Lost Crow Conspiracy (Blood Rose Rebellion, Book 2)

by Rosalyn Eves

  Catherine smiled out across the gardens, but there was something wistful in her look that tugged at me. She exchanged pleasantries with the other young wives as they passed by, though she did not make the rounds herself. There was no ecstatic clasping of hands, no elaborate cheek kissing.

  “Catherine,” I asked, leaning toward her. “Are you happy here?”

  “Of course I am. As you see, we’re invited everywhere, and I can scarce cram another morning call into my schedule.” As if to prove her point, she sprang up and glided across the grass to a group of matrons, but I had not missed the twin spots of color high in her cheeks.

  Troubled, I watched her go.

  A pair of young women approached me, arm in arm to emphasize their closeness, and I lost sight of Catherine. We chatted for several minutes, but I could not shake the feeling that behind their light words and compliments on my gown, I was being weighed on some invisible scale—and found wanting.

  I was relieved when the tea was finally brought out on shiny carts, and I could assume my place beside Catherine at one of the small tables dotting the lawn. But before I could do more than take one bite of a delicate pastry, one of Archduchess Sophie’s ladies-in-waiting was standing beside me, dipping a curtsy.

  “Miss Arden, Archduchess Sophie would be honored if you would join her.”

  Catherine made shooing motions with her hands, so I stood and followed the lady-in-waiting.

  Archduchess Sophie sat a little apart from the other women, at a small table with two place settings and a magnificent vase of creamy white flowers. I took my seat, conscious of the surreptitious glances of the other women present. The archduchess opened the conversation mildly, asking about my family’s health, my impressions of the city, and the Congress.

  In truth, the two sessions I had attended after that initial, volatile confrontation between Hunger and the others had been disappointing: only endless arguments without ever coming to any kind of agreement about the praetheria.

  “I am…learning a great deal,” I said cautiously.

  The archduchess sipped her tea, her eyes flicking past me to settle on an ordered grove of trees. She set her cup back on its saucer. “I find I am fascinated by illusions, the way a trick of light or shape can change one’s impressions. At a ball, illusions can transport one to another world—or at least, hide one’s mundane reality. In politics, illusions can allow one to wield power without appearing to—or encourage a precarious peace to flourish.”

  When I didn’t answer, she sighed, as though I had somehow disappointed her.

  “You are too direct, Miss Arden. You seek to blunder through and force change where a more subtle hand might be needed. Take my son, for instance. He very much admires you.”

  Heat rushed through my face, and I grabbed my teacup with more energy than was strictly necessary. Had Franz Joseph set his mother up to this? I hoped not: I could not like a man whose mother did his courting for him.

  The archduchess continued. “I trust I do not offend you when I say that, as a mother, I was initially dismayed by his interest. For one, he is much too young to be thinking of marriage. For another, I had hoped that when the time came, he might settle on one of my sister’s daughters. But no matter. As I thought on it, I began to see the advantages of such an alliance.”

  I nearly choked on my tea.

  “You must know that appearances are deceptive. For all the illusions of peace presented by the Congress, we are nearly at war. Tsar Nicholas professes friendship to my uncle and my son, but he would be ready enough to turn our weakness to his advantage. And even as we speak, armies are massing in Croatia and in Romania, ready to turn on Hungary.”

  Mátyás is dead; justice is gone. If my world dissolved into war, what was Mátyás’s death worth? We had broken the Binding to prevent a rebellion from escalating into greater violence. “Can’t the emperor simply tell them not to fight? Hungary is still a state under the Austrian Empire, and Croatia and Romania profess allegiance to the Hapsburg crown.”

  “If only women ruled the world, it would be easy, would it not? We would resolve things civilly, over tea. But how can you tell an angry people not to fight? Would your student friends have stopped at a word?”

  Despite the tea and the warm spring morning, I shivered.

  “Don’t look so dismayed,” Archduchess Sophie said. “There is something you can do. The Hungarians adore you, and you belong to one of their highest families. Now, more than ever, Austria and Hungary need to present a united front. If you allow my son to court you, the hope of a nearer alliance between our countries might quiet some of the louder critics. And that same alliance would make the Croatians hesitate to attack. Their quarrel is with Hungary, not with us.”

  I plucked at my own napkin, smoothing it across my knees. “I do not know how to answer you. I want to help. But I cannot lie, or pretend an interest I do not feel. Your son is lovely, but I’ve no wish to be empress.”

  “Perhaps you prefer a Romani tent?”

  My head shot up. There was no anger in the archduchess’s face, but I was afraid nonetheless.

  “There is very little I do not know about you, Miss Arden. I know about your friend, the one who works for Kossuth. I know your brother-in-law’s career is new and still fragile. The smallest breath of scandal could hurt all of you. Think of the distress to your sister—not to mention yourself—if you were to be cast out of proper society.”

  The fragrance from the cut flowers on the table was overwhelming. I could not seem to draw enough breath. “I am not afraid of your threats.”

  Archduchess Sophie laughed. “The young are so charmingly naive. They still believe that weapons are the only ways to hurt people. But I’m hardly threatening you. I’m merely giving you information you might find valuable. If you’ll recall, we began this conversation speaking of illusions: I do not care what your true feelings are, but if you value stability between Austria and Hungary, I suggest you do what you can to maintain it. You may start by encouraging my son.”

  A warmth began to buzz through me, washing from my face down my spine.

  The archduchess held my eyes with hers, unblinking. “Think how very wise you should be to listen to me. A little pretense, harming no one, and you might save three countries from war.”

  She was right, of course. And she asked such a little thing….

  The buzzing grew louder in my head. My shadow self twitched uneasily, and I blinked, breaking our eye contact.

  The buzzing—the subtle but persistent indication of a spell.

  The archduchess hadn’t sought to persuade me with words alone, she was trying to charm my agreement.

  “It would be best for everyone, don’t you agree?” the archduchess asked.

  I won’t be compelled. My shadow self swooped up, trailing sparks of anger. Without a thought to the consequences, I reached out for the thin line of her spell and snapped it. The residue from the spell washed over the flowers. Creeping brown stained the edges of the white blossoms.

  Archduchess Sophie’s eyes widened. Her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, and cold shot through my spine. I had been incautious. I ought to have resisted the spell, not broken it. If the archduchess had not already known I broke spells, she knew now.

  My teacup rattled as I replaced it. “I will think on your offer. May I be excused to return to my sister?”

  The archduchess nodded shortly, her lips tight. I fairly fled across the lawn, dropping back into my seat beside Catherine with considerable relief.

  “Anna,” Catherine sighed. “You were not shocking, were you?”

  I was not sure who had been more shocked: the archduchess or me. Catherine eyed me doubtfully but let me return to my tea and cake, dense layers of chocolate and apricot jam. The sweet cake was bitter on my tongue, and my pulse still thundered through my body.

  As soon as politeness allowed, Catherine and I took our leave, following another liveried footman back through the halls to the
front door. Just as we reached the entrance, Franz Joseph emerged from a nearby salon so promptly I suspected he had been watching for us.

  “Miss Arden!” The young archduke’s face lit up. If he was playacting at his mother’s insistence, he was very good. “I’m so glad I was able to catch you before you left. I hoped I might escort you home.”

  “My sister…,” I began, and Catherine pinched me. “That is, we’d be delighted for your escort.”

  Catherine and I climbed into the carriage, waited as a groom brought a horse around for the archduke, and then proceeded back to the heart of Vienna. Franz Joseph rode beside the open carriage.

  “I trust you enjoyed your tea?”

  “Oh yes. The pastries and cake were remarkable.” I smothered a laugh at Catherine’s relieved expression. What did she think I would say? That I found his mother terrifying?

  He bowed a little. “I’ll convey your compliments to the kitchen.”

  A snarl in the traffic took his attention away for a moment as he navigated his mount around a stopped cart. He turned back to me.

  “I wish you would tell me more about your family. I should like to know everything about you.”

  I fought the urge to glance at Catherine, who was pretending to be engrossed in the scenery on the other side of the carriage. Flirting lost all its charm under my sister’s observation.

  I told him about my childhood, riding horses and watching birds in Dorset. I told him about James, who was finding his place as a scholar at Eton. Franz Joseph listened with a quiet intensity that I liked, and then he told me of his own childhood, riding and hunting in Tirol in the fall, falling asleep to orchestral music during summers at Schönbrunn.

  It should not be so easy to like a man who would someday be emperor. Particularly when his mother knew enough to ruin me.

  *

  A small, silk-wrapped parcel lay on my pillow when I reached my room. I untied the ribbon and the silk fell away to reveal a small wooden stork, painstakingly carved and painted, its great wings raised. I ran one finger along the wings, flooded by a warm rush of memories: storks circling the woods near Eszterháza, the toneless clatter of their call as dusk fell.

  Hungary.

  Home.

  I picked up the small card accompanying the carving.

  Every wish for joy and happiness on your birthday—Gábor

  In the excitement over the archduchess’s tea, my birthday had been completely eclipsed. Only Gábor remembered.

  I held the card tight between my fingers and forgot about the archduke’s flattery and his mother’s threats. I thought only of Gábor: I had to see him again.

  The gates of the Hofburg were already thronged with people when Catherine and I arrived, three hours before the start of the famed Corpus Christi procession. The day had dawned clear and bright, and the sun now beating upon my head was unrelenting. The day could not have dawned otherwise, as the procession, dubbed “God’s Court Ball” by the elite Viennese, was perhaps the event of the social season, even more so with the Congress in session.

  I did not entirely understand the fuss, but Richard assured us that the imperial family took the holiday very seriously—everyone who was anyone was expected to attend.

  Despite the deflating influence of the heat and the crowd, my heart expanded like a hot-air balloon. It was not so much the parade I anticipated (though that promised to be splendid), but the aftermath. Thanks to Catherine’s close watch, I had not been able to speak with Gábor in the past two weeks, but surely I could slip away for a few moments in the commotion of the procession. Two days earlier, Ginny had taken my carefully worded note to the Hungarian embassy and returned with Gábor’s answer. He would meet me after the parade, in the Burggarten behind the imperial residence. He thought it likely that he could gain entrance to the Hofburg with other members of the Hungarian embassy.

  The palace was closed to those without tickets; in another hour, the gates would be locked to everyone. After waiting in a brief line, Catherine handed our tickets to a guard, and then a footman led us through an immense atrium and up several flights of stairs to a richly ornamented salon overlooking the street below.

  Catherine dropped onto a gold-and-white-striped sofa, pulling a fan from her reticule. The June afternoon was close and sultry, and only a thin breeze stirred the heavy crimson curtains near the open window.

  There were others in the room with us, courtiers I recognized from various social events but was not on speaking terms with. I sat down beside Catherine to wait, anxiety making me sweat even more than the day’s heat. What if I were not able to slip away? What if Gábor were denied entrance, despite Kossuth’s patronage?

  I took a deep breath, wiping my clammy hands on my skirt. It would work. And if it did not, we would simply have to try again.

  Servants circulated through the room, bearing trays with tea and light refreshments. A murmur of conversation rose around us.

  “And your cousin’s friend was held up, in broad daylight?” one of the young ladies asked her neighbor, fingering a glossy chestnut ringlet. “How perfectly terrifying.”

  The other girl, with drooping yellow hair and a drooping mouth, nodded. “By a magician, no less! The highwayman called himself the King of Crows and spoke, my cousin says, like a Luminate born and bred.”

  “Nonsense.” The blonde’s companion, a narrow older woman, took a precise bite of cake. “Not all magicians are Luminate these days. Not since that mess with the Binding. Doubtless just some brigand with a bit of magic.”

  The brunette said, “I could fancy being stopped by a dashing Hungarian highwayman.”

  I smiled a little. I could fancy that too.

  “If he’s a highwayman, he’s likely to be middle-aged and dirty,” the companion said, and both girls sighed, disappointed.

  A maid stopped beside me, and I waved her on. I could not bear to eat anything. She bobbed a curtsy. “Beg pardon, miss, but I’ve a note for you.”

  She dropped a small square card in my hands, and my fingers fumbled with the seal. Gábor must have sent further instructions for me.

  But the handwriting was not Gábor’s at all.

  My compliments to you and your sister. I hope your viewing accommodations are comfortable. If you should find yourself in need of anything, you have only to ask. If it is not too great an inconvenience, I should like to convey my compliments in person following the processional. —Franz Joseph

  I pinched the card tight between my fingers. How was I to find Gábor and still be present after the processional? With any luck, Franz Joseph’s high position would delay him.

  Catherine arched her eyebrows at me, questioning. I folded up the note and tucked it into my reticule. “The archduke sends his compliments,” I said.

  After a lengthy wait, the processional began. Musicians, priests, court chamberlains and dignitaries, privy counselors and court nobility paraded before us—Catherine pointed to a very smug Richard. Everything gleamed and sparkled: jewels sewn into collars, gold threads, the richest clothes the courtiers possessed.

  The Russian delegation, including Count Svarog and my uncle, marched down the street, followed by Tsar Nicholas in military uniform, a red coat with gold decorations and white breeches. As I watched, Pál lifted a hand in salute to my window, though he could not possibly have seen me. The hair on my arms lifted.

  The Russian soldiers just behind the embassy delegates, marching six by six, began to shimmer oddly, as though a fog had settled on them. Or an illusion…

  When the shimmering resolved itself, it was not soldiers who marched in the street below, but praetheria, in six neat lines. The bells most of them wore jangled in the air.

  Catherine gasped. Similar cries of alarm echoed around the salon. In the street below, the crowd shifted, stirred by some strong feeling.

  Vasilisa glided at their head, a crown of gold laurel leaves on her hair. Hunger marched beside her, resplendent in black lined with gold. The others I did n
ot recognize, but they too glittered in ways that outshone the Austrian court: light played across hair and fur and feathers, one creature wore a coat of frost and diamond-bright ice, another wore a tunic fashioned entirely of iridescent feathers.

  A line of Russian soldiers followed them, making it clear that the praetheria were an invited part of the Russian delegation, even if their participation had been hidden until they reached the palace.

  Furious whispers erupted across the room.

  The praetheria passed out of sight, but the jubilant air that had hung over the procession was gone. I did not know what the appearance of the praetheria in league with Russia (and my uncle) betokened, but it could not be good, for the Congress or for the praetheria.

  The last of the court nobility marched down the street, and the archdukes appeared. Even at this distance, Franz Joseph stood out from the crowd. Behind the archdukes came the golden baldachin, followed by the emperor himself, hatless in a sign of humility. The emperor’s guard marched behind him, then the royal ladies of the court. But the glitter and glamour that might have impressed me earlier was spoiled by a vague sense of disquiet.

  As soon as the emperor was out of sight, I turned to Catherine. “I don’t feel well. I just need a bit of fresh air. I’ll nip down to the gardens and be back directly.”

  Catherine looked dubious. “I’ll come with you.”

  She could not at any cost come with me.

  Before I could say anything, my sister stood in a fluid movement but spoiled the effect by grasping the back of her chair.

  “Are you all right?” I peered at her more closely. She seemed pale. “Maybe you should stay here and rest. I won’t be long.”

  Catherine dropped back into her seat with a long sigh. “Very well.”

  Feeling only slightly guilty about leaving Catherine, I made my way down the stairs and, after asking a passing footman for directions, to the imperial gardens.