckoned.
“I must go,” I said, trying to flatten the relief in my voice.
Catherine caught my arm as I drew near. “Someone wishes to be introduced to you.”
Someone? The suppressed excitement in her voice worried me. A small knot of people watched our arrival with varying degrees of interest, curiosity, even hostility. Lord Ponsonby, the British ambassador; Richard; a couple of military men; and Archduchess Sophie.
I halted.
“Anna.” Catherine urged me forward.
Though I knew one did not keep an archduchess waiting, I could not bring myself to move swiftly. Some animal sense whispered I was walking into a snare.
When I was close enough, Catherine curtsied and tugged me down with her. “Your Imperial Highness, may I present my sister, Miss Arden? Anna, Archduchess Sophie.”
The archduchess bowed her head graciously. But the eyes that studied me were not gracious at all: they were a predator’s eyes, cold and focused. I felt the invisible walls of a trap snap shut around me.
“It is an honor, Your Imperial Highness,” I said, willing my face into my most neutral expression. In truth, I did not know how to feel about this woman, a member of the Hapsburg family I had always associated with the injustices Hungary suffered. And yet, when the Binding failed and the Austrian army had been routed in Buda, Emperor Ferdinand had caved to Hungarian demands for their own constitutional government. The archduchess had even built a school in Vienna for commoners to study magic.
Now this same archduchess smiled at me. The black eagle of her soul sign—doubtless a nod to the double-headed eagle of the Hapsburg crest—flexed its wings. “Come, you needn’t look like that. We shan’t eat you. We merely wanted to meet the heroine of Hungary.” She was an attractive woman, her rich brown hair just beginning to grey, her amethyst dress fitted to a smart figure. She smelled faintly of lemon and bergamot.
I very much doubted that, but I returned her smile. “Your Imperial Highness is very kind.”
“And you are an Eszterházy too, they say. One of our preeminent Hungarian families. The stories they tell of you are very romantic. You must be exceedingly brave.”
What answer could she expect me to return? “I had help, Your Imperial Highness.”
“Of course.” She waved a hand. “Your humility is charming. You must know that there are many in our court who were not pleased to find our ancient connection with Hungary so summarily severed—some might, in fact, blame you.” She held my gaze, her expression inscrutable.
Was that a warning? Or a threat?
She added only “We do hope you enjoy the ball” before sweeping away with her cortege. A dark-haired man in uniform remained, his gimlet-eyed gaze fixed on me.
Catherine turned to beam at me, murmuring something about a great honor. I could only stare at her, rattled by the encounter. When Lord Ponsonby, the British ambassador, led Catherine into a dance, I shook myself and headed toward the doorway leading to the refreshment room. I knew Catherine expected me to return to sit with Noémi, and ladies rarely fetched their own drinks, but I could not face the room or the dancing until I calmed myself.
I had just reached the fringes of the room when a voice called my name.
“Miss Arden?”
This was the second time in one evening I had been accosted by someone to whom I had not been introduced. Was this a Viennese custom—or merely bad luck on my part?
“I beg your pardon?”
A woman stood beside me, her short dark curls sleek against her head, a plain grey gown brushing the floor. If she was offended by my cool tone, she gave no sign but smiled disarmingly. “My apologies for not waiting for an introduction. I am a journalist, you see, and I must seize an opportunity when it presents itself. My name is Borbála Dobos, and I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.”
I smiled back. “I don’t think I have ever met a journalist at a ball.”
“I may have bribed my way in. Balls are excellent places to gather information, if one knows where to look. Take yourself, for instance. No one seems to know exactly how you came to be in the Buda Castle district in the midst of a battle, just as an army of praetheria arrived, or how you managed to free those prisoners.”
The dark eyes fixed on my face were entirely too shrewd by half.
I swallowed, wishing I had been able to secure some lemonade. If I made no answer, she would think I hid a secret. Best to tell the truth, if not the whole of it. “There is no great mystery. My friends were held in the prison, so my cousin and I climbed through the labyrinths beneath the castle and snuck into the prison while the guards were distracted. We stopped a man who was killing the prisoners.”
“Hmm,” she said as if she did not wholly believe me.
I changed the subject. “Frau Dobos, can you tell me who the dark-haired military gentleman is with the archduchess?” The man who had stared at me when the archduchess retreated watched me still, his frown pronounced.
“It’s Fräulein, but call me Borbála, please.” She followed my gaze. “That’s Dragović, newly minted ban of Croatia, a bit like your prime minister. The Hapsburgs just made him lieutenant field marshal over Croatian troops—unprecedented rise for one not of royal blood. He does seem interested in you, doesn’t he? I wonder why. He’s not the type to show interest in a woman for her own sake.”
I ignored her speculation. �
��You find his rise…troubling?” I asked, trying to name the emotion fraying the edges of her voice.
“Those honors are either a promise or a reward. Wish I knew which—and what they were for. I suspect the Hapsburgs want to make trouble for Hungary.”
A chill crawled down my back, clotted in my throat. “But the Hapsburgs let us—I mean the Hungarians—go.”
She laughed a little. “I suppose you could call it that. After the Binding broke, the emperor disbanded the Austrian Circle and granted Hungary her own parliament, but we are still part of the Austrian Empire, just as Canada has her own government but belongs to your British crown. We have greater independence, but we are not wholly independent. Emperor Ferdinand is still king of Hungary. And there are many here who grudge us even that much—they’d subject us again if they could.
“The current situation is difficult: Russia is looking to advance its borders, in Poland and in the Ottoman Empire, and Austria must present a strong, united front if it does not wish to be a target. The French are on the verge of civil insurrection, and the German states cannot unify. The praetherian question does not help: the presence of powerful creatures of uncertain loyalty only unsettles everything.”
I buried my gloved hands in the folds of my skirt. I had thought everything resolved: the Binding broken, the praetheria free and safe, Hungary secure in her independence. During the long months since Mátyás and Grandmama had died, I had held those facts to me, a positive weight to counter my guilt and pain at their deaths. But if their deaths had accomplished nothing, the weight of what I had done might crush me.
There was no conduct manual for how to live with oneself after changing the world.
“You look pale,” Fräulein Dobos—Borbála—said. “I apologize if I’ve frightened you with my bluntness.”
I shook my head. “I prefer frankness.”
“I suspected as much.” She grinned. “Look there—see the woman in the dark gown beside that alcove? She’s no Luminate, but I’d stake a year’s income that she’s controlling the illusions in the room. Everyone knows the Arenberg family all but lost their magic when the Binding broke. And they’re not the only ones. Mark the soul signs. You’ll see who still has magic.”
I wondered at the shift of conversation. Was she trying to ease my discomfort with gossip—or unearth more information about me? It was an open secret that I could not cast spells. Though in theory one could ask a friend or relative to cast a soul sign to hide one’s own lack, it was considered poor form to borrow someone else’s spell work for a soul sign. “Perhaps some choose not to wear their sign as a kindness to those who have lost theirs.”
Borbála’s eyes flickered to my bare collarbone. “Perhaps. But the Austrian Luminate are not known for their kindness. Between you and me—”
Whatever she had meant to say was lost in the sound of shattered glass and screams cracking across the ballroom. The music stopped in a discordant jangle.
Something big and lumbering climbed through the jagged French doors. It pressed toward the center of the floor, and the guests fanned out before it. The furred creature stood half again as high as a man, tangled hair springing like some kind of primitive ruff around its throat.
Sharp teeth splintered its face. But though women continued to scream around us, and more than one saber hissed as it was drawn, the creature did not look threatening to me: it looked confused, its great head lowering as it swept its neck side to side.
My new journalist friend had already lost interest in me, slipping forward into the room toward the creature. After a moment’s hesitation, I pressed after her.
Weaving through the crowd was no easy task, as many of the gentlemen sought to escort fainting young ladies—and not-so-young ladies—to the safety of the halls outside the ballroom. I pushed against the current of bodies.
By the time I reached Borbála, the praetherian was ringed by a half dozen soldiers and gentlemen with swords, including the Croatian general, Dragović. The creature hissed and spat and batted at the nearest sword. The gentleman holding it danced backward, out of reach, then lunged forward, the tip of his sword sliding into the praetherian’s arm.
It howled, an unearthly screech that I felt more than heard, and swiped at the sword. The sword clattered onto the floor, the ring of metal on marble unnaturally loud in the ballroom.
Borbála pulled a small notebook from a hidden pocket in her skirt and began scribbling.
Hunger thrust himself between the ring of men and the creature. “Let her go. She’s frightened. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone—she was drawn by the music.”
“It’s a beast!” Dragović said. “You’ve no idea what it’s capable of. Who it may have already hurt.”
“She’s a living being, same as you. And she hasn’t harmed anyone. Let me escort her from the building.” Hunger stretched out his hand, and the creature swung toward it, her tiny eyes brightening with recognition.
“Let me try.” The archduchess’s voice was smooth, calming. She walked forward until she stood just behind Dragović. She began murmuring, her hands swinging together and then apart, and I felt the tiniest buzz of her Persuasion spell as it swept over the praetherian and enveloped the jittery bystanders. “Pax,” she said.
The edges of the spell snagged as they brushed past me, and I fought down a sharp stab of fear. I had not been near a spell-casting in eight months: Mama and Catherine had seen to that. And I admit, I had not fought them. Unleashing my chimera self on a spell reminded me too much of the last time I had broken a spell, when Mátyás had died and the world had shivered apart. I could not panic now, not if I wanted the spell to work.
A long, tense moment, the air sharp and fragile like spun glass on the verge of snapping. Then the creature quieted. Her great shaggy head drooped, the razor teeth sheathed safely behind thick lips. Hunger put his hand on the praetherian and began to lead her back toward the shattered doors. Vasilisa joined them, twining her smooth arm through the creature’s hairy one. She leaned in, her lips moving.
The room seemed to let out its collective breath. Some of the soldiers sagged visibly in relief. I discovered my hands were trembling and buried them in my skirts.
Then the praetherian halted. With a roar that hummed through my skull, she tore free. Vasilisa dropped to the ground with a small cry, and the creature whirled around. She stood for a moment in indecision, shoulders shaking and head swaying.
The soldiers moved swiftly, forming a protective barrier before the archduchess. The praetherian sniffed the air and roared again. She took a step forward, closing the distance between herself and the unflinching archduchess.
A crack, like the sound of a great stone breaking down its heart. I dropped to my knees, hearing again the echo of the Binding breaking, seeing Mátyás’s blood on my hands. The room blurred around me.
Smoke and more screaming, and for one dizzying moment I could not remember where I was. Then my vision cleared.
Dragović stood with a still-smoldering gun and the body of the great praetherian on the floor, half a ballroom away. The blood beneath the creature ran black. My feet were moving almost before I realized it: I halted a dozen feet away and watched the light fade from her eyes like a spell run dry of magic.
*
“ ’Tis lucky no one was hurt,” Richard said.
I stared out the carriage window and did not answer, watching the glow of Luminate lampposts flash past us. The gunshot still rattled in my head. I saw the dead praetherian on an endless repeating loop.
I could not help imagining the creature’s sensations: hearing a whisper of music on the night wind, following it like a child might follow the smell of a baking cake, crashing through the unfamiliar barrier of glass into a room that was too bright and too hot and too loud. I should have roared too. And then coming out of the fog of a spell, angry and disoriented.
“I thought they had guards for this sort of thing,” Catherine said. “It’s too upsetting to have to witness
.”
Richard picked up her gloved hand and kissed it, murmuring the kind of nauseating nothings that newlyweds seem to find so necessary.
In the street outside, one of the lamps was dark: missed, perhaps, or snuffed. “Imagine how upsetting it must have been for that poor creature,” I said.
“It could have killed someone,” Richard said.
“But she didn’t.”
“Anna.” Catherine spoke my name and hesitated, as if the silence might give her some answer as to how to deal with me. Mama often spoke my name with that silence too. “Your kind heart does you credit. But really, you must keep such sympathies to yourself. The beasts are not much favored here.”
“Praetheria,” I said, turning to look at my sister.
“Let’s not argue, please.” Catherine smoothed the pleats of her cranberry skirts. “I’m only looking out for you.”
“But who’s to look out for the praetheria?” I had told Hunger I could not help him, but that was before I had seen a creature shot down in a Viennese ballroom for nothing more than its unwanted appearance.
“Let others worry about them,” Richard said. “You’re only a girl, under our protection.”
“I want to come with you when you meet with the Congress.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Richard said. “There are already too many voices clamoring to be included, even if I thought you had some right to be there.”
“Mama sent you to Vienna to find a husband, not a cause.” Catherine’s tone was mild, if her words were not. “I know it may not seem as glamorous to you, but truly, you can do more good in the world once you are married. Your husband’s stature, should you marry well, will give you some voice.”
I did not want the voice afforded me by this mythical husband. I wanted my own. “There are powerful women in society,” I said, “women who think and act independently.”
