The Queen's Necklace (35 page)

The water was tepid, but rose petals floated on the surface, and someone handed her an enormous wedge of rose-scented soap. Lili would have been glad to sit and soak after she bathed, but the others were already urging her out of the water, admonishing her to make haste, make haste—

She climbed out of the tub, dried herself under the gown with a thick white towel. She had little time to inspect the fresh garments she was expected to put on, because her attendants were already hurrying her into them.

But when they had finished dressing her, Miss Hunt took Lili by the hand, leading her over to a long mirror. Lili stared into the glass, pleased and amazed at her own reflection.
How nice I look. If Wilrowan could see me—

The dress was made of ivory silk, very old and fragile, embroidered all over with silver threads; it fit so well that it might have been made for her. The full skirt divided in front to show a petticoat made of creamy brocade, and there were puffed sleeves ending just above the elbow in ruffles of antique lace. No corset had been provided, but the low-cut bodice was heavily boned and it laced in front with silver ribbons.

“Now you must eat and drink to give yourself strength,” said a thin blonde girl. She brought Lili a six-sided brass plate filled with tiny cakes, and a golden goblet on a short stem set with rough emeralds.

Lili took one of the cakes, ate a few bites, then realized she was not really hungry. Yet she forced herself to eat the rest. Her hands were beginning to shake with exhaustion, and she could only hope the cakes, and whatever the cup contained, would provide the strength she needed. She raised the goblet and tasted the contents.

It was not the same potion as before, but it was equally efficacious. The blood raced in her veins. Lili felt light-headed and yet strangely alert at the same time.

As the goblet was carried away, Miss Hunt stepped forward and draped a gauzy veil over Lili's head and shoulders. “I am to remind you that it is necessary to give oneself entirely to the mysteries; it is an act of surrender, like the act of love.

“But I need not explain that to
you
,” she added with an arch smile. “You are a married woman and must know what I mean.”

But I
don't
know
, thought Lili. As one in a dream, she moved past the purple drapery, through the open door, and up a long, white, circular staircase, like the inside of a nautilus shell. For all the nights she and Wilrowan had spent together, Lili had never once lost herself in the act or in him. She had always been too self-conscious, too guarded, and whenever she seemed in danger of feeling too much, she had panicked and drawn back.

At the top of the stairs there was a long gallery paved in a dark marble glowing with mysterious patterns. “Surrender”—the word echoed at the back of her mind as Lili moved down the gallery. Was that what had been missing all of these years? Was it her failure to give herself up, to exist entirely in the moment and in the experience, was that the reason she always felt dissatisfied after—why Will looked elsewhere for his amusement? Yet if she had ever gone to him with her heart pounding as it was now, with the drugged wine singing in her veins, it might have been very different.

By now, she was nearing a pair of immense bronze doors: doors etched in silver with numbers, symbols, and ancient pictographs. At her approach, the doors swung slowly open.

When she entered the vaulted chamber on the other side, there was a faint sounding of hidden trumpets and brassy cymbals. A crowd of well-dressed people had assembled within, forming an aisle down the center of the room. As Lili drew near, Sir Bastian stepped away from the rest and made her a very pretty bow.

“My child, I have the honor to act in place of your father.” He had obviously dressed with special care: his long white hair was brushed back from his forehead, and he wore a scarlet coat, very full about the skirts, with bunches of black ribbon on the shoulders. Taking her arm, he led her gently down the aisle. “This is a great occasion, and one on which all of your friends must share in your happiness.”

It was beginning to feel more and more like it
was
a wedding. Except that no one, least of all Lili herself, had been happy on her real
wedding day. She blushed as she had not blushed on that other occasion—although, mindful of the solemnity of this one, she tried not to smile.

On a stepped black marble dais before an altar of glass stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in purple robes and a mask like the head of a great golden falcon, awaiting the “bride” and her “father.”

“Who presents this woman in the Temple of the Mysteries?” he intoned, in a deep, sonorous voice.

“I do,” said Sir Bastian, stopping before the first step. “And for these reasons: That she has proved herself to be a woman of the highest character and remarkable talents. That she has made a conscientious study of the healing and the magical arts. That she has allowed herself to be unmade and reborn in the dark womb of the world, swallowed deadly poison without being harmed by it, successfully passed the tests of air and solid matter, and been renewed by water.”

“Then approach, Lilliana, and kneel before the altar.”

With Sir Bastian's guidance, Lili climbed to the second step and sank slowly to her knees. This done, the old gentleman released her arm and moved away.

“Lilliana Brakeburn-Blackheart, I ask you for the last time,” said the man in the falcon mask. “And I charge you to examine your conscience thoroughly before you answer. Do you come here solely of your own will, under no constraint, under no persuasion? Do you make your vows and join this ancient brotherhood with a full and grateful and joyous heart?”

After a brief pause, Lili replied. “Sir, I do.”

A bright column of fire sprang up on the altar. “Do you dare stand the test of fire? Will you place your hand unprotected in the flame?”

“I will.” Steeling herself, Lili stretched out one hand to the spot where the fire seemed to burn the hottest. There was no pain, no sensation at all. And when, after another moment, she withdrew her
hand, there was no redness or other mark of the flame to be seen on her skin.

The tall man seemed to smile behind his mask. “You have a powerful will. Now, Lilliana, you must speak the words after me, exactly as I say them to you.”

With his next words, his voice seemed to grow physically bigger as it grew louder, to expand until it filled the whole room like a palpable presence: “
I am the Bride of the Universe, the Handmaiden of Nature, and Sister of the Four Elements
.”

“I am the Bride of the Universe,” Lili echoed softly, “the Handmaiden of Nature, and Sister of the Four Elements.”

“
I am the earth, I am a star, I am a spirit. I partake of the nature of all things, for I am one with the World's Soul
.”

“I am the earth, I am a star, I am a spirit. I partake of the nature of all things, for I am one with the World's Soul.”

“
By the stone generated by the fire, by the water that burns, by the salt that transforms all things out of their own nature, I do give myself, my flesh, my bones, my soul, my spirit, unreservedly, in the sure knowledge that as I give so I shall receive in tenfold measure
.”

“By the stone generated by the fire, by the water that burns, by the salt that transforms all things out of their own nature, I do give myself, my flesh, my bones, my soul, my spirit, unreservedly, in the sure knowledge that as I give so I shall receive in tenfold measure.”

“
I offer myself as a vessel for the mysteries
.”

“I offer myself as a vessel for the mysteries.”

There was a long silence, broken at last when Sir Bastian reappeared and offered her a copper bowl to sip from. “Drink deeply, Lilliana. You will find this draught far sweeter than the two before.”

It
was
sweet, and when Lili had drained the last drop, it left her with an intense thirst for more.

“
I permit myself to be impregnated with the seed of things not yet seen or
contemplated,”
intoned the man in the mask. “
I die a thousand deaths and I am reborn to live a thousand lives
.”

“I permit myself to be impregnated with the seed of things not yet seen or contemplated.” Something was growing inside of Lili, something so great, so immense, it threatened to split her apart from her breastbone to the base of her spine. She felt suddenly weak and giddy, but she continued to force out the words. “I die a thousand deaths and I am reborn to live a thousand lives.”

“Your bridegroom comes to claim you, Lilliana,” said a soft voice, and before her astonished eyes, a dark hole was ripped in the cosmos and something reached out and drew her through the gap.

She stood at the apex of a whirling world, watching stars and planets dance in the void. Suns exploded, shooting sparks like fireworks in the night. Chaos spun in the heavens like a pinwheel
. Lili had neither the power nor the will to resist. She surrendered herself utterly to the mysteries.

E
audaimanté, high in the southern mountains, was a tiny walled city on the shores of a beautiful sky-blue lake, almost unknown to history. Had she not possessed an equable climate, and a pretty little marketplace with pointed arches, an ancient hot spring of proven virtue, she might have remained equally unknown to the fashionable world. As it was, she enjoyed a certain reputation. The sick and the weary, the old and the jaded, were accustomed to visit her winter and summer, to drink her bitter magnetic waters, to soak in her steaming baths, and to sample her other (exceedingly sedate) pleasures
.

Placid—dignified—matronly—all this she certainly was, but she was a
fashionable
matron, addicted to dress, gossip, and slow promenades in the afternoon. As such, she had more than her share of mantua-makers, jewelers, perfumers, and makers of other luxury goods. From the moment any visitor entered through her southern gate—passing between the twin towers and under the painted arms of the city
—
it was plain to be seen that her crooked streets were lined with shops selling pastry, snuff, gold braid, lace, and silk stockings
.

But she had her darker side as well. With the invalids came the medical men—many of them highly questionable. In a single neighborhood there were over two dozen barbers, empirics, midwives, corn-cutters, bone-setters, and urinarians. Outside the baths, quacks hawked their patent nostrums—good for everything from wind in the blood, to flying gout, moon pall, gravel, and rising lights. Inside the lecture halls, more scientific practitioners spoke wisely of “insensible perspiration,” and “imperfectly concocted humors.” And in tiny shops throughout the town, apothecaries prescribed such recognized remedies as snail-shells, soap, snakeroot, brandy, mint-water, and spittle
.

If those who suffered from disease or ennui attracted the medical men—qualified and otherwise—rich old widows and their gullible sons and daughters attracted confidence men of another sort. With excellent manners, easy address, and a velvet coat, one might go far in Eaudaimanté
.

In fact, the shadier sorts almost invariably went so far as the north end of town, where, in a certain tall house, a certain old lady with a formidable reputation was known to buy
information—

Eaudaimanté, Montagne-du-Soliel (Near the Mountfalcon Border)

17 Pluviôse, 6038

I
t was a narrow house, six stories high, squeezed in among other houses on a short cul-de-sac ending in a graveyard. Like all the other houses on the street, this one presented a forbidding face to the world: the windows shuttered, the dark wood of the front door banded in iron, the thirteen steps leading up to that door high and steep.

Rumor had it there was a glassed-in garden behind, a conservatory where the lady of the house cultivated a remarkable collection of plants as exotic as they were poisonous. But, as visitors who had stayed in the house stoutly maintained that the Dowager Lady Krogan grew nothing more unusual than foxglove, cultivated nothing more dangerous than fly-agaric, it was possible that rumor lied.

To this mansion of sinister reputation, one day, came Blaise Trefallon in a borrowed carriage. He appeared to be confident of gaining admittance, for he dismissed the driver before he even knocked.

That confidence was justified. No sooner had he tapped on the door, no sooner had the servant who answered taken in his elegant figure, than he was ushered inside. Nor was he obliged to linger long in the entry hall. Within minutes of sending up his card, Blaise was escorted upstairs and into the dowager's sitting room.

Lady Krogan did not rise to meet him. Sitting up very straight in a high-backed chair without a cushion to support her, she presented a formidable picture in her black satin weeds. Though her white hair was thinning, and the body which housed her indomitable spirit had grown lean and enfeebled, Wilrowan's grandmother remained an exceedingly handsome old woman. As her visitor entered the room she extended a very white—and still very smooth—blue-veined aristocratic hand in greeting.

“Mr. Trefallon. You are very prompt in gratifying my request. Dare I hope you have come for an extended visit?”

“An afternoon call only,” said Blaise, tucking his lace-edged tricorn under one arm, achieving a highly creditable bow. “I hope I have better manners than to foist myself on you as a house-guest, when no such invitation was mentioned in your letter.”

Lady Krogan sniffed audibly. “My resources are not contemptible, young man, and my household sufficiently well managed. I am able to accommodate unexpected guests with very little trouble.”

She waved him toward a chair to the left of her own, waited until he was seated before going on. “I believe I told you, once, that you might stay with me here whenever you chose.”

“You were so gracious as to extend that invitation—two or three years ago.” Blaise hid a slight irritation behind his blandest and most polished manner. He had forgotten how like fencing it was to hold even the simplest conversation with this fierce old lady.