Chapter Seven: Diamonds for Tears
"Is it a lost cause? Can we overlook this taint?
Are these the dead laws, like a doubt eating the saint?
And though I fear these shackles, like my darkness closing in
I will hold out my hands, I will hold out my hands…"
Prince Crescendo read and re-read the slip of parchment in his hands, committing each word to memory, and when he was certain that he could recall even the most insignificant word at will he tore it into several very small pieces before discarding it. There was a quill tucked behind his ear and a blank sheet of parchment spread out on the handsome mahogany table before him, but he put both of the writing utensils away after a moment's consideration. By now he was certain that Jazz was already on the road that would lead him to Baroque Castle, so there was little point that any reply he wrote would reach the rebel leader in time.
He stood at the window for an hour or more, until the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the small entourage cresting the final hill to the castle gates – the small group of attendants and guards from Forte Castle, who had brought with them Princess Serenade. A small smile warmed Crescendo's face as the carriage they guarded opened and the noble lady climbed out – tall and graceful, with beauty unmatched by any other woman Crescendo had ever seen, he found that he was actually looking forward to their upcoming marriage.
Had circumstances been different, he may have even been excited. To think – an arranged marriage that actually included some form of love and devotion? The concept was almost completely foreign to Crescendo, whose own father had married a woman whom he had scarcely known. Now he couldn't help but wonder if his offer of peace and goodwill would be his undoing.
It wasn't that Crescendo hadn't considered that his decision to marry Princess Serenade and bridge the long-standing feud between the provinces of Baroque and Forte could be potentially hazardous for him – it was just that hearing it from Jazz made the situation all the more likely. As long as Crescendo had known Jazz, the rebel leader's intuition had always been sharp – and Crescendo had to admit, he couldn't recall a single instance in which it had been downright incorrect. If Jazz was begging him to have caution, then he, Crescendo, would do well to survey all things with a great deal of care.
Crescendo glanced back out the window, running one white-gloved hand through his fine blonde hair; as he watched, the delegation that had made the journey with Princess Serenade filed through the gate that barred Baroque Castle from the rest of the city. There was nothing else for it. In a matter of minutes, Crescendo would be face to face with his new fiancée – and in just a few short days, they would be husband and wife.
A shudder coursed down Crescendo's spine then, and he found himself suddenly grateful that Jazz was on his way.
Vivace gazed blankly down the dusty road that led northwest from her current location, envisioning the intimidating structure that was Forte Castle darkening the horizon. Despite the fact that a two day long journey stretched ahead of her, she thought she could almost see the forbidding palace if she squinted hard enough. Behind her, the rest of the elite unit of Andantino were already angling themselves away from her, starting down the other fork in the road that led to the northeast, and to Baroque City. Only Jazz stood beside her, studying her face for any sign of emotion, but in this she knew that she couldn't betray what she truly felt or risk losing her only opportunity to get away from them.
The last thirty-six hours had been nothing less than chaotic, and had passed with agonizing slowness. Little had been salvaged from the house fire that had burned through Vivace's cozy little residence – all she had really retained was the Crystal Echoblade, which was impervious to almost every outside stimuli and had remained steadfastly unscathed despite the fierceness of the blaze. All else had been lost to her, though the things that she mourned losing were not material things.
A small memorial had been hastily set up the very next day, in honor of Timpani and his heroic sacrifice; Jazz had officiated the memorial himself, and told the tale of how brave Timpani had leapt in front of Fugue's blade in order to save him. Vivace had sat through the recounting of the tale silently, with Bolero and Gigue each holding one of her hands, never crying and showing no sign that the news had impacted her at all. In reality, she felt just like her burned down house looked – a charred, hollow husk of its former self, and indisputably dead inside. She simply didn't have the capacity to cry.
They had then buried Timpani in Lento Cemetery where, Vivace was told, he would be in great company – a bold hero surrounded by other valiant heroes. This gave her little comfort, but she was glad for him all the same.
It wasn't until Jazz called the members of Andantino's elite unit together to discuss their next course of action that Vivace began to feel something at last – it was not despair, as she had assumed it would be, but rage. Though he did his best to sugarcoat his decision, in the end it was clear where Jazz's true interest – and, indeed, his loyalty – really lay: with Prince Crescendo, in Baroque. In his own words Jazz told her, "No one regrets the outcome of these tragedies more than I, but you must understand: I am charged with the safety of every man, woman, and child under the banner of Andantino, and I must serve the best interests of all of them, and not just one man."
This Vivace translated to mean, "I'm sorry, but the life of Frederic Chopin is no longer my concern."
Perhaps she had overreacted when she had said what she said after that, but since then she had not wavered in her decision in the slightest: "And I serve the best interests of all those under the banner of Andantino who have pledged their love and support to the freedom of the empire. That includes every innocent person in this province, and the next – not just those within the boundaries of your city."
Jazz had been very taken aback by this. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I can no longer accompany you to Baroque Castle. I am needed elsewhere – namely, Forte Castle." In reply to all of their shocked and devastated faces, she had decided to elaborate. "I made Frederic the same promise he made me – that I would not allow any harm to come to him. I will honor that vow. I will do everything within my power to rescue him."
Of course, they had all done their best to dissuade her. Falsetto had come later that evening to talk her out of it, but Vivace's mind was made up and when she set her mind to something there was nothing anyone could say or do to alter her course; Jazz had spoken with her no less than three times, at first beseeching and then angry and finally desperate for her safety. Still, Vivace was not prepared to relent. All she had to do was think of Frederic's kind eyes, and imagine the agony he would suffer at Count Waltz's hands, and these thoughts solidified her choice.
Now she stood upon the threshold of her own personal journey, with only Jazz beside her to offer her a few last words of solace. "Are you certain this is what you want to do now?"
A slight breeze ruffled Vivace's hair, sending a few golden strands into her eyes. She brushed them back, looking resolute. "Beyond any doubt. Were our roles reversed, I know that Frederic would do the same for me."
Jazz cast a sidelong glance her way, trying not to be callus when he reminded, "You barely know one another, Vivace."
"Do you think that matters? You and Falsetto have known one another all your lives, but did it take you a lifetime to realize that she would give her life for you, and that you would do the same for her?" Vivace turned the full weight of her pale green eyes upon him, and her stare was all-knowing and ancient in its wisdom. "No one knows how much time they have to be with the ones who are the most important to them. I know in my heart that Frederic is one of those people. I will not let him come to harm. I will save him."
"I meant no offense." Jazz placed a hand upon her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, almost alarmed by how frail she seemed. Had she lost weight in such a short period of time? Would she be alright on her own? He felt compelled to say, "Let me go with you. It is the least I can do."
Vivace forced a little smile for his benefit. "You're very kind, but no – Prince Crescendo needs you now most of all, and it would break your heart to leave him. Go to Baroque. Frederic and I will join you as soon as we are able."
Jazz nodded solemnly, knowing there was little point in trying to sway her course one last time; she had already proven her resilience on the matter many times over. "I beg you to be safe, and to take the greatest of care on your journey. Know that our thoughts and our hearts go with you."
Vivace nodded, and hitched her knapsack a little higher upon her shoulder before starting off to the northwest. Jazz watched her go, his heart heavy in his chest, until Falsetto clasped his arm at the elbow and tugged him away.
Frederic spent two solid days wracking his brain and steeling himself for the moment when he would at last be brought before Count Waltz. He spent a great deal of his time watching Fugue and Rondo interact, always silent in his musings, doing his best to discern the real relationship between the two, but in the end he deciphered few real clues there. Fugue was clearly the one in charge, and he handled all situations with an emotional detachment that, Frederic learned, was characteristic to his general demeanor. Rondo was a little more fascinating to observe: she was possessed of a temper that made her prone to outburst of anger at barely a moment's notice, and she seemed barely to tolerate Fugue's superiority over her. They functioned well enough together, Frederic supposed, but he didn't dare attempt to drive a wedge between the two of them. Above all else they were unfalteringly loyal to Count Waltz, and Frederic knew that there was nothing that he could say to sway their loyalties.
Forte City was a large and busy metropolis that seemed prosperous enough at first glance, but perceptive Frederic noticed right away the real face of the city: it was split into two factions – the fortunate and the less than so. Forte Castle had been erected with a spirit of undeniable grandeur, and those who were wealthy and lucky enough to reside within it were treated to every comfort within its walls. These people, Frederic knew, would never want for anything material and appeared to have all things handed to them on a silver platter, and generally on a whim. The second faction was comprised of those living outside of the castle walls, in the city below the palace – these people were in no way as fortunate, and seemed to live in poverty. Houses in the lower districts were run down and dingy, and some of the populace were clothed in little more than dirty rags. It was easy to see, in Frederic's opinion, that those with Count Waltz's favor were given everything they could possibly desire… and those who were considered beneath the Count's notice were given barely enough to survive.
The halls of Forte Castle were quiet and uninviting. Frederic had a feeling that this would be reminiscent to the overall timbre of his stay.
Count Waltz was waiting for his two assassins in the throne room, draped lazily upon his throne with one leg slung over the armrest and his chin propped up on one fist. Frederic was not at all impressed with the ruler of Forte Castle – at first glance the Count seemed arrogant, childish, and vain, with a smile of utmost superiority that never quite disappeared from his face and eyes a handsome shade of violet that always seemed a bit on the cruel side. The throne in which he sat seemed far too large for him, and he didn't appear very acquainted with the bejeweled rapier he wore upon one hip. Frederic thought that perhaps the province of Forte had made a poor choice, entrusting their kingdom to the leadership of one spoiled child.
The Count surveyed Frederic over his clasped hands, his black glass gauntlets shining ominously in the light from the chandelier overhead. After a time he waved a negligent hand at his two most trusted assassins and said, "You may leave us. We will speak later." When the great double doors had banged shut behind Fugue and Rondo, Count Waltz said, "So you are the dream drifter?"
Frederic remembered quite well what Vivace had told him – that Count Waltz had been scouring every corner of their world for the so-called "dream drifters", the people that could visit other worlds while they dreamt. He supposed he really did qualify as one of the gateways to the other world now. "I believe so."
Count Waltz bared his teeth in a rather malevolent grin; Frederic thought he rather resembled a shark. "You don't look like anything particularly special."
Frederic did his best to hide a twitch of his right hand, hoping that Waltz didn't ever become wise to the fact that the conductor's baton in its sling upon the pianist's hip was far more than it appeared. Even shackled as he was, he was almost certain that he could retrieve the baton with only a little difficulty if he needed to. "I am but a humble musician – that much is true."
"I doubt that is true at all," Count Waltz sneered, and then he changed tact at the speed of light. "What was your name again?"
Already Frederic disliked his captor. "Frederic Francois Chopin, at your service."
"Yes, yes, Chopin…" Waltz repeated Frederic's name with little real interest. "You were in the company of Andantino, were you not? How did you find them?"
Frederic squared his shoulders, half in support of the rebellion and half in defiance of the Count of Forte Castle. "I found them to be honest, hard-working, dependable, valorous human beings. I consider myself a greater man for knowing them."
Count Waltz sighed as though bored. "Did you? How odd… I myself find them to be petty, squabbling, loathsome creatures. They are quite a nuisance, really…"
Frederic did his best to sound cordial, but couldn't quite keep from sounding rude. "Forgive me for saying so, but I think perhaps you are a bad judge of character."
Waltz threw his head back and laughed long and loud, though the sound was devoid of mirth and his shark like grin never quite reached his eyes. When he had settled down he said, "One of us is that, at any rate."
"May I request that we get to the crux of the matter?" asked Frederic with a sigh, doing his very best to look and sound brave. "I have no desire to dwell on what is coming, and you seem like a busy man, so allow me not to waste much more of your time. Whatever it is you want from me, let it become known – though I warn you, I know nothing of the gateways to the other world, and could no more grant you what you wish even if I were familiar with them."
Count Waltz eyed Frederic over his black glass gauntlets again, this time deathly serious. The silence that filled the throne room felt almost tangible, and seemed to press in heavily upon Frederic's ears. At length the count rose from his throne and stalked down the velvet staircase, advancing until he was only a few inches away. Frederic took a little pride in the fact that he was a bit taller than the arrogant monarch. "Tell me… Why do you believe you have been brought here, Mr. Chopin?"
Reflexively, Frederic tested the strength of his bonds; it was obvious that Rondo had more than moderate skill in this, for the ropes held fast to his wrists and left him very little room to maneuver. He wondered fleetingly if he had been left with just enough room to go for his baton – it was possible that his captors were determined to charge him with any offense they could, and drawing a weapon against the Count of Forte Castle undoubtedly fell into the category of treason. He decided to comply for the time being. "I know why I am here. I am told that you have some morbid fascination with the gateways to the other world, and you are currently experimenting with ways to harvest the unfathomable amounts of energy these individuals possess." A smile spread across Waltz's face then, but Frederic continued by saying, "I feel I should tell you now – it doesn't matter what you do to me. This body is merely a vessel for my subconscious wanderings; you cannot truly hurt me, as everything around us is a part of my dream. I have nothing to tell you, and no amount of torture will change that. And more than that, I would never betray the men and women who came to my aid, and offered me their kindness." Frederic lifted his head up high, finishing, "Do your worst, Count."
Frederic didn't feel nervous at all about the encounter… until Waltz smiled in the face of his determination and bravado. The count tapped his fingers idly upon his chin, considering how best to respond, before finally saying, "Oh dear… I think you have been misinformed, Mr. Chopin. You see, I have absolutely no intention of harvesting energy from you. I never did."
The blood drained from Frederic's face, and a knot of cold dread twisted in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I put that story out into the world as a ruse." Count Waltz's violet eyes were veritably sparkling with victory now. "Andantino hangs on every word I say, after all… They take all of my ideas so seriously! So I thought that, this time, I would really give them something to talk about. You see, you are not the first dream drifter I have ever met – I knew another, long ago, who stumbled into court here at the castle while my dear uncle still claimed the crown. My uncle discovered several years ago that, while the gateways to the other world do indeed emit a great deal of energy, there was no efficient way to collect and use it for our benefit. And so he had the dream drifter killed – she served no purpose to us." Bile welled in the back of Frederic's throat as Count Waltz continued, "So you see, I have known for quite some time that your kind, while undeniably fascinating, holds little value where my aims are concerned. But Andantino seemed so determined to keep you from me, so…"
"I do not understand," confessed Frederic in a quiet voice.
"Of course you don't," sighed Waltz, hardly surprised. "Allow me to explain: the whole purpose of bringing you into my custody was a clever way to gain leverage over Andantino. Despite the best efforts of my bumbling underlings, the rebels continue to elude me… So I thought that they might walk right up to my doorstep, given the proper incentive. And now – " Count Waltz held out a hand in a grand gesture, " – Here you are."
Frederic felt his knees grow weak as realization at last dawned on him. "You mean to use me as bait."
Count Waltz winked. "Precisely, Mr. Chopin. You see? You are a much more astute fellow than you give yourself credit for."
Frederic did his best to regroup, but inwardly his mind was reeling with panic. "I have already told you, I will not betray them!"
The sound of Count Waltz chuckling softly beneath his breath did nothing to soothe Frederic's nerves; coming forward again the young monarch slung an arm around the pianist's shoulders and steered him back toward the double doors, rapping his knuckles upon the door once so that the guards on the other side would open it for him. Wordlessly he led Frederic down the hallway, ignoring the countless servants and simpering well-wishers as he passed them by, turning down an adjoining hallway occasionally until he reached his destination – a single high door at the end of a corridor that was heavily guarded and scarcely lit. Outside this door they were met by the assassin Toccata, who bowed low in greeting.
"Count Waltz," he murmured, straightening up and eyeing Frederic in a most unpleasant way. "Are you here to monitor the progress? I am told that the experiments are going quite well, considering the short period of time that has passed."
"Open the door," Waltz ordered. "I would like to show our guest what we are truly working on… For some reason he is under the misapprehension that all of our plans revolved around him."
"How… self-centered of him," Toccata observed with a snicker, and he bowed them inside without another word.
Frederic found himself in a small chamber that was brilliantly lit with torches set all around, so bright that he had to squint just to see properly. There was little within the room, just a large desk with a high-backed wooden chair; in the chair sat a middle-aged man with a bald patch and a very nervous gaze, and upon the table had been placed a nondescript ceramic jar. Toccata closed the door behind him and took up a silent vigil with one hand upon the knob, and the two guards that had followed them from the throne room immediately advanced upon the terrified-looking man.
The moment it became obvious that the guards had their sights set upon him, the man cried out and began thrashing in his chair; glancing down Frederic noted that the man's wrists had been shackled to the arms of the chair, and his ankles to the front two wooden legs, to prevent him from getting up. One of the guards seized the man none-too-gently by what little hair remained upon his balding pate, and the other guard took a pinch of some manner of powder from the ceramic jar and powdered the man's tongue with it while he screamed. Frederic winced when the whimpers became blood-curdling cries of horror, but couldn't help but glance up in curiosity when the cries ceased.
"Look at me," bade Count Waltz in a voice like soft velvet, and to Frederic's astonishment, the balding man who had been screaming for his life mere moments before snapped his gaze upon the Count of Forte Castle as though he had been born to serve the man. Count Waltz nodded at the guards, and without further ado they released the man from his bonds.
Frederic could only gasp with shock when Waltz whispered, "Now kill them both."
It was inconceivable that the balding man would have any chance at all against the two palace guards – he was in his declining years and clearly not in the best physical shape, whereas both guards had trained rigorously so as to be able to serve the count to the best of their abilities – but the moment Count Waltz gave his order the balding man was a blur of motion. He leapt up from his chair, his eyes wild like an animal's, and rushed upon the nearest guard with his fist leading; there followed the unmistakable sound of crunching as his fist broke the first guard's nose, and his next strike crushed the unfortunate man's windpipe. The second guard was just drawing his sword when the balding man fell upon him – the sword was struck from his hand with a single flick of the balding man's wrist, and his second strike was somehow powerful enough to shatter the man's skull.
The carnage lasted for barely ten seconds, but it was the most awful thing Frederic had ever seen in all his life; the moment it was over the balding man turned to Count Waltz and knelt down to the ground before him, as docile as a housecat. Waltz gestured to Toccata, who crossed the small square chamber and retrieved the ceramic jar for him.
"Mineral powder," Waltz explained, pinching a bit of steel-colored dust between his thumb and forefinger and studying it with something like reverence. "We have been developing it here for the last several weeks; it bears a very close resemblance to floral powder, which is an organic healing agent extracted from various species of flowers from a small village called Tenuto. As it turns out, mineral powder can be mined easily enough from Mount Rock – the mineral is found in surplus there, even! The primary difference between floral powder and mineral powder is that mineral powder is more than just a healing substance; studies have shown that the mineral powder also stimulates the portion of the brain that triggers aggression, sending that person into a state of anger that borders on temporary insanity. Our most recent studies have shown that the victims can be bonded to a single outside stimuli, such as the voice of a single person." Waltz paused to snicker to himself, pleased at the discovery, it seemed. "If such a person were to harness that power over an entire legion of people – an army, perhaps – he could easily become the most feared leader in the world, wouldn't you agree?"
"Don't even speak of it," gasped Frederic. "This is monstrous! Are you really considering – "
"The complete and utter domination of the entire population," Waltz finished victoriously. "Why yes, Mr. Chopin – now that you mention it, that is precisely what I am considering. Starting at Prince Crescendo's marriage to my dear cousin. The time has come for a demonstration of the new mineral powder's effectiveness on a much larger scale – in a week's time, when Crescendo and Serenade prepare to take their vows, the unsuspecting prince will meet his demise at the hands of his very own adoring public. And when Andantino learns that they must either stand down or live with the death of Frederic Chopin on their own hands, there will be no one left to stop me!"
Vivace traveled tirelessly for two days' time, resting only when it was absolutely necessary and pushing herself to the very limits of her endurance. Her pace was swift and relentless; every time she felt too exhausted to go another mile, she simply thought of Frederic and pushed herself even harder. A journey that would have taken the average fit, athletic human being two days took Vivace only about forty hours.
But she no longer considered herself to be just an average human being. The emotions she felt now for Frederic, clouding her judgment and dominating her every thought, made her feel somehow immortal.
She wandered the streets of Forte City for a quarter of an hour, no particular destination in mind, thinking hard and fast through options that were not numerous. But the time she had made her way up the grand central avenue, past the great fountain in the precise middle of the pavilion, and into the palace's front courtyard, the sun hung quite low in the sky – and still she hadn't formed so much as a plan for infiltrating the castle. She slumped against the outer wall of the guard tower, ignoring the curious gazes from passerby, feeling overwhelmed and despaired.
Perhaps she should have listened to Jazz after all; then, at least, she would be actively involved in the Andantino agenda. But then, what did they know? The elite unit was rushing off to Baroque Castle to involve themselves in matters that, until proven otherwise, did not concern them in any way. It was true that Jazz and Crescendo were close friends, certainly, but how much did they really know about the marriage between Crescendo and Serenade? The union of nobles was of little consequence to the rebellion – after all, they had no real proof that Crescendo's life would be in danger at all during the wedding ceremony. Their movements were based on speculation and nothing more.
Vivace straightened up, squaring her shoulders and shaking off what remained of her melancholy. She had an agenda. It was a certain thing that Frederic Chopin was now a prisoner of Count Waltz. It was also a sure thing that, unless someone intervened, Frederic would be tortured and then put to death for his refusal to provide the count with the information he required. Because Vivace was absolutely certain that, though Frederic knew the location of the hidden city of Andante and was privy to a great deal of information concerning Andantino's movements, he would never surrender that information to anyone.
It was then, just as Vivace was beginning to despair, that she noticed something quite unusual; there was a great deal of foot traffic considering that Forte City was nearing its curfew, and everyone that passed her by was dressed in their finest formal attire. Not only that, but everyone seemed to be flocking toward Forte Castle – and, uncharacteristically, the palace doors were thrown wide to admit any and all comers.
The golden haired rebel put out a hand and snagged an elderly looking gentleman clad in a handsome navy topcoat and matching trousers that were a hair too short at the ankle. "I beg your pardon… is there some occasion at the palace tonight?"
The elderly gentleman ogled at her for a moment, then took in her traveling garb and seemed to draw his own conclusion. "You must not make it into Forte City much… Don't you know? Tonight is a grand occasion indeed. We are honoring Princess Sarabande who, on this day, is turning sixteen. 'Tis a spectacular reason to rejoice, to be sure!"
Vivace hastily released the man and even offered him a polite little bow, along with an apology. "It certainly is. Please forgive me for delaying you – in fact, please allow me to escort you into the grand ballroom by way of apology. Say that you'll accept, good sir."
He touched two fingers to his moth-eaten top hat in what he intended to be a gesture of acceptance, but Vivace was nearly moved to tears. The gesture reminded her of Frederic, who practiced the same genteel manner in a quiet, polite way. "It would be my pleasure! Every man should have a beautiful woman at his side, don't you agree?"
"Quite," said Vivace quickly, and linking her arm with his she ushered them discreetly into the crowd of people now flocking toward Forte Castle.
Vivace had passed through Forte City only twice in her lifetime, and had never once set foot in the forbidding structure that was Forte Castle. The inside halls were elegant but macabre, with floors of black marble and dark gothic overtones dominating the interior design and overall architecture. There were five halls leading off the massive foyer, as well as two sweeping staircases, one on either side of the foyer, that led up to the second level rooms that were all closed. A balcony overlooked the foyer and a third staircase led up to an even higher floor, but Vivace doubted that Frederic was being confined in any of the upstairs lodgings. Andantino had built the underground passage near the waterfall cave entrance as a contingency plan – should they ever have the need to infiltrate the Forte Castle dungeon, they would be able to do so with ease and secrecy, for the tunnel was underground and so was the dungeon. Vivace looked down as she and her elderly escort shuffled forward, envisioning the subterranean dungeon sprawling endlessly beneath her feet.
The natural flow of the crowd carried them through the foyer and to the north, through the widest and most lavishly decorated corridor that led straight into the grand ballroom. Once there Vivace immediately released the elderly gentleman's arm and squeezed herself in between a tight-knit group of corseted and petticoated ladies to admit herself.
The ballroom was decorated in gold and larger than the city of Andante in its entirety. Elaborately decorated tables were spaced evenly throughout the southernmost third of the chamber, set with shining dining ware and flickering candles and large crystal centerpieces overflowing with pansies and freesias. The middle third of the ballroom was reserved for dancing; a string quartet had squeezed itself in between one of the dining tables and a spindly table bearing half-full champagne glasses, and elegantly dressed couples currently whirled to a moderately-paced waltz. The upper third was dominated mostly by a long table set horizontally; most of the seats at the table stood vacant, but sitting in the center in a place of honor was a young woman with fine silver hair twisted into an stylish updo, gorgeous violet eyes, and a couture gown sparkling with precious gems. This, Vivace presumed, was the sixteen-year-old Princess Sarabande, the younger sister to Prince Crescendo's soon-to-be wife, Princess Serenade.
Vivace turned her back on the high table, hardly interested in the young noble. A quick but shrewd glance through the droves of people told her one very important thing – Count Waltz was not among those currently attending the birthday celebration, and there wasn't a single assassin present either. This knowledge did not bode well for Vivace – where was the ruler of Forte Castle, and where were his underlings? Were they even now torturing poor Frederic, relentlessly grilling him for any morsel of information that might slip off his tongue?
Her heart hammered away against her ribs, and blood roared in her ears. She needed to find a way into the lower levels, she knew. She didn't know what she would do when she got there or even where the dungeons were located, but the need for action was so acute now it was painful. She needed to find Frederic. She needed to confirm with her own two eyes that he was unharmed, or at least alive.
She didn't realize that she was standing on the fringe of the dance floor, the only body not moving in a sea of waltzing couples moving in perfect harmony, until a hand clapped down upon her shoulder and spun her none-too-gently around. Vivace frowned, and then winced. She was standing face to face with Toccata.
"Good evening," sneered Toccata, bowing low in a kind of polite yet sinister greeting. Vivace noticed that his eyes never left hers, and he never exposed his neck to her. When he straightened, his eyes fell upon the Crystal Echoblade that was still sheathed steadfastly upon her hip. "The guards stationed at the main gate were given specific instructions to turn away anyone who refused to relinquish their weapons. How did you get in with that?"
"If that is the case, then I'm afraid your security is lax," Vivace informed him. "I came in through the main gate and was never questioned."
Toccata scowled. Vivace had the uncomfortable sense that she had just signed some poor doorman's death warrant. "How many of Andantino's members did you smuggle in with you?"
Vivace answered truthfully – one thoughtless lie could cost Frederic his life if the assassins of Staccato came to feel threatened as a result. "I came alone."
"You lie."
"There is far too much at stake for me to even dare."
Toccata studied Vivace's face silently for several moments, trying to uncover the level of truth to her claims; finally he snickered beneath his breath and seized her by the wrist. The force of his grip made her knees buckle with agony. "Then you are a fool. What did you hope to accomplish, coming here alone? Did you think we would not notice? Count Waltz sees all."
Vivace grimaced but did not back down. "I am here for Frederic Chopin."
Toccata jerked on her wrist and led her through the thickening crowds as the string quartet struck up a more lively tune, making a beeline for the doors. By the time they reached the doors and made their way back into the foyer, Vivace had lost circulation to her left hand; Toccata turned left and led them to the end of the hallway, then knocked twice upon a simple wooden door.
The door swung inward and there stood Rondo. Her eyes lit up in malevolent victory at the sight of Vivace. "Toccata! You are most welcome. Count Waltz will be pleased to see you and your… guest."
"I am most certain he will be," Toccata agreed, and he shoved Vivace down the concrete staircase between himself and Rondo. The latter led the way downstairs with her twin blades in her hands and wearing an expression that suggested she would decapitate Vivace if the rebel so much as breathed too heavily.
At the bottom of the staircase they found Count Waltz waiting for them, in a small underground meeting room that was sparsely furnished and quite chilly. There was one simple wooden door several feet behind him, where two guards were standing resolutely by. Vivace did her best not to be dismayed by the fact that she was outnumbered five to one.
"Count Waltz," said Toccata in a flat and monotonous voice. "This is Vivace – one of the members of Andantino's so-called elite unit. She has requested an audience with Frederic Chopin."
"Actually," Vivace interrupted boldly, holding her chin up high, "I am here to release him from your custody."
"So that he may be returned to the custody of Andantino?" Waltz suggested, sniggering at his own joke.
"No," Vivace snapped. "We do not imprison people. We do not treat others like slaves, as you and yours seem so fond of doing."
Abruptly, Waltz's face turned the color of sour milk. He gestured at Toccata to release Vivace as he said, "I will make you a deal… you may taken Mr. Chopin with you, and the two of you will be free to go, if you can fight your way through this room."
The knowledge that she was hopelessly outnumbered slipped from Vivace's recollection at those words, and mindlessly she took her sword in hand and advanced on Count Waltz. The young monarch hissed at her like a snake that was coiled to strike defensively, but he relaxed a moment later when both Rondo and Toccata closed in around her.
Out flashed the Crystal Echoblade, slashing one of the sleeves open on Rondo's overlay and glancing off her black glass armor hard enough to leave a bruise beneath it. Rondo snarled ferociously and parried Vivace's enchanted longsword away, diving forward with both of her matching short swords, but Vivace twisted out of range of both and struck at her hard. Rondo met the sword stroke with both of her blades, but there was enough force behind the blow to send stinging reverberations up every one of the female assassin's fingers. Toccata lashed out with the thinblade, slapping the flat of the blade across the backs of Vivace's thighs, and the rebel lurched forward with pain.
Rondo was quick to take advantage of the opening, lunging forward with her dominant sword leading. Vivace dropped into a crouch and raised her sword up above her head to protect herself, just in time to foil Rondo's stroke and hold the short sword at bay, but Toccata advanced again, batting the longsword out of Vivace's hand and setting the thinblade to her throat.
"Enough," crowed Count Waltz with vicious amusement. "I captured the dream drifter in the hopes that he would lure someone from Andantino to me, and he has done just that. I want her alive."
Rondo backhanded Vivace with one of her gauntlets and sent the golden haired rebel reeling backward into Toccata's arms. Count Waltz seized her throat with one of his hands and brought himself down to her level, speaking each word slowly and clearly so that she wouldn't miss a single one even on the brink of consciousness.
"You will talk," he told her venomously, "or Frederic Chopin will die."
The hilt of Toccata's thinblade cracked down on the back of her head, and Vivace plummeted into darkness.
Princess Sarabande had spent about an hour seated at the high table by herself, graciously greeting guests of Forte Castle as they shuffled up to her throne to pay their respects and to wish her a very merry sixteenth birthday. She kept her eyes upon the main doors, half expecting to see the soldiers of Andantino burst through and invade the grand ballroom at any moment, but the first hour of the festivities passed and no such thing occurred. Count Waltz and his assassins were nowhere to be found, which made Sarabande wonder just what had happened down below – after all, one moment Toccata had been moving amongst the commoners, and the next, he had all but vanished into thin air.
The young princess was just preparing to rise from her throne and attempt to sneak out of the grand ballroom when Fugue slid into the seat next to her, took her hand, and pressed his lips to her fingertips. Sarabande had to work hard to relax back into her seat, and to battle back the urge to gag.
"I do hope you are enjoying your birthday celebration," he murmured against the flesh of the back of her hand, and Sarabande craftily slid her hand out of his on the pretense of straightening her high crown of silver and sapphire gems. Fugue's cunning smile faltered only slightly before he continued. "I do apologize for my absence."
"Then you acknowledge that you have been absent from the ballroom, and you are prepared to tell me where you have been?" Sarabande supposed smoothly, and Fugue's smile disappeared altogether.
"I have been conducting the business of Count Waltz, your esteemed cousin," he said evasively, and while Sarabande didn't doubt this claim she was absolutely certain that there was far more to the story. "Surely you can understand that my duties to him sometimes take precedence over all other matters?"
Sarabande crossed her arms and pretended to pout. She was prepared to admit that often she exploited Fugue's feelings for her in order to become privy to information that she would otherwise be omitted from knowing. "But it's my birthday…"
Fugue heaved a little sigh and leaned closer, for by now several of the other assassins of Staccato were making their way back to the high table and their conversation was no longer as private as it had been. He crooked a finger, beckoning her closer, and Sarabande reluctantly tilted her head until she felt her abhorred fiance's lips brushing her earlobe. "And what a birthday present I have for you, dear princess. It pleases me to tell you that Count Waltz was right about that dream drifter, Frederic Francois Chopin – he obviously fell in with the rebellion, and Andantino dispatched one of their own to secure his rescue. Fear not, though – Toccata apprehended her not long ago, and she has been incapacitated and imprisoned. When she awakes, Toccata will see to it that she tells us everything that she knows about Andantino."
Sarabande's first reaction to Fugue's information was to be alarmed – after all, as a secret supporter of Andantino herself, she could quite easily regard all that she had heard as terrible news. She hadn't seen Frederic Chopin with her own eyes, but she had been preparing for her grand birthday celebration when Fugue and Rondo had returned to the castle with him in their possession and her ladies in waiting had been eager to share the news. As far as she knew Count Waltz's designs for the unfortunate dream drifter had involved collecting the insurmountable energy that the gateways to the other world were rumored to possess, and now she cursed herself for believing the count's own words as true. Here now was his true aspiration – he had never wanted anything to do with poor Frederic Chopin in the first place. The entire story had been a ruse, little more than a clever lie intended to lure in the members of Andantino. Worse still, if Fugue's words were to be believed, the ploy had succeeded.
The princess's second reaction was to be excited. In all of the time that she had resided within the castle since control of Forte City had passed from her father, King Affrettando, to her despicable cousin, she had longed to meet one of the members of Andantino. She had always admired their efforts and secretly desired their victory over Count Waltz and his bloodthirsty assassins. It had long been rumored that Jazz, Andantino's courageous and infamous leader, was a close friend of Prince Crescendo who, openly, was a strong supporter of the rebellion also; Sarabande wished she could meet him, just once, and perhaps shake the hand of the man who was brave enough to stand up against oppression and tyranny. Obviously it wasn't Jazz who was being held captive in Forte Castle dungeon, for Fugue had clearly alluded to the fact that their captive was a woman, but one of the rebels was definitely here!
Finally, Sarabande settled into a smoldering kind of resolve. If one of the rebels was here, and Waltz was preparing to torture the poor girl until she relinquished everything she knew, there was really only one thing to be done. Abruptly she turned back to Fugue, who looked positively puzzled by her lengthy silence, and even went so far as to seize his hands in both of her own and lavish them with kisses. "This is indeed the greatest birthday gift you could have given me! Words cannot express how pleased I am with this news!"
Fugue grinned, completely taken in by the princess's gratitude, and planted a kiss upon Sarabande's cheek. Again, the young princess succeeded in resisting the urge to be sick. "Princess – you are most welcome. It is my pleasure to continue to serve you."
Then he pulled one of his hands free and took up his goblet, holding it aloft and regarding his fellow assassins when he cried, "A toast! Down with Andantino!"
Ostinato, Gavotte, Bellicoso, Antiphon, and Feroce all thrust their glasses high and cried out in sadistic jubilation; Count Waltz, who was just returning to the high table, made a point of bowing low to the lady of the hour, who forced herself to rise and curtsy for his benefit.
No one noticed that Princess Sarabande never raised her goblet for the toast.
Frederic paced restlessly in his cell, his eyes never leaving Vivace's face. He had been present when Toccata had dragged Vivace down the stone dungeon stairs and deposited her none-too-gently into the prison cell next to his own, and though he had called her name and pleaded with her to answer Vivace had never awoken. Her lip was bloody and her delicate cheek bore the shadow of a pale purple bruise; Toccata had ignored all of Frederic's questions, hadn't even spared the pianist a second glance before locking the door to Vivace's cell and stalking back up the stairs to the ground floor.
For a short while Frederic had despaired, his head in his hands. Because of him, the woman that he loved beyond thought or reason was about to suffer awful torments. Eventually, he knew, she would even lose her life; her loyalty to Jazz was strong, and wasn't likely to bend under even Count Waltz's cruelties. When her usefulness ran out, Vivace would die – then again, Frederic supposed he would, too.
Presently a slight whimper caught Frederic's attention, and his head snapped up. Vivace was stirring upon the stone dungeon floor, shaking her head slowly to clear her vision, and when her eyes found his she bolted to her feet and dashed to the bars that separated them. Her hands clutched at his face as though she were holding on for dear life; Frederic's fingers immediately tangled themselves into Vivace's golden hair, inhaling the scent of delicate flower blossoms deeply into his lungs.
"Frederic," she breathed, as though to speak his name caused her both relief and pain. "Are you hurt?"
"No," he assured her, and he traced his thumb over her bruised cheekbone with the utmost care, his eyes hardening as he considered her plump and bloodied lip. "Who did this to you?"
"Rondo," Vivace hissed, and hatred flickered through her eyes until Frederic bent and pressed his lips gingerly to her forehead. When their eyes next met, hers were brimming with tears. "I have to get you out of here. Has Count Waltz already questioned you? Did he manage to extract any of the energy he needed? Oh God, forgive me for not arriving sooner – "
"Silence, Vivace," murmured Frederic. "It is for your well being that we should be concerned now. The count has already confessed that his plans do not include me; my capture was merely a device. His real aim was to bring a member of Andantino into custody for questioning. You are the one in danger now."
Vivace shook her head stubbornly. "There is nothing to fear. There is nothing Waltz can say or do that would ever make me tell him all that I know. It doesn't matter."
"Vivace – "
"No," she overrode him. "I will not become the next Sostenuto. I will not betray Jazz."
"Then perhaps I should save the Count's precious time," snapped a voice from the stairway, "and put you to death without any further delay."
Frederic and Vivace started and sprang apart, heads swiveling in the direction of the stone staircase; Toccata was just completing his descent, his boots utterly silent, his dark eyes filled with a kind of malicious pleasure. It took Vivace only a moment to recover, throwing her arms out wide as she cried, "If in death I may better serve Andantino, then by all means, take my life, Toccata! But you will learn nothing from me, and I will never comply with your demands!"
Toccata paused just outside of arm's reach, considering Vivace's words carefully. At last his eyes fell upon Frederic, and his hand settled upon the hilt of his sheathed thinblade. All color drained from Vivace's face when he said, "I think you are mistaken, Vivace. Obviously you have not taken everything into consideration. If you do not provide me with the information I require, then what will become of poor Mr. Chopin?"
Vivace lunged herself at the bars, shrieking animalistically, her outstretched hands claw-like when she swiped at him. "Your business is with me, Toccata! I demand that you release Frederic at once!"
"'Demand'?" repeated Toccata, and throwing his head back he laughed like a man possessed. "You are in no position to make requests of any sort, I think! What do you think will happen if your information does not satisfy me? Would you be the reason for Mr. Chopin's demise? Do the gateways to the other world wake when they are slaughtered while they dream?" As if to prove his point Toccata drew his blade from its sheath and slashed out through the bars; Frederic grunted and stumbled back, one hand clapped tightly around his upper arm, which bled freely now. Vivace cried out and strained against the bars, seeming crazed.
"How about a deal?" asked Toccata mildly, holding his sword so that the torchlight illuminated the crimson liquid staining the blade. "I give you my word that I will release Mr. Chopin – I will allow him to go free, if in return you give me the precise location of the city of Andante and agree to lead Staccato there. Well? Will you comply?"
Frederic glanced to his left and saw, with a jolt of shock, that Vivace was trembling with rage and the weight of her indecision. Her teeth bit down upon her already bloodied bottom lip until she cut through the skin and blood flowed anew.
She was considering Toccata's proposal.
"I should remind you that Count Waltz values his time, and does not have much to spare you as you consider," said Toccata icily, and even as he said this he was thumbing through the prison cell keys so that he could admit himself into Frederic's cell. "I really must have your answer."
Vivace's head snapped up. The resolution burning in her eyes was almost terrifying; Frederic's hand strayed to the handle of his baton, preparing to put it to good use, but Vivace floored them both then by saying, "I want your word that he will not be harmed!"
"Vivace!" growled Frederic, even as Toccata inserted the prison key and admitted himself. "No!"
But Toccata would get no closer to Frederic. The assassin stood there for a horrible moment that seemed to stretch for hours, his thinblade held aloft as though he meant to lop Frederic's head from his shoulders, and then the confident set of his shoulders slumped and he grunted as though in pain. He opened his mouth to gasp for breath – and a gout of blood exploded from his lips, flecking the darkened stone underfoot with droplets of crimson; he lurched forward as though he would fall, but something seemed to be holding him in place. The sword slipped from his fingertips and his eyes reeled, though it was clear he could see nothing anymore, and at last he swooned forward and collapsed at Frederic's feet.
Behind him stood the diminutive Princess Sarabande, wearing a gorgeous dress of pale blue silk that sparkled with crystals and amethysts and a high crown of silver and dark blue gems; in her eyes was a look of purest hatred, and in her hand was a small, ornate dagger smeared with blood.
"What is the meaning of this?" gaped Frederic, his eyes wide as he knelt down to study the body of Toccata, but he needn't have bothered – Toccata was clearly dead. In the next cell, Vivace hastened to bow low and beckoned impatiently for Frederic to do the same, but Sarabande waved her hand negligently and bent to retrieve the ring of keys that had fallen from Toccata's lifeless hand.
"Now is hardly the time for formalities," she snapped, stepping over the pool of blood forming in Frederic's cell and jamming the first key into the heavy lock on the door to Vivace's cell. The key didn't turn; she pulled it out and fumbled with the next, and they could clearly see that her delicate fingers were trembling with terror.
"Princess Sarabande!" exclaimed Vivace, her pale green eyes wide and disbelieving. "What are you doing? Why – "
"Are you really a member of Andantino?" asked Sarabande, looking quite skeptical. "You ask quite a lot of questions for a fearless rebel." The fourth key she tried clicked in the lock, and the prison door swung open. Vivace stepped out, mouth slightly open as she gaped at the young princess; Sarabande stumbled back a step, her violet eyes fixed upon the deceased Toccata and her face growing quite pale. Frederic stepped around the growing pool of crimson and touched Vivace's shoulder, and she flew into his arms; Sarabande watched them appraisingly, seeming satisfied. "I could think of no way to release you that involved Toccata keeping his life – besides, I have never been fond of him, or any of the assassins of Staccato. They are a low, evil people – the perfect companions for my wicked cousin."
She turned fully to face them then, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of conspiracy. "I know of the secret passageway that Jazz commissioned to connect Forte Castle dungeon with the Hanon Hills, which is rumored to be very near to the hidden city of Andante. Can you not use that to escape?"
Vivace shook her head, looking grim. "Jazz ordered the passageway to be sealed. It was a preventative measure – meant to keep Sostenuto from delivering Frederic to his imprisonment. Obviously it only delayed the inevitable."
Sarabande's only clean hand slipped into the corset of her gown, extracting something small and laying it in Vivace's hand; the object was a miniature unicorn carved of ivory, its magnificent horn a masterfully crafted diamond. Vivace glanced back up, a hundred questions upon her lips, but Sarabande lifted her hand to stem the flow of inquiries. "No – there is no time. That will be your method of escape. Now listen very carefully." Sarabande knelt, wiping her little dagger clean on Toccata's tunic and rubbing the blood briskly off her slender hand. "You will follow me back into the foyer, where I will cause a distraction. In the confusion, you will exit the castle and summon the enchanted steed I have given you to bear you on your way; the creature is magical, and will run faster than any living animal can. Your destination must be Baroque, do you understand? My cousin has laid awful plans in place – plans that involve Prince Crescendo's murder during his wedding ceremony to my dear sister."
"Yes," Frederic agreed, nodding his head in earnest. "Count Waltz confessed as much. His plans are known to me."
"Then it falls to you now to stop them," Sarabande informed him grimly, "for I cannot. I am as much a prisoner here as you have been."
"Andantino is en route to Baroque Castle," Vivace told the young princess, hoping that the news would offer her some comfort. "Jazz is prepared to offer Prince Crescendo all of the support he is able."
"And for that I am glad," said Sarabande with a genuine smile, and she beckoned for them to follow her as she stole silently up the stairs. The upstairs chamber where Count Waltz had received Vivace was empty, and so Sarabande led them into the vacant hall and crept toward the foyer. The entrance hall was overflowing with guests – the great double doors stood open barely fifty feet away.
Turning back the princess clasped one of Vivace's hands with both of her own, regarding the golden-haired rebel with desperation. "I beseech you to make me this promise: when you see Jazz, tell him that he has long served as a beacon of hope for all those whom he so selflessly serves. Tell him also that I am honored to have performed this small service for him, and that I will continue to honor his struggles in any way that I can."
Vivace nodded and bowed low. "You have my word that it will be done, Princess."
"Good." Sarabande offered them one last wistful smile, and then took a step away from them. "Now – no more delays. On my signal, be gone."
Princess Sarabande swept out of the darkened side corridor and strode into the foyer, where she was immediately hailed respectfully by all of her adoring subjects. She made it about twenty feet, smiling brilliantly around at all of them, before laying a hand upon her brow as though dizzy, and then amidst the screams of the commoners she swooned for the ground in an uncanny impersonation of a faint.
Vivace seized Frederic by the wrist, clutching the ivory statuette close to her heart, and amidst the confusion and chaos they sprinted together into the foyer, out of the palace, and into the twilit streets of Forte City.
