“I’m fine. Your arm is still bleeding.”
The long gash ran from the top of his shoulder, over his arm and down to his elbow. His brow wrinkled—he’d forgotten about the injury. I peeled back the torn fabric and inspected the cut. It was only a superficial wound, but it needed to be bandaged.
I retrieved the water container from the mare and tore two pieces of fabric from the hem of my dress. “Give me your arm.”
Marc looked at me blankly, not really seeing me. He blinked and unbuttoned his shirt, gently shedding the fabric from his injured arm. I pressed the cloth against the wound.
He winced.
“I’m sorry. The cut’s not too deep, but I want to clean it. Who knows where Kristoff’s blade has been.”
Marc squeezed the bridge of his nose. “It was stupid to trust Urek. I should’ve known better. I should have waited until Jiri was released before I freed Kristoff.”
“You didn’t know Urek would do that.”
“I should’ve known,” Marc said bitterly as he looked at me from the corner of his eye.
I wrapped the fabric around his arm to staunch the bleeding. I pulled the two ends of the cloth and tied them in a knot. “That should stop the bleeding. You’re lucky it’s your left arm.”
Marc shrugged his shirt back on.
I glanced at Jiri’s dead body. How had this happened so quickly? One minute we were talking by the fire and the next Jiri was murdered.
“I should get to work.” Marc stood and jabbed the edge of his sword into the ground and twisted. He did it again and again until the soft ground loosened. He moved the dirt to the side with a stick.
He was digging a grave for Jiri.
I used the empty metal water container to scoop out the dirt. We worked in silence until the shallow hole was deep enough to hold Jiri’s body.
The sun rose as we patted the last of the loose dirt in place, then after marking the grave with two large rocks from the stream, Marc stood over his brother’s grave, closed his eyes, and prayed. I said a prayer for Jiri, too. I hoped his troubled soul would find salvation in death and I prayed for Marc to find peace and not the bitterness of revenge.
We cleaned our dirty hands in the stream and packed up the mare. The quickness with which Jiri had died bothered me. Life could be taken away so unexpectedly. So harshly. It was tragic to think about all of the unsaid words between the brothers. Poor Henrik didn’t even know his youngest brother was dead. What could be worse than someone dying without letting the person know how you truly felt?
Marc bent to lift me onto the mare, but I stopped him. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I exhaled. “Well, something.”
“What?”
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I have to tell you—I was never going to marry Radek.”
Marc’s lips parted.
“I didn’t know about the engagement to Radek,” I said. “The announcement was a surprise to me, too. After I fainted—”
“You fainted?”
“You must’ve missed that part when you stormed off.”
“You fainted in front of the whole ballroom? In front of the king?”
“Yes.” I waved off the embarrassing detail. “They took me to this room to recuperate, but I was so upset about the engagement that I snuck out and wandered right into Urek.” I swallowed. “I was going to you.”
Marc didn’t say anything—he swooped in and kissed me.
His lips crushed mine. I closed my eyes and melted against him. His mouth moved with a ferocity that made my knees go weak. He must have felt me swoon because he wrapped his arm around my waist and held me to him. I slid my hand up his chest and curled my fingers around his neck.
We kissed until I had to come up for air. He ran his finger over my cheek and caressed my jaw. “I could stay here with you forever.”
“Me, too.” I sighed. “We have to go, don’t we?”
He kissed me lightly on the lips. “Yes.”
We mounted the mare. I leaned against his chest and nestled beneath his chin, both of us knowing that our time together was limited.
“We’re about five hours from the castle,” Marc said. “There’s a village through those trees over there. Do you want to stop—”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Let’s stop for lunch.”
I wanted every second I had with him. I didn’t know what would happen when we returned to the castle. Could I explain my feelings for Marc to my father? Would he understand? It was doubtful. Even if Marc was my rescuer, he was still the blacksmith’s son.
We avoided the main road and entered the village from the side. It was bigger than the town where we’d spent the night at the inn, but not by much. Clusters of wooden houses with thatched roofs crowded the dirt road. Marc tied the mare to a post at the side of the tavern. I stepped toward the front door, but Marc threw his hand out and stopped me before I rounded the corner. “What’s wrong?”
He tilted his head to the side, straining to listen.
Voices. Angry voices. And they were close.
“It’s coming from back there,” Marc said. We backtracked to the rear of the tavern and crouched behind the building.
The voices escalated.
I peeked around the corner. Marc pulled me back, but I had enough time to see the source of the voices. My mind wasn’t quick enough to process what I’d seen because it didn’t make sense—Radek and three of the king’s royal guards were arguing with a peasant.
“What’s Radek doing here?” I whispered.
I poked my head around the corner again to make certain I hadn’t imagined the duke, but it was clearly him. His back was to me, but there was no mistaking his short, muscular build and shockingly light hair. Radek always stood rod straight with his shoulders back and his spine slightly arched so he could stick out his chest. No one else stood like that. I could pick Radek out of a group of people anywhere.
What was he doing in this random village in the middle of nowhere? I didn’t recognize any of the guards. All of the men’s attention was fixated on the peasant, who looked scared out of his mind. They were gathered behind a building, two structures down from where Marc and I hid behind the tavern.
Radek yelled at the man, gesturing wildly with his hands, but the words were lost in the wind.
I wanted to get closer. I had to hear what Radek was saying. I turned to Marc. “What’s going on? Are they here to search for the king’s jewels? Where’s the rest of the army? Why are they hiding behind a building?”
“I don’t think Radek is searching for you or the jewels at the moment,” Marc said darkly.
“What does that mean?”
“Look at how that man’s dressed. He’s not an ordinary peasant. He’s a pastor. A Protestant pastor.”
I re-inspected the man under Marc’s observation. He did resemble a religious figure of some sort, but I didn’t understand how Marc knew the man was a Protestant, unless he personally knew him. “Do you know—?”
Radek’s words sliced through the wind: “—a crime against the church and a crime against the Kingdom of Bohemia. I will not have your Protestant filth contaminate my homeland!”
My heartbeat raced.
The pastor cowered against the building. His eyes darted around, but there was no one near to help him. Where were the rest of the villagers? And what was Radek doing here?
Radek had no authority to stop anyone on the street, let alone a Protestant. He held the title of nobility and that was it—Protestants were free to worship in Prague as they pleased. The king had decreed so himself. What was Radek doing here with an entourage of royal guards? Why wasn’t he searching for the crown jewels? Or for me? Certainly a man with a kidnapped fiancée didn’t have time to terrorize Protestants behind buildings in random villages. What was going on?
Radek jabbed his finger at the ground. The pastor sank to his knees. He clasped his hands together in prayer and lifted his
eyes to the sky.
“What’s Radek doing?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” Marc said. “I think—”
One of the guards handed Radek a sword.
The duke’s lips moved as he said something to the pastor. I couldn’t hear. Then Radek smiled—if you could call it that. A glimmer of something flickered in Radek’s beautiful clear blue eyes. Excitement? He gripped the handle of the sword with both hands and spread his feet evenly apart.
No, no, no. Radek would never . . .
“Marc,” I whispered. “He’s not going to—”
He was.
I ran forward to save the pastor, but Marc yanked me back. Radek swung the sword. I reflexively squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t need to see to know that Radek’s blade had sliced cleanly through the pastor’s neck.
Marc clamped his hand over my mouth to smother my scream. “Shh,” he said. “Shh, Mila, please. Radek will hear you.”
My ears buzzed. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Marc released his hand from my mouth. I buried my head against his chest. “Radek cut off his head! Why would he do that?”
“Shh, there was nothing we could do,” Marc whispered.
“We could’ve stopped him!” I crushed my hands against my temples. That poor, poor man.
“We couldn’t have stopped it. Trust me.”
“We let him die! Radek would have listened to me. Oh my God.”
“No, Mila, listen. There was nothing we could do. Not right here. Not right now,” Marc whispered. He held my head between his palms. “This is what I was talking about. This is what they do. Remember what I told you that night in the astronomy tower? They hunt innocent Protestants. What you just witnessed—that’s what’s happening to anyone who goes against the Catholic Church. This is why we’re rebelling.”
“You knew Radek was a murderer?”
“No,” Marc said quickly. “Of course not. I would’ve never let him near you if I knew he was a killer. I’ve heard things, but I didn’t know what was true. Radek isn’t the only one who’s been terrorizing the Protestants behind the king’s back.”
I swallowed. “Rudolf doesn’t know about this?”
“I don’t know,” Marc said. “It doesn’t matter. It’s happening and this is why the masses are rebelling against the king and the Catholic Church. This is what the people are fighting against. They—I—can’t live like this anymore. There has to be a change.”
“I have to tell my father.”
“What?”
I massaged my temples. “I have to tell my father what Radek’s doing. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He’ll put an end to this. He’ll tell the king. Not all Catholics are bad, Marc. Like you said before, it’s a small group of radicals. We can stop this revolution before it starts.” The words tumbled out of my mouth. “I’ll tell my father that I can’t marry Radek. I won’t marry Radek. He’s a murderer. My father will understand. We have to go now, before Radek finds us.”
Marc searched my face.
I couldn’t read his expression. “Marc, we have to get to Prague.”
“All right, let’s go. I’ll take you to your father.”
Chapter Fifteen
Our horse raced down the steep incline and into Prague.
It had been a long four hours since we’d witnessed Radek’s brutal murder of the Protestant pastor. I’d seen so much death in the past twelve hours—so much bloodshed. How much more would I see if this revolution erupted in the city?
Radek’s callous beheading of the pastor was still inconceivable to me. I’d seen it with my own eyes, but I was having trouble believing it. It was like some sick dream. Radek wasn’t the kindest man, but a murderer? All because of a different religion? My world had been turned upside down—everything I’d been led to believe was a lie. I cringed when I remembered Radek telling me he wanted me as his wife.
I would not marry him.
“I have to stop by the shop before we get to the castle,” Marc said. “I need to speak with Henrik.”
The mare’s hooves clopped over the cobblestones as we entered the city. Darkness had fallen, but people were out on the streets, pouring in and out of the crowded taverns. A different feeling buzzed through the air compared with the last time I was here. The town felt riled—on edge. Prague was dangling on the verge of chaos. Waiting for the slightest spark to ignite it into a plume of fiery flames.
Marc was right. The revolution was near.
I didn’t have a cloak, so it didn’t take long before I was recognized. Some pointed. Some gasped. Everyone stared.
“You’re quite popular,” Marc whispered.
“Will they notify the guards?”
“No. They tend to run and hide when the king’s guards come around.”
We turned down the familiar winding street that led to the Sýkora family’s blacksmith shop. It looked like no one was home—the lights were off and it was eerily quiet. Marc tethered the mare to the front post and we walked inside without knocking.
Henrik was at the table with his head in his hands. An untouched mug of beer sat by his elbow.
“Marc!” He sprang to his feet. “My God! I thought I’d never see you again!”
The brothers embraced.
Henrik glanced at me and then to Marc. “Where’s Jiri?”
Marc shook his head.
“He stayed with Urek?”
“No,” Marc said softly.
Henrik’s face paled. “No? What are you saying? Is he—?”
“I buried him this morning.”
Henrik’s jaw clenched. He leaned against the edge of the table and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
Marc laid a hand on Henrik’s shoulder. “Jiri did the right thing in the end.”
The corners of Henrik’s mouth pulled down as his jaw quivered. He smashed his fist into the table. The legs bounced from the floor.
“Jiri saved us from Urek,” Marc said. “He helped us get away in the middle of the night.”
Henrik shook his head. His eyes eventually wandered to me. “My God, Mila.” Long arms squeezed me like a rag doll. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you.” I was surprised by his tenderness. I hardly knew Henrik, but he treated me like we were old friends.
“Come, sit down. We have to figure out our next move,” Henrik said. “I have some leftover goulash, too.”
I followed Marc to the table. Henrik poured beer into mugs and handed us each a bowl of goulash. He lowered his lanky frame to the bench across from us. “Tell me everything.”
Marc recounted all that had happened over the past few days. He started with my fainting in the ballroom and ended with Radek’s brutal murder of the Protestant pastor in the village.
While Marc told the story, I ate my goulash and studied Henrik. The oldest Sýkora brother was three to four years older than Marc, which would put him at twenty-two or twenty-three. They looked different, but similar, as siblings often do.
Henrik had Marc’s strong jaw and dark eyes. His nose was crooked, but knowing what I did about the Sýkora brothers, I thought he’d probably had his nose broken in a fight. His blond hair was shoulder length—a striking contrast to Marc’s short dark hair.
I decided that I liked Henrik as I scooped up the last spoonful of goulash—the dish had garlic, onion, and potatoes mixed with a small amount of meat. Marc was right; Henrik was an excellent cook.
“What about Kristoff and Urek?” Henrik asked.
“They took off into the forest the moment Jiri died,” Marc said. “Urek won. He got his revenge on Jiri and me.”
Henrik cursed. “If I see Urek or Kristoff—”
Marc’s face darkened. “We’ll deal with them when we see them.”
“Kristoff’s mother is beside herself,” Henrik said. “She thinks Kristoff is innocent and got in over his head with Urek’s crazy plan.”
“He looked pretty willing to me.” Marc sipped from his mug. The corners of his eyes crin
kled in amusement. “Mila smashed Kristoff’s nose. He has a huge bruise in between his eyes.”
Henrik laughed and dug his thumbnail into a crevice in the wood. “I heard how they stole the jewels. Everyone’s talking about it. Some of the idiots around here are even proud that Urek was able to steal from under the king’s nose.”
Marc shook his head.
“They planned the theft for weeks,” Henrik said. “Urek and Kristoff found out which guards would be in charge of the revealing. They killed them and took their places. Apparently, there was some confusion because the guards had come from Germany, so having two new people around didn’t raise any suspicions.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t catch on to what Jiri was planning.”
“Jiri was supposed to be the lookout,” Henrik said. “After the crown jewels were presented, the four guards—two of which were Kristoff and Urek—took the jewels back to the vault. Urek and Kristoff killed the remaining guards and their gang walked right out of the castle without anyone knowing what happened.” Henrik knocked on the table with his knuckles. “That is, until Mila tried to escape at the gate. If you hadn’t screamed, it probably would’ve been the next day before someone realized what happened.”
Marc put his arm around my waist.
Henrik didn’t seem fazed by our intimacy. “What’s the plan now?”
“I’m taking Mila to the castle.”
Henrik’s hand jerked, knocking his beer all over the table. “What? You can’t do that!”
Marc fetched a handful of towels and sopped up the mess. He didn’t answer Henrik.
“Why not?” I asked. “What’s wrong with going to the castle?”
“Well, for one, he can’t deliver you over to that monster Radek,” Henrik said, as if that were obvious. “And two, they’ll arrest Marc on the spot.”
“Arrest him?” I leaned my elbows on the table. “Why would they do that? Marc wasn’t involved in the theft or my kidnapping. He saved my life.”
Henrik stared at Marc.
“I’ll take Mila to see her father.” Marc flexed his injured arm and tested how far he could extend it without any pain. “What choice do we have? She can’t stay here. Word would eventually reach the castle and the guards would storm this place.”