Nightingale Read Free Page A

in the habit of coming straight to the point. "It would please us if you would honor the opening of our winter season with your talent." The Prince appropriated her hand, and Klara felt his within the glove, knotted with age.
    Why, the Prince himself was asking for her services, had not delegated to a chamberlain the task of speaking to a mere performer!
    "The honor would be all mine, most noble and serene Prince." She only rose from the deep curtsy she’d made when he lifted her up. Deeply gratified, Klara gazed into the Prince's black eyes. Though set in a hawkish, weathered face, they were lively, and still held a sparkle of youth.
    "If you will only sing half as beautifully at our residence as you have done tonight, Fraulein, we shall be delighted. However, like our friend the Baron, we have some particular rarities which we would like you to perform for us. Concertmaster Almassy will bring you the music and shall be at your disposal for whatever rehearsal as you might require."
    A servant passed with a huge candelabrum. Light struck a nearby mirror and illuminated a flock of fat gilt and plaster cherubs, fluttering a delirious ascent up the column toward the painted ceiling. Klara felt as if she ascended with them.
    "I am entirely at the service of my Prince, and Prima Donna Silber," Akos said. His eyes touched hers and a shiver shot through her. It was if she'd been kissed.
     
    ***
     
    Stop this! An inner voice scolded as Klara sat shivering beside Liese in the carriage. The party was over, and singer and servant traveled through a snow-filled winter night.
    Remember how it was with Giovanni. His love, all his promises, all were lies! The madness you felt tonight was only because you are so lonely, because you have foolishly learned to have these sinful desires. You must never again – never again…!
    Klara thought that Max's twisted kind of love must suffice. Anything else was too dangerous. Hadn't he taught her about illusion? About what it was like to see a love she’d imaged to be real die in a mire of deceit and betrayal? She would never love any man again, not after Giovanni, not after what he and Max had done!
    Remembering, Klara shivered and then shivered again.
    "What's wrong, Liebchen ?" Liese, beside her, was all attention.
    Klara had been thirteen when the Count had sent Liese to be watchdog and nursemaid to his ‘Little Nightingale’. She still performed the task with a fierce devotion.
    "Can't you fools hurry?" Liese pounded her fist on the roof of the coach. "Fraulein Silber is cold!"
    Klara covered her face with both hands and huddled back into the cold leather. Suddenly, she felt as she couldn't breathe.
    After meeting Concertmaster Almassy, after experiencing this sudden, violent attraction, it was absolutely clear what she felt about Max's imminent return. Sheer, soul -shriveling dread!
    From her palm came a scent which allowed Klara to conjure an image of the tall, dark Concertmaster, his broad, straight shoulders, the adoration she'd seen in his mysterious topaz eyes. Immediately, the counter image arose: Maximilian, elegant, graying – her sensual, cruel Master!
    A bolt of pain shot pierced her forehead. Klara began to cry in long, drawn out sobs.
    "Klara! Stop that!" Liese seized her shoulders and shook. What the Court physician had diagnosed as ‘hysteria’, had been a fact of life since ‘that business’ with Giovanni.
    "You will injure your voice." Liese began here, with this most terrible consequence of tears. "Stop at once, Klara, or I'll call for the tincture of poppy as soon as we get home."
    Klara, knowing Liese was in earnest, and loathing the shadowy half-world in which the drug enveloped her, tried to choke back her tears. She slumped against the cushions, hugged herself and shivered ever harder
    Oh, she had loved Maximilian von Oettingen once, as only an innocent and guileless girl can! In the miracle he'd worked upon her life, she'd imagined him the good magician of a