“What about me? It’s better to have a hero brother than one who tried to murder the most beloved cardinal in the history of cardinals.”
“I see your point. So what’s your offer? I can’t do much more for the empress and I have to go to Rome.”
“The cardinal has chosen you as his successor then.”
I laughed. “No way. He chose Iris.”
He nodded and we kept walking. He seemed to be trying to form the words, but they wouldn’t come out properly.
“Is there something else?” I asked.
“How would you like to be a Princess Royal?”
“Huh?”
The emperor stopped and faced me. “I’m offering you a betrothal to me.”
I had to think and then remind myself to close my mouth. “You want to marry me?”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
I crossed my arms. “Thanks. I’m glad I’m disgusting.”
“You’re not disgusting. You’re fourteen. I’m offering you a betrothal. It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s not?”
“No. We will sign a legal document and announce our intention to marry somewhere in the distant future, say ten years or something like. You would become a Princess Royal.”
“And this is good because…?”
“You would be under the cloak of imperial protection. You would have all the benefits of being a Habsburg without actually being one. You and your family. The imperial guard would look after you. You would live in the palace. No more scrubbing.”
“What do you get out of it?” I asked.
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Fine. I get a fiancée without getting a wife.”
“You don’t want a wife?”
“Not yet, I don’t. But there’s been a lot of pressure. If I were engaged to you, no one would expect us to marry for years. I would have time to find someone without the constant chatter.”
“Won’t people think it’s weird? You’re so much older than me. It’s kind of gross.”
“Thanks for that, but young betrothals are normal for royalty. My sister was betrothed at twelve and married at twenty. This would work for both of us. You could keep treating the empress. Your brothers and Iris could attend Sisi’s school. Your parents could be negotiated for as parents of royalty. It’s a powerful position.”
It sounded pretty good, especially for Gerald. I could have servants instead of being one. I wouldn’t have to worry about affording shoes for Iris. Victory could harass the anubis on a daily basis. But being a princess meant I wasn’t going home. Through it all, I always thought I was going home to our mantel.
“Being Princess Royal gives you all the protection you need,” said the emperor.
I hated to point out the obvious, but his sister was a queen imprisoned in her own country. “The imperial cloak isn’t helping her out much.”
“But it is. If she were a lesser royal, she’d be dead.”
I thought about Sisi and her son. Being royal didn’t help them any.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning.
I told him what the female horen said about the murders of the Empress Sisi and her son.
“It can’t be true. It just can’t be. Sisi was beloved.”
“Not by the horen or the French revolutionaries.”
“Maybe she was lying.” The emperor started walking again.
“Maybe.”
“Matilda, we expelled all the mindbenders from the country after Sisi’s son was murdered.”
I nodded. “Not the best idea, since they were the only ones that could’ve told you what was going on.”
“This day keeps getting better and better,” said the emperor.
We turned the last corner and found the body of the female horen. Someone had covered her in a ratty sheet and the smell was pretty strong. I stopped and stood over her body. My toe touched the useless arm.
“Are you sorry you killed her?” asked the emperor.
“I’m sorry that somewhere a child is being infected with what she was.”
“How do you know that will happen?”
“It’s in the Speciesapedia. There are five horen in the world at any one time. One dies and whatever it is that creates them goes into a child being born at the exact time of the death.”
The emperor crossed his arms and stared down at the horen’s body. “Did you see anything when she died?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Anything. If this disease left her to enter someone else, something must’ve happened.”
“If it did, I didn’t see it.”
“There’s no treatment for what she was?” he asked.
“No one ever tried to treat it. Everyone just tries to survive them,” I said.
“Perhaps it’s time to change our approach from survival to prevention.”
I smiled. “You’re going to surprise everyone.”
“Let’s hope we surprise the horen.”
“Speaking of surprises,” I nudged the arm with my toe, “How many prisoners do we have?”
“Three dragons, about thirty phalanx, twelve sluagh, and brown wings. Why?”
“Can I have one?” I asked.
“I’m afraid to ask why,” said the emperor.
I flipped back the sheet and picked up the desiccated arm. “I want to send a message.”
The emperor didn’t say anything. We stood at the entrance and looked down at the prisoners lined up on the floor in front of the pulpit. The cathedral had been cleared of most humans. The Viennese police were taking statements and trying to figure out what happened. Their dark uniforms seemed out of place in the golden glow of the nave, especially on Christmas Eve. So did the workman up on ladders trying to cover the broken windows with tarps.
“Do you want me to carry you down?” asked the emperor, looking at my wing.
“That would be weird. You’re an emperor and I’m me.”
“Less weird than you falling down. Besides you could be the Princess Royal.”
Before I could answer Lysander flew up and hovered beside us. “Your Majesty.”
“Kapellmeister.”
“May I help Mattie down?”
“Of course. I hear that it would be weird if I did it,” said the emperor.
Lysander looked confused.
“Yes,” I said. “Please help me.”
Lysander flew me down and I walked in front of the prisoners, looking for a likely candidate. “Who’s in charge?” I asked the closest phalanx.
He sneered at me. “The horen.”
I looked over at the horen, doubled caged and looking at me with such loathing I’m surprised my skin didn’t sizzle.
“Besides him.”
No one spoke up. I walked down the line and stood in front of a large brown wing. “This one.”
The brown winged had been looking quite arrogant, but that went away with a quickness. “What do you want?”
“Release him,” I said.
The emperor nodded and an anubis undid his shackles, not happily I might add. I shoved the arm into the brown wings arms. He dropped it and looked like he might be sick.
“Pick it up. Today is your lucky day. You’re going to be escorted to the border, then you’re going to take that arm to whoever thinks they’re in charge of the revolution. You’re going to give him that arm and tell him Matilda Whipplethorn sent it and if anything happens to my family or my friends that you frog filth have in your prisons, that arm will look like a kindness. Got it?”
The brown wing nodded furiously and then reluctantly picked up the arm. The anubis led him away.
“So I take it that you’re not interested in being a princess?” asked the emperor.
“I’m not, but it’s not really for me, is it?”
“I suppose not.”
Lysander stood off to the side with his forehead creased in worry, but he didn’t say anything. I couldn’t imagine what he wa
s thinking. Princess. Me. Yeah, right. We watched more cages being brought in and the anubis trying to figure out how to get a non-mobile dragon in one. Percy and Penelope got up and went for the first dragon in line. When it saw them it got frantic and started wiggling around like a giant grub. Our dragons ignored the panic and pushed it into the cage with their noses.
“Your dragons are exceptional,” said the emperor. “I’d like to reward them.”
“Ovid was pretty exceptional, too,” I said.
The green dragon’s head popped up at the sound of his name and he watched us like we could be a tasty snack.
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the emperor. “What reward would you suggest?”
Before I could answer, Victory hopped to my hand. “Ovid is a battle dragon. He wants armor.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I’m his commander.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in his little body. I don’t know why I bothered to look for it.
Ovid apparently agreed with the armor because he began preening and making a great show of himself. Percy and Penelope looked disgusted and went on with rolling the next black dragon into its cage.
“Armor it is for Ovid, but what about yours, Matilda?” asked the emperor.
“I wouldn’t say they’re mine.”
Percy and Penelope snorted tall pillars of fire in agreement.
“I think they’d like some spices. Paprika, turmeric and cumin are their favorites.”
The emperor frowned at me. So weird that if I agreed, he of all people would be my betrothed, at least on paper. “Are you teasing me?”
“I’m not, but somebody should. You could use a good teasing,” I said. “They’re Moroccan spice dragons.”
“Consider it done,” he said. “And don’t get any ideas about the teasing. It isn’t done.”
I rolled my eyes. “People are always saying what can’t be done instead of just doing stuff. Speaking of doing stuff. I have a Christmas present to deliver. Lysander, want to come with me?”
“With your permission, sir,” said Lysander.
“Where are you going?”
“Wherever the humans took that woman that the horen poisoned,” I said.
The emperor spoke to the nearest anubis in their odd language and then said, “Sankt Elisabeth. Her name is Gianna Rossi and she’s in the critical ward.”
“Then there’s no time to lose,” I said. “Are you ready, Lysander?”
The emperor grabbed my arm. “I want a full cadre of anubis with you.”
“I’d rather have a carriage.”
He raised his hand and Volotora cantered up. “Your Majesty?”
“Matilda needs a ride.”
“Matilda?”
“Me,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”
Volotora nickered, which I took for a laugh and then headed off toward the stables.
“You will take the anubis,” said emperor.
“After everything that’s happened, why would you think that I need them?” I asked.
“Because the horen knew exactly where to find you. Who told them?”
Chapter Thirty-four
I LEANED OUT the window and the wind whipped my hair around, coiling it around my neck and into my mouth. I didn’t care. It was my hair, my real hair, long and black, tangled and unhidden. Christmas revelers lurched down the street below the emperor’s carriage toward a Christmas market filled with laughing faces and cups of good cheer.
There was a tug on my skirt and I slipped back inside, closing the etched glass pane. I sank into the tufted plush seat. “This is the only way to travel.”
Lysander sat opposite me and he was not feeling it. The small cauldron of horen antidote in his lap probably wasn’t helping. “If you say so.”
I suppressed a smile. “You don’t have to hold it like that.”
His arms were around the cauldron, not like he was holding a child, more like a bomb. He’d rather have been cradling the violin lying on the seat beside him. “I don’t want it to spill.”
“Do you want me to take it?”
“It’s really heavy and you’re injured.”
“I’m okay.”
“You didn’t even take the antidote,” he said, squeezing the cauldron tighter.
“I don’t need it. The arnica salve will do just fine.”
“But the horen got you. Why aren’t you…?”
“Dying? I’m not sure. He sliced me pretty good, but the venom had no effect. I think the antidote might vaccinate the patient like what humans do with shots,” I said.
Lysander frowned, making his diamond-patterned skin look like a castoff snakeskin. “Does that mean you’ve seen a horen before today?”
I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“And you lived because of the antidote?”
“Because of my fire the first time.”
“There was a second time?”
“It’s not a big deal. I got the antidote after I healed Percy’s sea serpent wounds. The venom was still in me and I think that’s why it worked.”
He just stared at me.
“What?”
“I don’t understand who you are.”
“I’m Matilda.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I could tell that this not knowing worried him, but it didn’t bother me. Things were changing all the time and that was okay. I was a different girl than I’d been before Vienna. I’d change soon enough again.
The carriage turned sharply and I saw an elegant building through the glass. It wasn’t what I expected at all. The building was a buttery cream color with the graceful curves of Mozart’s era.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Yes, but we’re too high for the doors,” said Lysander.
“We don’t need doors.”
The carriage turned again and picked up speed.
“What’s happening?”
Everything slowed down, including Lysander repeating his question. A ripple went through the carriage. It made my stomach feel fizzy. Very enjoyable now that I knew what to expect. A lot of things were like that. Scary the first time, fun the next. I’d have to remember that.
“We’re in,” I said, looking at the patient rooms whizzing by. I banged open the window and yelled at the galloping damumoto. There were five with Volotora alone in the lead harness. “Slow down. We have to find her room. Volotora tossed his head. I think he probably said something in derision, so I closed the window. The carriage did slow down to a trot. We passed a bunch of nurses at a desk. I leaned forward. “They must have a chart of patients or something.”
“What was the human’s name again?” asked Lysander.
“Gianna Rossi,” I said as we both lurched to the right and slowed to a walk.
I leaned out the window and found us in a private room with an unbelievable amount of machines jammed in it around a narrow bed where the mother from the cathedral lay. She had tubes taped to her arms and some kind of clear plastic thingy over her mouth and nose. Human medicine was weird and it wasn’t helping her. She was yellow, acid yellow, and the thick bandage on her neck was soaked through with blood and venom. There were two humans checking her tubes and another was talking to a man seated in a chair beside her bed. They all had masks over their faces and wore paper suits that would’ve looked right on a spriggan, except they were pure white and clean. Usually, I could hear humans. They were so loud, but the masks were getting in the way.
The damumoto circled the bed and then landed at the foot, just below Gianna Rossi’s feet. I flung open the door and jumped out. I expected the bed to be soft but it made wood seem cushy. Lysander struggled with the full cauldron and I helped him down the one step. We both took ahold of the handle and walked unsteadily up the length of Gianna’s body. The humans were shaking their heads. The man in the chair was crying in big gulps like the air was too thin to sustain him. The other humans, presumably healers, patted his shoulder and then left. He sobbed
into his hands as we climbed onto Gianna’s chest and set down the cauldron.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get that stupid thing off her face and you get your violin.”
“Let’s just do the antidote,” he said.
“Music is healing. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re the healer, but I’ll do the face thing and you get the violin.”
I protested, but he pointed out my wing injury and I was forced to give in. I ran back and got the violin in its shiny black case and Lysander flew up and eased the plastic thing off to the side of Gianna’s face.
I slung the violin case strap over my head and we climbed up Gianna’s neck. Lysander had to fly the cauldron the rest of the way while I climbed her cheek. We perched the cauldron on her ghastly yellow lip and I prayed there was enough antidote to save her.
“Ready?” asked Lysander.
“Let’s do it.”
We tipped over the cauldron, pouring the glowing antidote in. Happily, it bypassed her teeth and landed right on her tongue. I used my hand to scrape out any remaining bits and shook it into her mouth.
“Now we wait,” I said. “Get to playing.”
“Do you really think it will help her?” he asked, taking the case from me.
“It will definitely help.”
“What should I play?”
“What piece are you most passionate about?” I asked.
He thought as he tightened his bow, rosined it, and did a little tuning. “‘Vivaldi’s Winter’.”
Lysander straightened up and began to play, fiercely with a passion I seen only before in fighters. I never imagined I’d see it in an artist, but there it was life and death coming out of that instrument. I leaned in and closed my eyes. My ear was so close I could feel the wind off his bow. I got it. I got every beautiful note. There was anger in it, intensity, and fear, but also love and tenderness. It was more beautiful than all my imaginings of music had been. I felt it everywhere and even when he’d finished, it remained, swirling around in my chest. Even if I never heard another note, I’d be able to keep it safe within me.
“Lysander, that was Vienna,” I said, opening my eyes. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking up with an expression of such wonder I almost dared not follow his gaze.
“Matilda,” he whispered. “Look.”
Wicked Chill (Away From Whipplethorn Book Four) Page 38
