An Alchemy of Masques and Mirrors by Curtis Craddock

Author:Curtis Craddock [Craddock, Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

Thirteen

The royal palace’s huge courtyard was filled with coaches of every shape and size. An army of drivers, footmen, grooms, and stable hands milled about, making sure the animals were both relaxed for a long stay and ready to go at moment’s notice.

Isabelle’s coach pulled to a stop in front of the Hall of Mirrors. It had taken longer to carefully bundle her and her acres of white silk into the coach than it would have taken her to walk the short distance, but a princess of the blood royal did not arrive on foot.

The footman opened the door and Isabelle poured out in a cascade of lace, like the foam at the bottom of a waterfall. Her gown was trimmed with silver and vented to show layers of crimson beneath. Her wig was done up in an elaborate coiffure threaded through with strands of rubies and pearls. For her face, she had chosen the most diaphanous of all possible veils, barely more than a wisp of fabric, and, for the sake of the masquerade, a “mask” of paint in the form of a white Solar burst centered on the bridge of her nose, its rays spreading up to her hairline across her eyes, over her cheeks, and down to her chin. She must make the Aragothic court’s first, critical impression of her a good one. Tonight and forever hereafter, she represented not only herself, but all of l’Empire Céleste, and l’Empire did not trip over its own skirts.

Isabelle’s personal guard, Vincent’s men bedecked in l’Empire Céleste’s blue and gold, fell in behind her as she mounted the red-carpeted steps. She wished Jean-Claude were at her side. She clung to his assurance that she could manage her own affairs, despite all evidence to the contrary. If she couldn’t handle this social venue on her own, then she had no business being here no matter what Grand Leon’s, Margareta’s, or Kantelvar’s schemes required.

Her mind was still a whirlwind as she rearranged the facts surrounding her betrothal to fit the new context of Kantelvar’s breeding program. The emerging pattern was girded with corpses. Kantelvar had shoehorned Isabelle into this marriage by having her selected as an alternate to Lady Sonya de Zapetta—the less controversial choice—but in order to ensure that her wedding came to pass, Lady Sonya had to die. Kantelvar had blamed that on Thornscar but only after Isabelle’s ship had been attacked. Could Kantelvar have murdered Lady Sonya? Yet even that would not have been enough to secure this marriage.

Presumably Julio had been part of the conspiracy’s breeding plan, his history as distorted as hers. His birth had only come about because an artifex had helped arrange Margareta’s marriage to Carlemmo after his first wife died, and now Carlemmo himself was dying, a necessary prerequisite for Julio’s ascent and a civil war. Did Julio have any idea of the part selected for him? Did he approve of it?

If Kantelvar’s conspiracy was consolidating all the bloodlines, including those of the ghostbred

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