Blood Spirits

  So that was why the Danilovs set up that sauna in the fencing salle, they were hoping I’d strip down far enough for them to see whether or not I was packing diamonds.

  She must have seen my reaction because she said, “Yes, Honoré told me about yesterday. He was quite annoyed with his cousins.”

  “Okay, so getting away from me for a second, and the von Mecklundburg gang thinking I’m some sort of supervillain—those diamonds everyone wears: they’re to ward off vampires? And that big fat diamond the duchess always wears kept anyone from knowing she’s a liar?”

  Beka touched her bracelet again, hesitated, then gave a quick shrug. “You must understand how confusing last summer was for Honoré. The duchess has always been his champion. Gave him anything he wanted, like those expensive tutors, when he could not bear the proximity of other boys at their school.”

  “And Tony knew where Ruli really was, last summer. Didn’t Honoré know that he was lying?”

  She looked away, her lips tightening briefly. “Tony claimed to be keeping Ruli safe. They saw you as . . .”

  I raised a hand. “I know what they saw me as.”

  So did Beka believe Tony, or excuse him, or what? And how could I ask? I didn’t know you were involved with so-and-so is seldom perceived as a neutral statement. If you say it to a lover, or to someone involved with someone you are interested in, it can be seen as a challenge.

  We all have “someones” in our lives. And it’s not always easy to fit them into neatly labeled boxes. Even ex-lovers. There’s the ex you curse and want to scrub your brain out if you even think the name. Then there’s the ex who’s still part of your life—a kind of friend. But you look at them, and they look at you, and there’s always some memory of the time when you weren’t exes. I didn’t know what Beka’s relationship with Tony was, any more than I could define whatever was going on between her and Alec, but I had this sense that if Honoré was looking at her now, he’d see a sun’s worth of emotional fusion.

  “So, what now?” I finally asked.

  She had been frowning down at her bracelet as she turned it on her wrist. “So there remains the possibility that someone wishes Honoré harm. But we have no idea why, or who. There are very few who know about his ability.”

  “I know you don’t want to speculate, but if someone is trying to get rid of Honoré, it’s because of his ability? I thought there was no prejudice about magical stuff in Dobrenica.”

  She flicked her fingers outward in a quick gesture. “Not so simple. Some disapprove of his relationship with Anijka.”

  I stared at Beka. “Not because she’s Jewish? Isn’t Dobrenica fairly free of religious prejudice?”

  “My second-cousin Anijka is not a Ridotski, has no rank or fortune, and works as a teacher.” She tipped her head, her mouth sardonic. “Yes, we Jews have existed in relative amity in Dobrenica. But there are always contingencies, as some say, and class prejudice is one.”

  “Go on.”

  “Very well. Perhaps it is important for you to understand. You are aware that the Ridotskis are regarded as one of the five guardian families.”

  “Right.”

  “Did you ever stop to ask why the head of our family does not share the ducal coronet with the other four?” Beka’s brow puckered.

  “No.” I felt that guilt one always feels when discovering unexamined prejudice. Then I said, “Not to excuse myself or anything, but the way I was raised, well, I don’t ordinarily ask myself anything about dukes.”

  “Fair enough,” Beka said, and then added: “So tell me this. How much do you know about the von Mecklundburgs’ past? Specifically Aurélie de Mascarenhas?”

  “Only what Alec told me, that she married one or another of the crown princes. Oh yes, that there was some sort of gossip about her past.”

  Beka said, “Have you ever looked at Tony’s black eyes and wondered what ancestor is peering back at you? There is some evidence that Aurélie was not the daughter of a Spanish marquis, but the illegitimate granddaughter of an exiled Englishman and a runaway slave from the Caribbean.”

  “Wow! She must have an awesome history.”

  Beka regarded me askance. “So this doesn’t bother you?”

  “Why should it? My mother, it turns out, is legally considered a bastard, and as for the race thing, aren’t we all pretty much from Africa, if you go back far enough? Okay, look, I know we all grow up with all kinds of hidden pockets of prejudice. Sometimes not so hidden. That particular subset doesn’t happen to be mine, so go back to the dukes. Is there prejudice against Jews after all?”

  Beka checked her watch, then cradled her cup in her hands. I got the sense that, once again, she was considering what to say and what to leave unsaid.

  “Tradition in the Holy Roman Empire was strong,” she began. “Jews were not landholders. They didn’t form the aristocracy. In Dobrenica, Jews did not build castles on great tracts of land, but we could invest money in the building of the city. The landholding was quietly arranged with the crown. The barony happened after Emperor Francis elevated the Rothschilds to the nobility in the early 1800s. My family had done as much, more actually, for this kingdom, and the queen knew it. As did her son. So on his accession, he raised the Ridotskis to their current rank.”

  “And the world didn’t end?”

  She smiled briefly. “The world didn’t end, as you say. But the court at that time was . . .” She tipped her head. “Well, you would have to read about Aurelia, as they called her, and the young king. Though you will find intermarriage here, and children usually chose which tradition to follow, everyone grew up knowing that if you had political ambition, you stayed Christian.”

  “Yeah, I know my history. But why hasn’t that changed?”

  “It was one of the things Milo had long promised Grandfather,” she said, “once Dobrenica regained its sovereignty. Can you guess who objected?”

  “Aunt Sisi, of course. No-brainer. But why? This can’t be a class thing, as you’re all toffs. Religious prejudice?”

  “If my family is raised to the dukedom, then one of us Ridotskis one day could be king or queen. It is solely a matter of power and influence. As for you, your mother was baptized a Dsaret, so if she returned, she could establish herself as Duchess of Dsaret. There would be muttering, but the name, the tradition, is so strong that people would accept it. Especially if your grandmother appeared with her.”

  I paused to consider the comic picture of my mother in her old hippie jeans, arms elbow-deep in pastry flour, prancing around in a tiara, and had to laugh. “Mom would make an awesome duchess,” I said. “But what about that other family, the Trasyemovas? I know they have dukes, but I don’t recall any kings with their name, when I took the tour.”

  “They gave up the right to kingship by treaty when they chose to inherit the leadership of the Vigilzhi. Even centuries ago, our various ancestors knew that whoever controlled the armed forces could control the kingdom. The Duke of Trasyemova is also Jazd Komandant . . . I’m not sure how to translate it. The closest rank is the old German Rittmeister.”

  “Cavalry commander.”

  “Which for us here is the equivalent of a general. And so Dmitros, who is Jazd Komandant, can never be king.”

  “Got it.”

  “But their daughters can marry princes, and some of them have produced kings through the maternal line. Ever since Maria Theresia ruled the Empire, the maternal line has become increasingly important. Daughters can inherit the throne. Your grandmother would have.”

  “Okay, so back to Honoré. Someone doesn’t want him sniffing out something?”

  “That’s the strongest possibility.”

  “Truth about what?”

  “That we don’t know. Maybe he’s not supposed to discover that someone is lying.” She laid her hands flat on the table, fingers pressed together, as if she was keeping the furniture from leaping into the air. “Here is what bothers us most,” she said to the table.

  Us? Her and Alec?
??or her and Tony?

  “If it is true that someone struck Honoré and set his house on fire, and that person was not you, then it was someone who Shurisko knows. Because he never would have permitted a stranger in the house.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “OKAY,” I CONTINUED.“So you said the dog was barking like crazy when Honoré nearly fell down the steps after Anijka’s visit.”

  “Yes. That could have been because Honoré exclaimed when he fell, it could have been because someone was there who did not belong. Or . . . it could be nothing more than the fact that Shurisko wanted to go outside to relieve himself. Vachement! You see why I hate speculation, it is endless, yet with no answers.” She looked at her watch, and exclaimed under her breath. “And we are out of time. The memorial singing finishes at noon.”

  “Memorial singing? Those girls I heard from my window?”

  “They made their way around the city this morning, singing the Song of the Dawn.”

  “Was that the Roman Song of the Dawn? Wow. I thought that melody sounded . . .”

  “Ancient. Though the words have altered slowly over the centuries. In spring and summer, for state funerals, girls are chosen out of the religious communities, otherwise it’s family. In winter, they circle the city from sunrise until noon.”

  “It was beautiful. So where’s the funeral?”

  “At the cathedral. All the other places of worship will hold a state memorial. At the temple, we will sing a nigun in Ruli’s honor. She would have liked that.” Beka’s expression was troubled. Then she said briskly, “I would say come and hear it, but I think you should probably only attend the funeral proper.”

  “Is there some kind of procession?”

  “No.” Beka sighed. “It’s been so very long since there was a state funeral, and because of the circumstances there was no lying in state at the palace, therefore no procession. She didn’t even lie in state in the cathedral for three days, because of the holiday. Her casket was relegated to the smaller chapel.”

  Poor Ruli, I thought. Always shoved aside, by family, by politics. I thought of Alec wearing the wedding ring, and conflicted as I was about how we were going to work things out (assuming there would even be a “we”) I was glad he had that much respect for her.

  And how was I supposed to help her?

  Beka went on, “Grandfather will be at the cathedral, as he has been asked to the ceremony at the vault.” She paused, then said tentatively, “You look surprised.”

  “It’s the first I’ve heard about this vault thing,” and I remembered that Alec hadn’t wanted me to take to heart what was obviously a snub, as the duchess had not invited me. “It’s separate from the actual funeral?”

  “It takes place after the funeral, when she is entombed. It’s traditional for at least one person from each of the five families to be present.” She gave her coffee a wry glance, and I knew she was thinking of the duchess’s snub. But she neither rubbed it in nor commiserated with me by referring to it. “If you wish to know more about the prisms, my Great-Aunt Sarolta says that you may use her name. You can go to Tania Waleska for what they call the test.”

  “Is your aunt’s name like a password or something?”

  “Nothing is ever written down about these matters. People are taught one at a time. One layer at a time.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “On se casse.”

  When I got back to the inn, I found that the mauve dress had arrived before I did. As I changed I thought about that conversation, specifically about how carefully we’d tiptoed around the Alec-shaped elephant in the room.

  A short time later, I slipped into a crowd walking into the cathedral. My skin felt rough inside my fine new dress, and my entire body ached, especially my head. It wasn’t the sinus throb of a smoggy day. My skull felt sensitive, as if I’d lain out in the California sun and my brain had taken sunburn.

  When I saw Alec alone in the front pew, the sensitivity sharpened. He sat not ten yards from where the magnificent casket lay, surrounded by hothouse flowers limned in the peaceful golden light of a Paschal candle. He was dressed in a fine black suit, and he was so straight and so still I didn’t need any psychic powers to sense the stress he was under. Madam Aradyinov, his gentle, maternal great-aunt who had been my nominal chaperone during summer, stood by his side, wearing a hat and a veil over her black dress. Otherwise Alec had no other relations with him—his father wasn’t there.

  Behind the mostly empty first pew sat the Trasyemovas. There was young Sergei in a black suit, handsome Dmitros in full uniform, and another man in uniform—had to be Sergei’s father—next to a fortyish woman who I recognized as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine from the masquerade ball last summer. Beka’s grandfather, the Prime Minister, sat with them.

  Of course, there were no Dsarets.

  Should I go up front? I hung back uncertainly until there was a stir at one of the side entrances. The door opened, and in came the von Mecklundburgs, like a group of elegant black and gray swans. They stood around the door, partially obscured by marble pillars and decorations, but because of where I stood, I could see them all.

  The Danilovs and Tony stood out, their light hair contrasting with the somber colors of their clothing. With them walked red-haired Parsifal, his sober expression making his long-chinned face look even more horse-like. But he was not the only redhead. Walking next to the duchess was a tall man with short, curly, silver-touched red hair. He wore a fine black suit. As the duchess peered around the cathedral, I snuck a good look at him and wondered if I was seeing Percy’s father. But no, an older version of Percy trailed behind the family. And then I remembered meeting Percy’s dad, a baron, at one of the parties the summer before. Someone had mentioned that he rarely came down from the mountain, where they had a small castle.

  My attention returned to the duchess. I had so visceral a desire to avoid that black veil’s turning my way that I slid into a pew midway along the aisle.

  As soon as the von Mecklundburg contingent sat down, the choir began to sing from the hidden galleries above. I recognized the Requiem by Gabriel Fauré and closed my eyes to listen.

  Beautiful music can be painful, and so it was now. I hadn’t known poor Ruli for more than five minutes, though I’d worn her clothes, fallen in love with her intended husband, and spoken for two seconds with her ghost. The song evoked the pain that transcended this moment, enveloping everyone who has sustained loss.

  Next was the Pie Jesu, sung by children’s voices. I opened my eyes—and there were the ghosts. Hundreds of them, drifting, blending, some as diaphanous as a curl of smoke, others clearer, faces and forms etched in white and silver and gray, children drifting upward like a skyward rain of angels, as above us in the gallery the living children sang. Like drawn to like.

  Blink.

  One wall of the cathedral had dissolved into a stippled white, like a blizzard, into which the ghosts ebbed and flowed. I searched among the faces for Ruli.

  She was not among them.

  So I looked for Gran’s twin Rose, who I’d seen in a vision of the past. I didn’t see her. So I looked for Grandfather Armandros. Was he there, behind the tall blond woman?

  Though the mass had flowed around me, it was the half-choked, wrenching sob that broke the vision. Percy gulped, hands covering his face. The duchess’s thin shoulders shook.

  The bishop had finished the Prayer of Commendation, and the world around me reasserted itself in magnified sounds—the shifting of cloth, the shuffle of feet and scents—incense, the blended aromas of perfumes and soaps and, to my right, mothballs, probably from a stored funeral outfit. I gripped my hands together and gradually those, too, subsided into normal. In the first pew, the silvery-red head next to the duchess bent toward her protectively, and the duchess lifted her veil to drink a tiny glass of water that the man with the silver-touched red hair thoughtfully offered.

  “You okay?”

  A whisper on my left. It was Natalie. I didn’t remember her
sitting beside me.

  “Fine.”

  “You didn’t get bopped on the head by a marble bust, did you?” She leaned around to look into my face.

  “Nope. Weird mental space.”

  “Okay. I gotta say, though I’m not one for church, that was a beautiful service.”

  Up in front, pall bearers were stationed all around the casket, waiting for some signal. Obviously from here on the ceremony was private. People were leaving—I’d missed it all, except for an elusive memory of the music. “They’ve had two thousand years to find what works,” I muttered as we filed out of the pew.

  “I’ll grant ’em that.”

  Sound carried in spite of the lofty ceilings. As we reached the aisle I heard the duchess say, “But you must. I insist, dear boy.”

  I whipped around, and almost stepped on Nat’s toes. She backed up, hands raised, and I mumbled, “Sorry. I thought she was right behind us.”

  “Acoustics.” Nat jerked her head backward.

  At the side of the first pew, the entire von Mecklundburg clan was gathered around Honoré, who leaned white-knuckled on a beautifully carved cane.

  “It’s no trouble. I can stay with Danilov,” Honoré was saying.

  Danilov said from his place as a pall bearer, “I sent a message over last night.”

  “But I insist,” the duchess replied in caressing tones. “It will be like old times. Such a comfort, to have young people around me.”

  “We have plenty of room,” Phaedra drawled, her high voice sounding like a little girl’s in that vast space. “We can have the guest wing warm by sunset.”

  “Your own room awaits you.” That was the older, red-haired man. His voice matched his charming lopsided smile. “And it is already warm.”

  “No one has touched it. Everything in that suite is the way you and Gilles liked it when you were boys.” Count Robert spread his hands, a huge diamond glinting on his little finger. He looked like Henry VIII in a Brioni swallow-tailed jacket.