COUNTESS CECILE RAPHAEL DE MARJOLAINE was fifty years old and the poets of the age still wrote songs to her beauty. They spoke of luxuriant silver hair, with curls falling on alabaster shoulders. Her blue eyes were likened to sapphires, her cheeks to the damask rose. Her figure was superb. Tall and slender, she moved with a languorous grace that suited her height.
Her complexion remained smooth, perhaps because no strong emotion was ever allowed to touch her. She had never been heard to laugh. No lines of joy creased her lips or crinkled the corners of her eyes. No lines of worry or care marred her forehead. The only two flaws on her lovely face were a single deep furrow slanting between her brows that deepened when she was absorbed in thought and a small, white scar on the right corner of her lip. The only sign of her age was the skin on the back of her hands. Once white and delicate, the skin was now stretched taut and crisscrossed beneath with blue veins.
The countess did not follow fashion. She set fashion. Her gown was simply and elegantly made of sky-blue satin, the skirt falling in sumptuous folds from a pointed bodice, the sleeves tight to the elbow, then flowing and lined with lace. She wore a necklace of blue sapphires and several very fine jewels on her fingers. Among these rings, lost and unremarked amidst the rubies and diamonds and sapphires, was a plain golden band, which she never took off. When she was preoccupied, she would often absentmindedly twist this little golden ring.
The countess led Stephano from her study into a library filled with books, whose leather bindings gave off a pleasant scent. The books were not merely decorative, as were books in the homes of much of the nobility, many of whom were practically illiterate. The countess had always been fond of reading and whereas the other fashionable women of the time invited the rich and the powerful to their salons, the countess preferred to invite poets and artists, philosophers, musicians, and scientists.
She and Stephano passed through the library and entered a small and cozy sitting room. Glass-paned doors opened out onto a charming patio enclosed by a waist-high stone wall. Trees of all varieties, many of them rare species imported from other countries, had been planted in tubs made of wood and stone. The trees formed a miniature forest that effectively screened the garden from view of prying eyes peering out nearby windows.
Looking through the trees in one direction, the observer could see blue sky and the deeper blue-purple of the mountains, green woods, and the sun shining off the crystalline surface of a distant lake. In the other direction rose the spires of a magnificent cathedral, surrounded by a large complex of buildings, all protected by a wall, all stuck far below on solid ground. The bottom level of the floating palace were about even with the cathedral’s bell tower.
How the grand bishop must hate that, thought Stephano, amused.
“Shut the doors,” said the countess.
Stephano complied. The countess rearranged her scarf around her shoulders, then walked over to the wall and gazed out into the cloudless blue sky. She began, unconsciously, to twist the small golden ring.
Stephano remained near the door, silent, waiting for her to speak. He had never been in her garden and he was entranced by the beauty of the view. He was also, truth be told, always a little awed and uncomfortable in the presence of his mother, though he would have knocked out the teeth of any man who said so.
“What do you know of the Royal Armory?” the countess asked abruptly, turning to face her son.
Stephano was accustomed to his mother’s manner of doing business; no pleasant niceties or idle talk. She went immediately to the heart of matter at hand. This was the last subject he would have expected his mother to bring up and he had to take a moment to think.
“The Royal Armory makes the weapons and armor for the king and the Royal Regiment, the king’s guards. When I was Commander of the Dragon Brigade”-his voice took on a tinge of bitterness-“the Royal Armory outfitted me and my company with magically enhanced riding armor and our muskets. The Royal Armory made some of the finest armor and weapons I’ve ever owned.”
“The Armory also looks for ways to improve those weapons and armor,” said the countess.
“That’s a given,” said Stephano.
The countess eyed him. The small furrow dug into her brow. “Don’t stand there hovering by the door as though you are ready to bolt any moment. Come closer, so that I don’t have to shout.”
She was hardly shouting, and Stephano realized suddenly that there was a reason she had brought him to this garden, when usually their business was conducted in her audience chamber. Here, amid the thick foliage and trailing vines with nothing except blue sky above and the ground far below, was privacy-as much privacy as one could have in a palace populated by many hundreds of people.
Stephano felt a prickling at the back of his neck. This job was starting to sound more interesting. He joined his mother at the wall, where she stood gazing down upon the cathedral and the large, squat, towered structures that clustered around it.
“The Bishop’s Palace,” said the countess in reflective tones, her thoughts echoing her son’s. “Fixed firmly on the ground. His Grace moved his office, you know, to the other end of the building, so that he wouldn’t have to look out his window to see His Majesty floating above him.”
First the Armory, now the Grand Bishop Montagne-King Alaric’s longtime friend, longer time enemy. Where was this conversation leading? Stephano kept quiet and waited to find out.
The countess turned to Stephano; as she did so, a shaft of sunlight, filtering through the green leaves of a flowering crab tree, illuminated the scar on her lip. He had never really noticed the scar before now. The scar appeared to be an old one and he wondered how she had come by it. Some childhood accident, perhaps? Oddly, the scar made her seem more human. Perhaps that was why she always tried to conceal it by touching her lips with carnelian, the only cosmetic she deigned to wear.
“By law, the Church of the Breath of God oversees all development of technology involving magical constructs, even at the Royal Armory,” said the countess. “Any research into new uses of magic must be approved by the grand bishop. The law has stood for centuries.”
“I suppose such a law makes sense,” said Stephano. “Scripture says ‘from the Breath of God comes His voice and the quiet whispers of his words’ and that is magic.”
His gaze shifted from the cathedral to the Breath as it lapped at the Rim of the bay. “The truth is, magical energy flows in the Breath. We harness the Breath with constructs and use it to lift our airships. The Breath powers our technology and augments our machines. The Breath is magic and magic is power.”
Stephano turned to his mother. “And power without the divine teachings of the church for guidance is an ‘open door for the darkness that lies in wait for the heathen.’ ”
“Your tutor taught you well,” said the countess dryly.
“Actually, it was Rodrigo,” said Stephano.
“In fact, your friend, Monsieur de Villeneuve, is one of the reasons I thought of asking you to undertake this job.”
“If it involves the seduction of women, you’ll find Rodrigo outstanding,” said Stephano, grinning.
“Actually I was thinking more of his outstanding skills as a crafter. At least, I am told he has such skills,” said the countess.
“And, as usual, your spies are correct, Mother. But what have crafters and Rodrigo to do with the bishop and the Breath of God and the Royal Armory-By Heaven!” Stephano answered his own question. “His Majesty has been conducting research into new weapons technology involving magic. And he has not shared it with the bishop.”
“You always were a smart boy,” the countess murmured.
“What would happen if the bishop were to discover this little indiscretion?”
“The king would be embarrassed-”
“My heart bleeds,” said Stephano, his lip curling in a sneer.
The countess smiled faintly. “There would be other ramifications, as I am certain you are aware.”
The sun drifted behind a tower, throwing the garden into shadow. The countess drew her scarf more closely around her shoulders. “Sit here. The air is chill in the shade.”
The countess took her seat on a wicker divan, surrounded by plump cushions. There was room for Stephano, and she made a polite gesture for him to sit beside her. He chose, instead, a seat on a marble bench opposite her. His rapier rang against the stone wall as he settled himself.
Now we’re coming to it, he thought.
“I had a visit yesterday morning from Douver, Master of the Royal Armory. Master Douver was quite agitated. It seems one of his journeyman, Pietro Alcazar, did not come to work the day before.”
“Hardly an event likely to sink the continent,” said Stephano.
