"I saw you."
He was gazing at the great writhing mass of dancers under the dim chandeliers. And without a hint of irony the orchestra and the chanting voices went into the full-throated straight-up "Emperor Waltz" by Strauss--producing wild laughter everywhere from the colorful crowd who began to mock it with their exaggerated steps and turns--newcomers in rags prancing as proudly as those in sequins and diaphanous silver and gold. I saw Rose dancing with Viktor, Rose throwing back her head and letting her hair fly loose, and all around her fledglings with their petal-pink faces like her face, and then my son, straight backed and graceful as a European prince leading Rose in the Viennese flourishes. Viktor took this so seriously. Viktor wanted it all to succeed. Viktor believed in the power of pomp and circumstance.
Even Gremt laughed softly and his head moved faintly with the festive, happy music. But then here came the kettledrums and the French horns and dark strings to give the waltz the tension so prized by the company.
Why was this so important, why did so much depend upon it, immortals gathered here in wild community, in this fortress against the human world?
"But I don't understand," I said. I put my lips to Gremt's ear. "What has our fate to do with yours? You can go on no matter what happens to us. Why would I give you hope?"
He turned sharply and looked at me as if he had to see me to understand what I had said.
Then he asked, "But who would want to go on without you?"
I stared at him, astonished.
"And what of Amel?" I asked. "What of Kapetria's whole story? You said nothing in the end. Was it what you had always wanted to know?"
"What?" he asked. "That Amel wasn't born evil, that he'd been a champion of the good when he was alive? It wasn't what I expected. But does it matter now? It mattered yesterday and last year, and the year before that, and the century before this one, and the century before that. But I don't know that it matters now. I'm here and I'm alive, and that woman can help me though I don't know how and why."
I nodded. I thought of what Kapetria might do for the ghost of Magnus. And surely Magnus was here somewhere, invisible, watching.
"Why does she have to leave?" Gremt asked me. "Why can't she stay? Gregory begged her to stay and so did Seth and so did Teskhamen. After you left last night they offered her the moon. Gregory said he would build whatever laboratories she wanted in Paris, that she could have whole floors of one of his buildings, that no one would ever pry into what she did. But she said no, that they had to go off, come to terms with one another, get to know one another. What if we never see any of them again?"
"Now that might be the very best thing that could ever happen to us," I said. "But what's to stop you from going with her?"
"But that's just it. She won't tell anyone where she's headed. She kept repeating, 'Not now, not yet, not now.' "
"Maybe she has to test us, Gremt," I said. "Maybe she has to make certain that we aren't playing with her, that we will let her go. And we have to meet the test. If we don't, everything we told them about kindred loyalty is a lie."
He didn't answer. "I'm spent," he whispered. "I have to find my bed and lie down."
Of course. I'd taken enough blood to knock a mortal down to the threshold of death.
I helped him to his feet again and gestured to Cyril. "Take him to his rooms," I said. "He needs to sleep now. Get him anything that he wants."
Without a word Cyril took Gremt in hand.
It seemed the music had risen a notch in volume. Something radiant and inviting was standing in front of me. It was my Rose, her long full burgundy skirts swirling around her, feet in dagger heels and jeweled straps.
"Father, dance with me," she said. Her teeth were white against her red lips. I couldn't refuse. And suddenly she was leading me in great circles all through the shifting crowd, and we were dancing faster than I'd ever danced. I had to laugh. I couldn't stop laughing. The blood of Gremt had quickened me. All around us people were bowing and applauding. Rose sang the long monosyllabic chant of Notker's singers, and the orchestra seemed to swell in volume or size. This is our place, I thought, our ballroom, our home. We, who have always been despised, we who have always been loathed, we who have always been condemned--this is our Court.
Round and round the floor we went, and I saw nothing but Rose's upturned face, and her red lips and her glowing eyes.
Hope...that you'll get us all through this.
And somewhere far off to my right in a flash I saw the specters dancing, Magnus with the ghostly bride of Teskhamen, none other than the willowy and beguiling Hesketh. What does it feel like to a ghost to dance? And would they someday be as solid as Gremt was, imprisoned in their bodies they had constructed for themselves, and would Kapetria build them splendid Replimoid-style bodies for their ancient souls?
22
Rhoshamandes
WHAT A COLLECTION they were, the ancient ones whose minds he could so little penetrate and his own fledglings turned against him whose minds had always been locked from the keenest love he'd known for them or the worst suffering he'd ever endured.
"And when we--each of us--were taken prisoner by the Children of Satan, you turned your back on us!" cried the bitter and ungrateful Everard de Landen, such a brittle little dandy in his off-the-rack designer jacket and friable Italian shoes.
"And what did you do for the others, Everard, when you obtained your freedom!" Benedict shot back, poor loyal Benedict standing beside him. "When you got free of the Children of Satan, you never came back to help the others get free. You hid out in Italy, that's what you did."
"And when they tortured us and made us believe the old Satanic creed," said Eleni, weeping, weeping blood tears, "you did nothing to help us. You who were so strong. Oh, we never dreamed how strong you were, how old you were, that you'd existed long before the land into which we'd been born even had a name!"