“No, I understand clearly. It’s you who doesn’t understand. The Marc I knew never would have killed to satisfy his own lust for revenge.”
I had nothing left to say. It didn’t matter anymore. What was done was done. I couldn’t bring Kristoff back to life and I couldn’t make Marc see the fault in his ways. At least not while he was this drunk.
I turned on my heel and stormed out of the tavern.
I had no clear plan. I needed to get away because if I stopped to think about what had happened, the anger would consume me. It wasn’t only Kristoff’s killing that infuriated me; it was how Marc had gone about killing him. He’d hanged Kristoff while I was sleeping so he wouldn’t have to face me. It was sneaky and eerily similar to something Radek or Václav would’ve done. Were all powerful men alike? The thought made me sick to my stomach.
Marc betrayed me.
“You walk incredibly fast for someone wearing a dress,” Henrik said. “I never understood how girls could move wearing all those skirts. It’s an accomplishment. I don’t think men could do it. I couldn’t do it.”
“Why are you following me?”
“Because you’re walking aimlessly into the forest.”
I stopped and stuck out my chin. “Am I a prisoner now? I can’t walk in the woods by myself? Am I an enemy to the rebels because I’m a human being who showed sympathy for Kristoff?”
“The woods are dangerous. That’s the only reason I’m here. Of course you’re not a prisoner. I’ll take you back to Prague Castle right now if that’s where you want to go.”
I huffed.
“Is that what you want? No one is making you stay in Kladno, Mila. You don’t have to be here. It’s about to get bad, so if you don’t feel comfortable with us, you should say so.”
“I don’t feel comfortable anywhere.”
“But you’re safe here,” Henrik said. “That’s more than you can say about the castle.”
I shrugged. “Where is Marc?”
“Drunk at the tavern. He stumbled after you when you ran out, but he didn’t get far. I told him I’d go . . . he’s not feeling too well.”
I exhaled. “Poor Marc.”
“You’re angry.”
“You’re observant.” I exhaled again, deeper this time. The crisp morning air filled my lungs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. It’s not your fault . . . it’s Marc’s.”
“I think Marc should have executed Kristoff,” Henrik held up his hand, “let me finish. He should have executed Kristoff, but he shouldn’t have done it behind your back.”
I made a face.
Henrik ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not defending my brother’s actions, but Marc has a lot of responsibility now. Being the leader of a rebellion is not easy. There are no simple choices for him anymore. He’s trying his best.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s fair. We don’t have to talk about Marc or Kristoff anymore, but I don’t want to be in the woods.” Henrik nodded toward Kladno. “Come back to town with me. I’ll cook breakfast.”
I didn’t have an argument. Where was I going to go? Wander aimlessly through the woods? I couldn’t go back to Prague. I was officially without a home.
I followed Henrik back through the forest and into town. We walked in silence side by side until he glanced at me. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry these days.”
He smiled. “I have a little bit of pork I can fry up with some potatoes. How does that sound?”
“My stomach is growling.” I picked up my skirts and stepped over a mud puddle. “I don’t know where you live.”
He pointed down the road. “Not too far. I was fortunate enough to have a house donated to me, too. I guess it’s one of the many benefits of being Marc’s brother.”
“Does that bother you?”
“What?”
“That he’s the leader of the rebellion?”
Henrik shook his head. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be involved in any of this if it weren’t for Marc and Dad. I don’t get as emotional as they do.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I support the cause. I believe in what we are doing and what we are fighting for. But I’m not the type of man to organize and lead a full-scale rebellion against the Crown. You know?”
I sighed. “Yes, I know.”
We veered off the main street and onto a side dirt lane. Houses lined this road, too, but they were closer together. I followed Henrik to the last small house on the left.
Inside, it smelled of freshly baked bread. It had the same arrangement as the house I shared with Marc: one room with a bed, a table with two benches, and a pot for the fire. It was simple, but Henrik’s house felt cozy.
Henrik went straight to work in preparing breakfast.
I wandered to the window. I shouldn’t have. The way the house was positioned presented a view of the common area beside the tavern.
Marc stood near the well, but he wasn’t alone.
“What’s wrong?” Henrik asked.
I didn’t turn around. “Oh . . . just enjoying the view.”
Henrik’s footsteps echoed off the wooden floor. Six giant steps later, he stood behind me. “Oh.”
Marc held the stone for support as he hunched over and vomited in the grass. Ruzena, with one hand on Marc’s back, soothed him as he wretched.
“Do you want to go out there?” Henrik asked.
“No. I don’t.”
“He was drunk when I left him.”
“I see that.”
“I’m sure Ruzena was only walking by. She’s protective of him.”
“I’ve noticed that, too.”
“Marc doesn’t like her that way.”
I turned away from the window. “You don’t have to defend him, Henrik. I’m a grown woman. I’ll deal with him when he’s sober. Maybe.”
Henrik tilted his head. “All right. Do you want a piece of bread while I fry the pork?”
“I’d love some.” I sat at the table. I refused to be angry. I didn’t want to think about any of it anymore.
Instead, I focused on Henrik.
“How did you learn to be such a good cook?” I asked.
Henrik flipped the sizzling meat with a fork. “I didn’t have a choice. After my mother passed away, it was only us. My dad was busy working and Marc and Jiri were always hungry. One day I grabbed some ingredients and threw them into a pot to feed them.”
“You took care of them?”
He shrugged. “I had to. No one else could. When Marc was older, he hunted in the woods—illegally, by the way; the Crown doesn’t allow hunting in the woods even though everyone is starving—and I would cook the food. We worked well together.”
“You still do.”
“We do,” he conceded.
“Do you believe the rebels can win this revolution?” I tore off a piece of warm bread.
“We have to. It’s either win or we all die.” Henrik placed the cooked pork on a plate with a heap of roasted potatoes and sat it in front of me. “Usually when people are fighting for their lives, they fight harder than the other side. I’m hoping that’s the case here.”
“That’s a smart way to look at it.” I cut the pork with the side of my fork and placed the smoking piece of salty meat in my mouth. It was delicious. I swiftly ate everything on my plate.
Henrik served more potatoes. “Sorry, that’s all the meat I had.”
“No, it was wonderful. Thank you for sharing with me. I haven’t had pork in a long time.”
“Not accustomed to the peasant diet?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how you do it. I get so tired because I’m always hungry. The idea of food consumes my thoughts.”
“It does. Unfortunately, I should tell you—we’re eating relatively well now, in the summer. Food will be sparser when the other rebels join us and winter comes. We will need to ration our food supplies.”
&nb
sp; Loud voices erupted from the square.
It was a commotion of some sort. Men were shouting. Had the Crown arrived already?
“What is that?” Henrik asked.
I went to the window. Half of the town had congregated at the well. The men were all huddled together. “Something’s happening.”
“Let’s go.”
I dashed out of the house with Henrik on my heels. I picked up my skirts so I could run faster. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Stay back. Let me check first.”
I had no intention of staying back. Henrik must have known that because he positioned himself in front of me.
A group of people had gathered near the tavern. Marc was there with the other rebels, including Stephan and Petr. Everyone was focused on a stranger at the edge of the forest walking toward the town. The man held a package.
“Is he a member of the Royal Guard?” Petr asked.
“I don’t recognize him.” Stephan tugged at the ribbon securing his curly hair. “But he could be.”
“Mila.” Marc still reeked of alcohol, but the commotion had sobered him up significantly. He placed his hand on my back.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked.
“I drank too much.”
“Did Ruzena take good care of you?”
“I made a mistake.” Marc squeezed my hand. “Can we let it go? I don’t want to fight. Please? Kristoff isn’t worth fighting over.”
“Don’t come any closer!” Petr addressed the man walking from the forest. “Stay where you are!”
“I was instructed to deliver this package to the duchess!” The man lifted the box above his head as if to show proof.
My heart sank.
Marc looked at me.
“What did he say?” Henrik tilted his head at Marc.
The man waved the white box in the air. It boasted an elaborate silky blue bow—the royal color—which meant it had come from the castle.
Not a good sign.
I stepped past the rebels to the front of the crowd. Marc and Henrik flanked me.
“Be careful,” Marc whispered. “It could be a trap.”
“How do you know that package is for me?” I called out to the stranger. I didn’t want anything from the castle.
The man cautiously approached. His eyes were glued to the rebels; most of them had their weapons drawn. When the stranger was close enough, he shoved the package into my hands and hastily backed away.
The box felt heavy.
Ominous.
The man bowed once he was a safe distance from the rebels. “The package was given to me by a member of the Royal Guard at Prague Castle. It is from Václav Novák, high chancellor of the Kingdom of Bohemia. I was instructed to deliver it to Ludmila Nováková, Duchess of Prucha.”
“How did you know where to find her?” Henrik asked the courier.
“I didn’t. I was told she’d be at one of the Protestant camps. The Crown believes the duchess is being held hostage and that her life is in grave danger.”
“I doubt the Crown thinks that,” I said.
The man shrugged. “I only received the order to deliver the package.”
I bit my lip. Dozens of eyes scrutinized me. Waiting. Everyone wanted to know what was in the box—everyone but me.
“Do you want me to open it?” Marc asked.
“No,” the stranger said from a distance. “I had strict orders that the package was for the duchess and her only. I was instructed that it was imperative that she be the one to open the present.”
“What if it contains something that can harm her?” Henrik asked.
“It’s a box.”
“You don’t know the Crown very well.”
“Let me see it.” Marc grabbed the package and held it to his face. His nose wrinkled. “It stinks.”
“Like what?” I moved closer until I could smell it, too.
The rotted odor churned my stomach. Whatever it was, it smelled horrible. I slipped my finger around the silky knot. The bow spilled to the dirt and I carefully lifted the lid.
What hit me first was the odor—not the sight but the unbearable smell. Once my brain was able to move past the reek of decayed flesh, my eyes processed what sat before me.
A rotted hand held an envelope.
I immediately recognized the hand. How could I not? Those tough hands had cared for me all my life. Even if I wasn’t able to recognize the woman’s hand because of the decomposition of the skin, the bronze ring was enough indication of the person’s identity.
The delicate band on her ring finger was the only piece of jewelry she owned. The interwoven metal made the ring appear braided. I’d only seen one like it in the world, and that was the sole reason the left hand had been sent to me and not the right. It was a message, and Václav Novák was nothing if not thorough.
I dropped the box as the world titled on its axis.
“Whose hand is that?” Marc grabbed my waist before I fell over.
“Branka,” I whispered.
Henrik retrieved the box and tugged the letter from the stiff, rotted hand. He opened the envelope and looked at Marc and me with wide eyes.
Sweat beaded my forehead and neck. I breathed in and out, hoping I wouldn’t faint, but my vision was already ebbing. It was becoming difficult for me to focus. My fingers went numb and the grass tilted.
Henrik held up the thick ivory parchment. It was square—like a royal invitation. The Crown’s official paper. One line was written with dark ink. I recognized the penmanship; it was Václav’s eloquent handwriting.
I didn’t want to know, but I had to ask. “What does it say?”
Henrik’s cheeks puffed as he blew out air. “It says . . . ‘Good day, Ludmila. Please be advised that the Inquisition has officially begun.’ ”
Chapter Eight
I couldn’t stop staring at my own hand. All I kept thinking about was the pain Branka must have endured. The blood. The hopelessness.
They’d chopped off her hand.
Marc had taken the package away, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from my own pale, slender hand. From the light bluish-green veins that ran through my wrist. To the lines in my palm that, according to Zora, held my fate.
They’d chopped off Branka’s hand.
Who had done it? Radek? Václav? Some insignificant royal guard on someone else’s orders? Was the hand the only appendage they’d chopped from her? Was the mutilation only for the purpose of this message? Or was she dead?
My heart hammered against my chest.
The image of my sweet, sturdy maid screaming in agony as a sharp axe sliced through her hand was sickening. Appalling. They’d hacked through her flesh and bone. Had they tortured her first? Had they killed her and sent the hand after she was dead? How could this be happening? And all because of me.
“We don’t know she’s dead,” Marc whispered. He rubbed soothing circles over the small of my back.
Dark shadows had formed under his eyes. He seemed older, still handsome but more rugged. Tired. When was the last time he’d slept? How much stress could one man handle?
The open space beside the tavern had become a makeshift campfire site after the package had arrived. The rebels were working themselves into a drunken, angry mob. They were furious at the boldness of the Crown. Some of the rebels were angry just to be angry—but no one here knew Branka. Only I did. To them, she was a spark. A reason to be furious. A reason to start a fight.
They didn’t love her.
Marc wanted me to go back to the house. He wanted me far away from the growing tension, but I refused. I wanted to be distracted. I needed the noise and chaos. The anger.
I couldn’t be alone right now.
“She may not be dead, Mila,” Marc repeated.
“No, you’re right,” I said softly. “But if Branka is alive, she doesn’t have much time left. And we know they’re torturing her.” Tears slid down my cheeks. I swallowed a sob. “They’re torturi
ng Branka because of me. Because I left.”
“It’s not your fault,” Marc said.
“Then whose fault is it? It’s not Branka’s. If I hadn’t fled the castle, she would still be safe. I shouldn’t have left without her. She saved me. She sneaked in the knife Leticia gave me. If I hadn’t had that knife on my wedding night, Radek would’ve . . .” I couldn’t finish my sentence. “Where is her hand?”
“Henrik is going to bury it,” Marc said. “Once we reorganize, we will go back to Prague and find Branka. I promise.”
“What did Václav mean about the Inquisition?” I rubbed my swollen eyes. A headache pounded in the back of my head. “The Inquisition is setting up in Prague? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not good news.” Marc squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I heard word that the Austrians will join the Royal Bohemian forces at Prague Castle. It could be a few weeks, but when they join forces with the Royal Army in Prague, we will be outnumbered. Significantly.”
“Here comes your uncle.” I couldn’t hold back my sigh.
Igor tossed a log into the blazing fire. “What are we going to do, Marc? This was a threat. We can’t sit around and let them torture peasants. We have to do something before this gets out of hand. We have to show force and appear strong. The Crown must know there will be severe consequences for these types of malicious acts.”
“Don’t pretend you care anything about Branka,” I said.
Igor opened his mouth, but Marc interrupted. “What would you suggest, Uncle?” Marc rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m open to suggestions, but it seems you have plenty of ideas but no actual way of executing them.”
“We need to attack Prague when the Crown is not expecting it.” Igor jabbed his finger in the air.
“No.” Stephan stood. “We’re not ready to attack yet. We need more men. We should take out an expedition and recruit more soldiers. Then we can attack the castle.”
“If we wait too long, we’ll be at risk of exposure.” Igor’s watery eyes landed on me. “We already have spies in our midst.”
“She’s not a spy.” Henrik bit into a chicken leg. “You know, maybe you’re a spy, Uncle. You’re awful suspicious.”