"Those people are gravely mistaken who imagine that all this is mere ceremony." —Louis XIV, Le Roi-Soleil
The horrifying image of the Doctor's shoulder bones silhouetted by an energy discharge was seared into Nyssa's mind as a strange room materialised around her. She dropped and twisted to plant her hip as the stranger lunged for her. Tegan had taught her how to exploit a low centre of gravity, a half-remembered lesson from a college self-defense course. Surprise was on Nyssa's side. The man went sprawling headfirst into the footboard of an elaborate and quite solid wooden bed. Nyssa kicked the bedskirts over him and fled to the open archway at the far end of the room.
She realised her error too late. It led onto a balcony with nowhere to go but down. Turning back, she saw the assassin tapping a jeweled brooch pinned to his cravat. Nothing happened. Grinning sourly beneath a hawk's mask, he followed her out and advanced on her. She retreated to the far end of the balcony, stalling for seconds.
"I need a hostage," he drawled, "but I don't need a conscious one. Your choice."
His hand shot out to seize her under the chin when she tried to duck around him. Nyssa froze. The heel of his hand was pressing against her windpipe. For the record, this had not been a good plan.
"What do you intend?" she said, haughtiness masking fear. Her thoughts fled back to the Doctor. She needed him, and he probably needed her. She should have tended him, not spirited the would-be assassin away before he could make a second attempt. And what if the Celestenes thought the dropped weapon belonged to the Doctor?
"That depends," he said. "It seems our sham princeling gave you the key to a private suite. A criminal waste, quite frankly. Shall we sample the amenities while we await room service?"
"I'll stay out here, if it's all the same," she said through gritted teeth.
The hum of a transmat beam was a welcome reprieve.
"Out here, gentlemen," her captor called. "Lay down your weapons, or the lady will find herself on the wrong side of true gravity."
There was a slide and a clatter of swords being drawn and dropped. Two guards emerged slowly onto the balcony. Their whiskered, uncovered faces seemed raw and uncouth after a night of masks.
"Ah, ah," the assassin said. "No closer, if you please."
Nyssa bit back a cry as he jerked her chin up to demonstrate his intentions. The younger guard snarled. His partner had to hold him back. But fear could not dampen Nyssa's relief at seeing the Doctor, ashen-faced but on his feet, lurking in the room's shadows. Adyton was at his side, evidently supporting him.
She returned the Doctor's concerned gaze with an exasperated look that told him all he needed to know. He stumbled forward and slumped against the wall when the Warder left him. Nyssa's spirits faltered until she saw him prop himself up with one hand and reach for something just inside the doorway— a control panel, perhaps? She cleared her throat to cover the faint sound of clicks and beeps.
The Warder stepped out onto the balcony, hand on sword-hilt. "Come away from the edge, Sirrah."
"Adyton. You took your time. Promotion going to your head? Be a stout fellow and get me out of here."
"You will unhand the Lady Nyssa and surrender yourself."
"I will, will I?" The assassin grinned. "Inform the sacred guardians of the Heavenly Gates that they can bloody well remove the lockdown codes on my key. Twenty seconds."
"Impossible. Your only choice now is gaol or gibbet."
"Don't be a bigger fool than they take you for, old comrade."
The faint beeps and clicks continued. What was the Doctor up to? With the assassin forcing her head up, Nyssa could not see much besides the last glimmer of sunset and a few bright stars. She did not need to see behind her to know there was nothing back there besides a two kilometre drop. Oh.
"Ten seconds," the man said. "I'm not bluffing. Either she dies or comes with me."
The furtive activity behind the archway had ceased. The Doctor wrapped his fingers around the edge of the doorframe and hung there, staring out at her in mute frustration.
Nyssa caught his eye as best she could. "I'd sooner leap into the canyon," she snapped.
The Doctor's unhappy nod was not entirely reassuring. She knew that look. It meant a plan that he could not test and a risk he did not want to take.
"Four. Three. Two…"
It was a long way down. Surely there were failsafes. And besides—
"Wait," Adyton said. "We'll—"
She threw her weight backwards. Caught offguard, the assassin lost his choke-hold and made a grab for her arms. There was a moment's struggle, and then they were both tumbling over the balustrade. The Doctor's anguished Nyssa! sent her heart into her throat. Had she misjudged what he had been trying to do? Then the brutal hands released her. Flailing at empty air, her opponent gave a guttural cry and began to fall faster than she in defiance of Newtonian physics. As soon as she was freed of his weight, she came to a hovering stop. He plummeted into darkness. She thought she saw a flash far below, but it might have been mere mist.
"Nyssa!" the Doctor called again, hoarse and strained.
"I'm here!" There was a loud thump above her. She looked up. Adyton had rushed to the balustrade and was leaning over it, joined by the two guards but not the Doctor. They were more than two metres overhead.
She lay, limp and heart hammering, on a gauzy cushion that she could not see. She realised with a chill exactly what had triggered that panicked cry. The Doctor had set the field to hold her weight, but nothing heavier. If the assassin had not let go, he would have pulled her down with him.
"Doctor?"
"He's unwell, milady. Can you stand?" All three of them were reaching for her.
"He's been shot," she said, anxiety returning. "Please, he needs medical attention."
"Presently." Adyton was sweating, threatening to overbalance as he strained towards her. His comrades hastened to grip the straps of his armour. "Please, milady. You must reach. Quickly now!"
She felt herself sinking as the field began to collapse. "No need," she said, trying to remain calm. "Let me concentrate."
Home. It had been a simple enough mental command, and it had worked a few minutes ago. Sure enough, there was a welcome shimmer, and she found herself standing beside the bed in a luxurious room whose fine furniture, curving mirrors and bowls of floating plants held no interest for her at all. Dim lights came up at her silent wish. She darted over to where the Doctor lay on his side, glassy eyes fixed on the Warder and soldiers still leaning over the balcony. Nyssa crouched beside him as best she could in a dress not made for it. His pulse was weak, but reassuringly doubled. There had been a few awful seconds in the feast-hall when she had felt a single beat.
"Doctor?"
He barely stirred, his smile bleary. "There you are. Quick thinking," he mumbled, exactly as if she had been the one to devise the safety net instead of merely guessing what he was up to.
"Shh." She fumbled to unclasp his cloak. "Let your body start the repairs." Underneath, the side of his neck was red, faintly blistered. That was only the fringe of the blast. The damage to his shoulder must be worse beneath his doublet.
"Are you all right?" he persisted.
"Just a bit shaken. It's never a quiet trip with you, is it?" She felt him go limp even before she had finished speaking. He must have been using every ounce of will to stave off the healing coma. She looked up imploringly as Adyton clanked back into the room. "Please—"
"At once, milady," he said, turning back and blocking the doorway to bark orders. "Summon physickers to tend the Lord Doctor. Resume patrols. Ensure your senses remain unclouded."
"Sir!" A double shimmer marked the other guards' departure.
Adyton waited for them to go, then, tightlipped, dropped her discarded glove by her knee.
The healers had come and gone with Nyssa's thanks. She could monitor the Doctor's stabiliser patches on her own, watching the reassuring blue indicator lights that meant cell repair was well under way. There was nothing to do now but wait. In the meantime, she explored their suite of rooms, grateful for a truly solid floor. Wood and stone, clay tiles and brass, lamps made of shells whose flicker approximated candlelight, oval mirrors placed to reflect pleasing tableaus, fresh-cut flowers spilling from inset troughs along curving walls, no corners anywhere: it was a restful, organic aesthetic.
Less restful was the Doctor's jury-rigging to craft the forcefield that had saved her. He had extended the environmental covering the doorway. Normally, that field held in only air. It was an unnerving thought to realise he had caught her with little more than a soap bubble. His reckless genius was embedded in the jumbled bits of code she had to unpick from the computer systems to keep the room's heat from escaping.
Now and again she circled back to the bed. The Doctor was so still, so quiet: two things that seemed more alien on him than the strange human garb he preferred. She wished she could brush back the hair falling over his eyes, sit close enough that his telepathic awareness might pick up her feeble psychic presence. But he was a Time Lord, and the healing coma worked best if he was undisturbed. After pulling the sheet up to the medical patches on his chest to protect his dignity, she let him be.
She soon finished the repairs, sealing the draft so that she could stand in front of the open door without shivering. Outside, the clouds were piling ever higher, furling glowing terraces and spires in fantasies of cotton wool lit from within. The slowly-changing view was hypnotic. Yet she found she could not keep still. Despite their distance from the central edifice of the Basilica, spirited music reached her in snatches on the wind. Or was it the psychic lattice buzzing like harpstrings to the tune of a thousand hearts? Finally, bowing to the music's siren call, she began to dance silently around the room. Trakenite court dance proved too staid for the heady exuberance filling the air. Feeling a little foolish, she launched into an impromptu Charleston.
"You ought to go back. They'll be at it till dawn, you know."
"Doctor!" She spun around at the haggard voice. "I'm sorry. I woke you, didn't I?"
"Not a bit. I feel quite…" He shifted under the sheet, flexing his left arm. He could not hide his grimace. "Well, alive, anyway. You look well."
She poured a cup of tea from a sideboard and hurried over. "It's a lovely night," she said, "and I was enjoying the quiet."
"So I saw." He sat up gingerly to take the cup in both hands. "I hate to dampen the festive mood, but did you happen to catch the name of the gunman? That was unexpectedly foolish of you, by the way. I wish you'd leave that kind of thing to the local constabulary."
"I wish you would," she said, settling on the chair she'd drawn up beside him. "And I haven't a clue. I gather that Adyton knew him, but I… I didn't inquire." The Doctor's injuries had been rather more pressing.
"Did he, now?" He took a thoughtful sip and pulled a face at the taste. "I thought I recognised the voice. At a guess, I'd say we've had a run-in with Auguste."
"The exiled brother?"
"Full marks. Although, despite his disgrace, I'm not quite sure. He didn't seem a killer when I met him before. He'd only abducted his little brother in an ill-judged attempt to clear his name."
Nyssa's face darkened. "He had no compunctions about killing tonight, Doctor."
"True." He sobered. "Well, perhaps our attacker was an independent agent. I hope so. Rhea's already lost three sons."
"'Lost'? Is that a euphemism?" Nyssa looked distressed. "Can't we ever go anywhere civilised, Doctor?"
"It was just as shocking to the Celestenes, I assure you. The first two died in a terrible accident— a midair collision, I believe. And as far as local customs are concerned, murder is as rare here as on Traken. That weapon wasn't even manufactured on this planet. Focused-beam discharge is too dangerous, with all the gravity projectors holding up the floor." His eyes narrowed. "I wonder."
"Wasn't Auguste banished off-world?" Nyssa broke off and glanced at the medical patch over his left heart. Some of the lights were still yellow. "No, it doesn't matter now. You should be resting."
He set the teacup on the nightstand and drew up the sheet in a show of modesty, concealing the medical readouts from her. "He was indeed. But there was some question whether Auguste was truly responsible for the third brother's poisoning. He was only fifteen at the time. His father refused to believe it, although he had to capitulate to a council that would not crown a suspected murderer. Even so, he balked at naming a new heir, right up until his deathbed."
"Which they were meticulously careful to reenact tonight, to put Achille's claim beyond doubt," Nyssa noted.
"So they did." The Doctor frowned. "I met Auguste eight years after his father's death. He'd spirited Achille away while he was weak, recovering from heart surgery. Auguste hoped to bully the boy into disavowing his own legitimacy."
"In that case," Nyssa said, "I'm afraid tonight's intruder really was Auguste. He called the Dauphin a 'sham princeling.'"
"I see." The Doctor started to roll his shoulders in a shrug, winced, and fell back against the pillow with a sigh. "Well, there's no point in worrying about it," he told the ceiling. "The coronation will take place at dawn, and that will be that. It doesn't really matter, anyway. It's all a petty game of genealogy. Clever chaps, the Celestenes, cordoning off their upper class in the sky where they can't cause too much mischief."
"Is that why you risked your life for the sake of their succession, Lord Doctor?"
"Nyssa." He gave her a troubled look. "You were as appalled as I was at the prospect of that young man being murdered. Besides, I couldn't very well let someone spoil such a magnificent party, now could I? It's not cricket."
"Snob," she said, eyes gentle. "Were Tegan here, she'd tease us both for keeping to the clouds. But speaking of murder, I do wish you'd get some sleep. That shot would've been fatal for anyone but a Time Lord."
"All right." His meek acquiescence was a more telling indicator than the medical sensors. "On one condition. Return to the ballroom."
"Doctor!" she said. "How can I go dancing when you've nearly gotten yourself killed?"
"You were doing a fine job of it earlier," he said, smile fleeting but genuine. "And it's easier for me to rest if I'm not distracted. Go on. Enjoy yourself. A chance like this happens only a few times a millennium."
"If you're sure." She tilted her head. "Promise you'll send for me if you need me?"
"All right. If you insist." He rolled onto his side with a grunt and closed his eyes. "Go on."
It was one promise he would break.
Dancing with the Dauphin was an altogether different experience, and not only because the musicians had abandoned formal mathematics for playful improvisation, discarding lutes for drums. Achille was lithe, quicksilver, sheathed once more in his acrobat's guise. Nobody was fooled now. Yet courtiers still kept up the pretense, wondering aloud who had invited a Fool to the king's ball. Nyssa laughed with them, sometimes whirling from arm to arm, but always back into the Harlequin's hands as he guided her around the room like two leaves chasing one another in a zephyr. He named them in passing, winked as some saluted her who could not acknowledge him tonight.
"The Five Revealed Truths?" she pressed, breathless, for conversation was difficult on the move.
"You think too much, my lady!" he said, approval in his teasing.
"I can't help it," she said. "This isn't what I expected of a theocracy."
"Religion encompasses life," he said. "Now, attend…"
He set his hands upon her waist and held her eyes, turning with her so that the ballroom cycled around them. They were on eye level, an intimacy she had seldom encountered. "Change," he chanted, grinning to take the edge off ceremonial words. "Growth. Complexity. Entropy." Again the mercurial smile. "And, relevant to present circumstance, Attraction."
Nyssa blushed. "Fundamental qualities of matter and life."
"You apprehend."
Dancing among nobles her own age in a chamber that had become a vast hollow in the clouds, it was difficult to remember the terror of the assassination attempt just a few hours before. Only the redoubled guards around the hall's perimeter stood as evidence of recent threat. The older generations had retired as the hour grew late. The music was free, wild, a skirl of pipes and a playful anarchy of noise, so alive it seemed like some great cat chasing them around the spacious hall. The Charleston was much too tame for the carnivale atmosphere. Achille demonstrated a vaulting turn and spread his hands wide.
"I can't do that!" she laughed.
"On the contrary," he said, curling his arm behind her back and drawing her into a leaping spin. "You do it divinely." He grinned as they landed each on one foot, ankles twinned. Some of the dancers clapped around them. "Like so. Just look at Émile. He hasn't taken his eyes off you, and his lady looks as if she might challenge you to a duel. If, that is, well-bred ladies could countenance such an act."
Nyssa's cheeks were pink beneath her mask. "I'm afraid many well-bred ladies are hoping for their own invitation from a mysterious Harlequin. I don't wish to monopolise the host."
"I fancy you may be right." He grinned at a woman gazing over her shoulder at them while two gentlemen, linked arm in arm with her, stole kisses from both sides of her neck. "But I feel safer with you, seeing that my Adyton cannot protect me on the dance floor. You are safe with me, too, by the way."
"Safe? How do you mean?"
"This is the Rite of Dionysos. Did the Lord Doctor not tell you what that entailed?"
"No. That's an Earth name, isn't it?"
"According to legend, but you would know better than I. Until I met the Lady Josephine, I thought our ancestral home a myth."
"But you're human?"
"The word I hear is what we call ourselves, but who knows what term your ship's lattice approximates?" He gave a rueful laugh. "Human or post-human, we are a long-lived people. Did we not ration our irrationality, our numbers would grow immoderate."
"And Dionysos is a symbol of…?" she said, distracted. His mention of the Doctor had turned her thoughts aside. As much as she was enjoying herself, she felt the urge to check on him.
"Not thinking." Gently but firmly, Achille gathered her close and set his lips by her ear as they circled. "I shall have private quarters secured for you in the royal apartments. None can enter there save by my key." His right hand traced the back of her wrist, rolling up her glove to slip two fingers over the jewel hidden there. She felt a sudden warmth in the stone. "And now by yours, dear lady."
She shivered and pulled away. The spell was suddenly broken, and she was too aware of the featureless mask hiding most of his face. "I'm honoured, my lord, but I must decline."
"You wish to be with the Lord Doctor," he said, smiling and releasing her. "It is always best to go where the heart inclines. Go to him, then, but do not tarry. The hour is late. Happily, I think I espy him on the terrace above."
Flustered, she sketched a cursory courtesy and fled. In her haste, she did not see the Warder push his way through the heedless crowd, clap a hand on the Dauphin's shoulder and lead him away.
Roused by the same psychic impulses that had set Nyssa dancing about their quarters, the Doctor had lost himself walking in the fog. He had strayed far along aerial walkways and deserted avenues, resting his mind on harmonies of line and structure. It was cold, bitterly so, even with environmental fields to deflect the cloud-drenched winds. Only a few unmasked servants passed him on foot. The higher orders must be using transmat to move about after dark.
At last he came to a tall archway in a wall that rose and vanished in the mist. Plunging through, he was buffeted by warm air and a glissando of music that was blessedly free of lutes. His spirits lifted. He strode forward along a luminous corridor that opened out into a mezzanine overlooking the ballroom. It was vaulted by the moon-bridge arcing down to the lower level. He moved to the railing, gazing down across the hall still pulsing with life despite the late hour.
Nyssa was there. He was not entirely surprised to see the Dauphin with her, but their intimate embrace hit his sternum like a ball striking a cracked bat. Evidently she had taken to heart his injunction to enjoy herself. Scowling, he noticed Achille's fingers wandering over the back of her hand where lay the hidden key. The Doctor needed it to avoid a long, lonely walk back to their suite.
Averting his eyes before he saw anything else to spoil the evening, the Doctor began to scan the ballroom's perimeter for an ally to spare him an awkward conversation. Surely Adyton would be willing to give him a lift back once he saw how things stood, and with whom. But there were a great many more guards now than earlier, and none of them possessed the Warder's basset hound face and lamp-post build. At last, just as the Doctor was resigning himself to hiking back on foot, he spotted the man shepherding Achille out of the hall. What was that about? And where had Nyssa got to?
He was answered by a familiar patter of running footsteps. Nyssa was flying up the moon bridge towards him, face alight.
"There you are! How are you feeling?"
"Light-headed," he admitted with a quick, bleary smile. "Giddy, in fact, although I'm not sure if it's me or this place."
"Probably a little of both," she said, taking his hands. "After-effects of accelerated healing. Do you want to go?"
"Go? Back to the TARDIS?" he said. "And miss the coronation, after all the trouble it's taken us to get here? Nyssa, I'm surprised at you!"
"I meant back to our rooms." She gave his hands a shake. "Seeing as you haven't fully recovered. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"There's no need to exaggerate," he said, suddenly reinvigorated. "Just a touch of vertigo, hardly surprising in a place like this. I've had an excellent rest, and I thought I'd stretch my legs and see how you were getting on. It's well past midnight, by the way."
"I'm not tired," she said. "There's something about this place, as you say."
Something indeed. Weary as he was, the thrumming in the air crept under the skin. Pride would not suffer him to quit the field before she did. Instead, he tucked an arm behind his cloak, bent in a half-bow and offered her his hand. "That being the case," he said, suddenly feeling a good deal more relaxed, "May I have this dance, Lady Nyssa?"
She gave him a searching look, then softened and dropped a correct curtsy, matching his tone. "Certainly, my lord." Eyes twinkling, she set her fingers on his wrist with the level of decorum he generally expected of her. That, too, was a relief. She was old enough to know her own mind, but there were some things he hated for her to learn the hard way. He would have to warn her later about the casual dalliances of kings.
They strolled down to the main level, returning to the dance floor whose panes had become dim footlights, coral-red and purple and green that changed from one measure to the next. Nobody seemed to be worrying about formalities or footwork now. Steps were free, breezy, even wanton. The musicians had shifted tempo yet again, abandoning exuberance for a dreaming yet insistent heartbeat that encouraged the thinning ranks of revelers to linger in one another's arms.
The Doctor slipped a hand behind Nyssa's back. Woozy he might be, but there was one dance he could perform expertly in his sleep. From the third step, he knew he'd been right to save it until now. Nyssa never faltered, keeping her eyes fixed on his face as he led them in effortless arcs around the room.
Colourful costumes and nodding masks wheeled by. The music flowed over them with the same pulse as the TARDIS time rotor. Glittering dust-motes drifted down, settling on Nyssa's hair like stars before melting away. He felt as if they were spinning through the vortex in their own transcendental bubble.
Nyssa released a contented sigh. "There. So much better with a friend. What's this one called?"
"The waltz," he murmured, elation washing over him. "It was once banned in Vienna."
"Why?"
"They considered it…scandalous," he said. "There were questions of propriety."
"I'm surprised you know it, then."
"Oh, I don't know. For special occasions, and so forth."
Her back was warm under his hand. The floor had stopped moving, yet he could not escape the impression that they were rising towards the ceiling. Masks and feathers and jewels glittered around them, cloaks fluttering, taffeta rustling, bodies entwining. All the orderly strictures of geometry had collapsed, until dancers jostled one another with merriment and casual flirtation. Some couples were kissing, masks pushed askew. Normally he would object to such public displays, but just now, with the buzz of sensation flowing through the air like positive ions after a storm, it was as natural as breathing.
"Oh?" she said. "Those would be the 'knees up' that your last incarnation liked to indulge in, yes?"
Paris. That was it. He had not felt this way since Paris. He wanted to hold onto this budding sense of euphoria. But the people around them were growing intrusive. They kept laughing too loudly, bumping into his back, touching her.
One of the faceless women patted Nyssa's arm in passing. "Scaling the hierarchy from Fool to Time Lord in a few hours? You must tell us your secret!"
"I found another fool," Nyssa said brightly.
"Nyssa," he said, aggrieved.
"A wise fool," she said, reaching up to stroke the tip of his nose.
His face tingled at the fleeting contact. He had a sudden mad impulse to kiss her finger before she resettled her hand on his shoulder. Again, the waltz carried them through the press of merrymakers like a periodic comet. At the apogee he released her. She raised her hand, fingertips tickling his palm as she spun. The waltz was an ironic fulcrum: a dance from Earth, where they always had to conceal their true natures, yet here among the masks of the Celestial Basilica there was no need for them to pretend.
"Stop thinking," she admonished, sailing back through the vortex of bodies who kept disturbing his equilibrium by bumping against them.
"Hmm?"
"I'm told that's the theme of tonight's ritual." She spun wide on her next release, arms out, hands cupping the air to catch the diamond rain. "See?"
Another careening dancer whooped and snared her hand, sweeping her against his chest. "Ah, look, lads, I think I've caught an angel!"
Something snapped.
The Doctor reached past her, gripped the man's mask and shoved him backwards. Amidst startled oaths, he seized Nyssa's shoulders and began to hustle her away. As soon as they had found an open space, he scrabbled for her glove, rolling it up far enough to press his palm against hers. Nothing happened.
"Doctor?" she breathed.
"I need to get you away from here," he said. Alarms were going off in the back of his mind, but he could not think why.
"All right," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "Let me do it."
The ballroom, the dancers, the eerie masks and writhing costumes vanished. Silence and the flickering light of shell-lanterns enfolded them. The Doctor was all too aware of the overflowing containers of flowers around the room, the flare of her nostrils, his own heartbeats slightly out of synch, and the overpowering curve of her shoulders without demure velvet to conceal them.
"Now," she said, with a puckish smile that made his head swim, "What's this all about?"
"Dionysos," he said, and stopped. What had put that into his head? If only he could marshal his thoughts, but they were all tangled up in tangents. Something about the subdued lighting put him in mind of an ancient temple, redolent with the smoke of sacrifices.
"I still don't understand the reference," she said. "The Dauphin was rather elliptical."
"Hm?" No, not a temple, an art gallery. Chiaroscuro, Rembrandt's brushstrokes, might just capture the slide of lamplight over her clavicles.
"Dionysos, Doctor."
"Oh. Yes. Ancient Earth deity," he said. "Personification of drama, frenzy, wild nature outside the bounds of civilisation." He traced two fingers along a swirling tendril fringing Nyssa's décolletage. "The vine."
"Ah," she said, a little breathless. "I see." She dimpled up at him, an odd tremor in her voice. "Appropriate inappropriateness?"
"You could put it that way, yes." Her tantalising words hung in the air like an invitation. His hands began to stray lower, chasing shadows, tracing lines. Everything in its place, perfect harmony of flesh and intellect—
Her indrawn breath was almost a flinch, but she leaned into his caresses. "Are you sure you're all right, Doctor?"
"Better than…" He lifted her hand, frowning when his lips found only fabric. Impatient, he caught the fingertips of her glove in his teeth and tugged. Nyssa's startled giggle was more flattered than offended. She reached with her other hand to help. Together they peeled the glove free. Then he began to kiss her fingers, smiling as she responded with feather-light touches on his jaw below the mask. She set a palm against his chest, silently urging him back across the room. Ignoring the foreboding gong of the cloister bell tolling in his subconscious, he unfastened her mask and discarded it in an overflowing basin of flowers.
Her face beckoned him. She was gazing upwards with a raw tenderness that was almost shattering. He lowered her hand and bowed his head, eager to seize the moment.
The locket slipped from her wrist. There was a faint jingle of chain, then the dissonant ting of the jewel striking the floor. The Doctor stiffened, eyes widening in horror, stumbling backwards into the bed. Nyssa, oblivious, kept bumping against him like a very small tugboat trying to manoeuvre him onto it.
He jerked his hands away. "Nyssa, stop. Stop." He was afraid to touch her, even to fend her off. Comprehension did not stem the tide of inexcusable, primitive urges that were swamping higher brain function. "The lattice—gestalt—distorting our perceptions."
"Hmm?" She looked at him, grey eyes dilated. Then lucidity reasserted itself with a rueful chuckle. "Oh, dear. It's a fertility ritual, isn't it?"
Those ghastly words hit him in the solar plexus. He sat down on the mattress, dropping his face into his hands. "Yes," he said. "Nyssa, I'm so sorry."
She laughed. "What for? I was quite enjoying that."
"For goodness' sake, Nyssa, pull yourself together! It's no laughing matter." Panic flashed to anger. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Romana was right. I should never have brought you here. You're in terrible danger."
"Hardly terrible. But I think Achille tried to warn me," she said. "He said I'd be safe with him."
"Damn the boy!" he exploded. His arms were halfway around her before she set an elbow against his chest and pushed him away. He sat down again, breathing hard. "Nyssa, you've got to leave."
"Your mental reserves must be drained. You really can't block the effect?" Was it wishful thinking, or did she sound almost hopeful?
"Too many minds," he said wildly. "You're not a full telepath; you're missing half the signal." He wrenched himself to his feet, ran and plunged towards the portal onto the balcony, away from her body heat and out into the cold night air.
There was no escape. He fetched up short against the shimmering balustrade and gripped it, taking in great gulps of frigid air. But she had trailed after him, despite the biting cold. She must be freezing. His hands tightened on the railing, staving off the urge to sweep his cloak around her.
"Doctor, I know this is awkward for you," she said. "But truly, objectively, why is it so terrible? It's simply amplifying latent impulses and desires, yes?"
"Y-yes… no!" He reddened. "That's not it at all."
Nyssa ignored him. "So it's only a question of what we— don't you dare!"
He had made an abortive lunge, but found himself checked by her hold on his cloak.
"Give me a moment to think, since you're clearly incapable of it right now!" Nyssa snapped. "Frankly, I ought to be offended. Surely it's better to be mortified than mortally injured?"
His mouth quirked into a ragged, rictus smile. "You may not know me as well as you think, Nyssa."
"Apparently not." With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I could try programming a seal across the door between our rooms."
"Do you trust yourself to do it?" he said, pained. "Do you trust me?"
"I trust you," she said, and stopped.
He stifled another kick of exultation. "Take the key. You can teleport straight back to the gates."
"And then what? Back to the TARDIS? In subzero temperatures?"
He closed his eyes. "Nyssa, please…"
"All right. I'll think of something." She pressed a hand briefly against his back. "I'll see you in the morning. Try not to worry."
There was a flash. He turned around to find himself alone on the balcony. Stunned and chagrinned, he stumbled back inside.
He had tossed and turned on the bed for an hour before he remembered she did not have a TARDIS key.
"Lord Doctor."
Disorientated, he jerked away from the tall figure looming over him in the grey light of dawn.
"Forgive this intrusion, my lord, but the Lady Nyssa enjoined me to rouse you for the ceremony and ascertain your well-being."
The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, then sat up with a start. "Nyssa? Where is she?"
"In the royal apartments, my lord," Adyton said, voice brittle. "It pleased His Holiness-Elect to offer her accommodations."
"What?!" The last shreds of sleep scattered. He hopped out of bed and stormed around it to face the Warder. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Nyssa's mask resting on the nightstand with a chain and jewel coiled neatly beside it. "Take me to her at once."
Adyton stared past his shoulder, stone-faced and disapproving. "That is quite impossible at this time. May I bring Her Grace a favourable report?"
"I'm fine," he said shortly. "Adyton, I need to speak with her."
"After the ceremony, my lord, the High Hierophant would grant a boon to his benefactor. Is there aught that you require?"
The walls and floor reverberated with a bright skirl of trumpets.
"I require—" the Doctor began with some heat, and stopped. Barging into Achille's private chambers would be equally embarrassing for all of them. "Forget it."
"Then if you please, my lord, make haste. That was second cornu, and the High Hierophant of the Five Revealed Truths shall assume his place in the celestial firmament when the fifth rings out. Clasp the jewel and pronounce the Queen's name to be conveyed to the Hall of Jupiter forthwith. She has a great duty to perform, and your presence would lighten her burdens."
"Very well." He scowled. What game was Rhea playing at? Probably trying to ensure her son's safety. That might explain the Warder's bristling irritation, which he could not quite conceal. "I'm sure you have other duties, Adyton. Thank you."
The man bowed stiffly and vanished.
The Doctor was of half a mind not to attend the ceremony at all, but it would be a pity to come so far and miss the finale. Besides, Nyssa would be there.
After a quick dip in the sonic shower and a pass through the wardrobe's field to freshen his clothes, he strode to the nightstand and picked up the key.
"Rhea," he said.
Nothing happened. The Queen's name? Which one? "Her Serene Highness Rhea, High Priestess of the House of Hygieia, Holy Mother, Queen Dowager and…" The jewel remained stubbornly inert. "Queen Rhea Feronia Marie-Louise Estelline. Minerva."
Still nothing. He stalked around the room, caged. The air was vibrating with a collective indrawn breath, brimming excitement like a basin about to overflow. Some of that pent-up psychic energy was already beginning to spill over in a rush of awe and joy. It would be just his luck to miss the Coronation for want of a simple password. Why hadn't Adyton simply given it to him? He supposed he had been short with the man, but he could not shake the impression that the Warder had been as annoyed and embarrassed as he was.
In mid-circle, the Doctor's gaze fell upon the discarded shell-mask lying on the nightstand. A hollow, sinking feeling seized his stomach.
"Nyssa," he said. "Nyssa of Traken."
The beam whisked him away.
He arrived at the front of the great hall as four mighty horn-blasts shook the sky. The Doctor was barely aware of the affronted courtiers shifting on either side, shocked by his tardy arrival. His eyes were fixed on the tableau hanging above the level of the mezzanine, suspended on a field of amber mist. He had to shield his gaze from the sun just peeking over the mountaintops, sending streaming shafts that bathed the elevated figures in coloured splendour.
Saffron-robed priests and priestesses flanked the dais. At centre left stood the Queen Dowager, imperious and triumphant, once more garbed in the cream and violet robe volante and terracotta goddess-mask of Hygieia. In her hands she clasped a polished metal bowl or mirror that was too bright to look at. Opposite her stood Acheron in a ruby-coloured doublet and cloak, towering over most of those present, lowering his arms as if he had just delivered a benediction. Between them, two dazzling figures faced one another, one in grey and silver, the other in pale gold.
Achille had shed Harlequin's piebald for an appropriately Apolline costume. He was resplendent in golden brocades with a stylised solar breastplate, sun-discs flashing at elbows and knees, elevated shoes to give him more stature, a magnificent plumed headdress with rays of bronze wire to set off his fine features. He reached up to adjust the heavy crown as if it had been placed there just a moment before. Beard shorn, face painted gold like a statue's, he looked terribly young, more of a Mercury or Cupid than an Apollo.
All this the Doctor barely took in. His eyes were riveted on the new Minerva, petite yet radiating concentrated authority. Her grey-feathered cloak rippled and fluttered around her shoulders. An owl-mask and a veil of silver gauze concealed her curls. The archetype suited her, he thought glumly. Apart, perhaps, from the spear-tipped wand she grasped. He wondered if anyone had thought to tell her that their personification of wisdom and technical arts was also a goddess of war.
The Doctor wrenched his attention back to the ceremony. Achille was speaking again, wrapping up his coronation oath. Out rang his own clear tenor, unamplified. "…Thy wisdom shall I uphold, as the firmament upholds the spheres."
"Then, mantled in the Five Truths…"
Change! and here the crowd's chant surged over Nyssa's mask-augmented voice as she struck Achille's bare right hand with the wand.
Entropy! This time his left hand took the blow.
Growth! The point clanged against the breastplate over his heart.
Complexity! A sharp rap to the brow. To the boy's credit, he did not blink nor flinch as the spearpoint drew blood just above and between his eyes.
Attraction!
There was an expectant hush. Nyssa lowered her wand, leaned forward and bestowed a reverent kiss. Diamond rain sifted down in the enraptured silence as the couple embraced tenderly, maintaining the kiss as long as the Doctor cared to watch. He looked back again when thunderous applause shattered the stillness, to find the sun had fully arisen, bathing the couple in blinding light. Over the young man's face, Nyssa was placing the polished gold mask which he was doomed to wear for life. Five times the trumpets blared. As their brazen notes died away, it felt as if the entire Basilica leapt and hung weightless for a split second. In that suspended moment, Nyssa called out in clear, ringing tones:
"The High Hierophant of the Five Truths stands revealed!"
Shouts of Apollo! Apollo! Le soleil se lève! arose from every throat but one.
The Doctor turned away. He had seen enough. Numb and suddenly very tired, he sent a mental command to the jewel that had lain forgotten in his hand.
As the din and throng faded away in the transmat beam, memories of Jo's wedding reception crashed over him with the force of heavy surf. He had last come to the Basilica with Jo, when they had received that fateful invitation for services rendered. Now he wished it had lain in a letterbox for a few more regenerations. But one could not retract time's arrow. He would be leaving the Basilica alone.
Best to get it over with.
Exiting the main edifice as distant huzzahs continued to rock every strut and plane, he tried not to begrudge a friend's good fortune. He had promised Tremas' ghost he would see Nyssa bestowed somewhere safely, give her a chance to find the joy she'd lost when Traken was destroyed. Where better than here? After all she'd endured during their travels, all the lives she had saved or soothed, she of all people deserved a happy ending.
Too preoccupied to notice the beauty around him, he had just reached the head of the final ramp leading out of the Basilica when Adyton materialised before him and bowed low.
"Lord Doctor," he said formally. "His Holiness the High Hierophant of the Five Revealed Truths and Her Serene Grace his consort extend their favour to their most trusted advisor. They bid you join them on the Celestial Dais forthwith."
"I don't make a habit of kowtowing to the bidding of royalty, as your Queen ought to remember," the Doctor said crossly.
Adyton stiffened. "It is a high honour to be raised to their level, Lord Doctor, higher than I myself am permitted."
"Ah, yes. Tender my apologies, would you? There's a good chap. Something urgent's come up, and I'm needed elsewhere. Nyssa will understand. And…" he started to look over his shoulder at the Basilica, checked himself. "Please, give her my blessing."
Did the Warder ever stop looking disgruntled? Glancing at the guards standing at wooden attention on either side of the gates, Adyton bowed once more. "Very good, my lord."
Setting his back to the sunrise, the Doctor stepped onto the sweeping walkway that would carry him back to the canyon's rim and the TARDIS waiting below.