“You bought me dresses in Vienna?” That caught me by surprise.
I’d known Radek my entire life. Since we were babies. He had even saved my life once, when we were children. But I wouldn’t have expected anything, let alone fancy dresses, from him on his business trip to Vienna. This revelation alarmed me on several levels. Even more so due to the budding suspicion that Radek’s interest in me had recently escalated.
I wasn’t the daughter of a duke, as Radek had so eloquently pointed out to me a few months ago. But I had an “elite upper-class birthing with an impeccable noble family line that could be traced back for centuries.” In addition, my father was the High Chancellor of the Kingdom of Bohemia and the right-hand man to King Rudolf II—arguably the most important person in the king’s innermost circle.
As those words had tumbled out of Radek’s mouth that afternoon, I’d felt like one of the king’s prized horses bred for show. From that day forward, Radek had shown me a copious amount of attention. He wanted to turn our friendship into something more. Most girls would be delighted that the Duke of Prucha had purchased dresses for them—I was not. I had no romantic feelings for Radek, probably because I knew him well beyond his polished outer shell. I had visions of him gazing at himself in a mirror in his free time.
Radek raised a blond eyebrow. “I couldn’t let Vienna’s House of Habsburg outdo our beautiful ladies here in Prague. Call it Bohemian nationalism, if you will. I was simply serving my kingdom.”
I curtsied because I didn’t know what else to do. “Thank you, Radek.”
He enclosed his hands around my waist. “Ah, just as I thought. The dresses shall fit superbly.”
I stood pin-still while Radek held me. Though the duke was infinitely preferable to old Lord Igor Otto, this outward demonstration of affection had stunned me into silent submission.
My father grinned from behind his white beard.
Somewhere in the back of my mind—way, way in the very back—I noted that Radek’s touch didn’t produce the same physical effect in me that Marc’s had the previous night. There were no accompanying warm feelings. No stomach flutters.
Radek released me and I chastised myself for thinking such things.
“I will send the trunk to your chambers. There is a splendid blue gown in there that will be lovely with your eyes.”
“Thank you again, Radek.” I turned to my father. “I’ll let you two return to your conversation.”
With a false smile plastered across my face, I walked out of the study. The only thing I could think about as I escaped Radek and my father was not exquisite handcrafted gowns or the affections that the duke had for me, but how I was going to sneak out of the castle undetected.
To pay a visit to the blacksmith’s son.
Chapter Three
The streets in town curled around the buildings like snakes. Packed with vendors selling fish, fresh fruits, and vegetables, they were narrow and their uneven cobblestones threatened to trip me with each step. I was lost. Marc had pointed out the road where he lived, but there were so many side streets and alleys that I couldn’t find the blacksmith’s shop.
I’d turned around and retraced my steps, searching the signs above the doorways. I passed another extremely constricted alley and stopped.
A little girl cowered near the edge of the street—hidden just enough in the alley to not be noticed by the casual passersby. She couldn’t have been older than five. Smudges of dirt covered her face and stringy blond hair fell in unwashed clumps around her chubby cheeks. Smoky blue eyes focused on something across the street.
I glanced over my shoulder to see what claimed this child’s attention.
Food.
She stared at an overflowing vegetable stand. A man with a thick beard stood protectively over his merchandise. He noticed the child staring, but he ignored her.
I slowly approached the girl. I didn’t want to frighten her away. “Hello?”
She ran into the alley.
“No, wait! I have food for you,” I said.
She suspiciously turned around. Her eyes slid over me. I’d never seen such distrust, especially in a child.
I ventured into the alley—I could touch the walls on either side of me if I extended both arms. The stench of urine filled the enclosed space. I ignored it and kneeled down to her eye level. “Hi there.”
She didn’t respond.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
She nodded.
“What’s your name?”
The girl still retained infant chubbiness around her cheeks, but her body was alarmingly thin. She pushed a greasy strand of hair out of her eyes. “Yelena.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Mila. Do you have a mommy and daddy?”
“Daddy.”
“Where is he?”
She pointed down the depths of the alley and put two hands together under her chin to indicate he was sleeping. It was midafternoon—why wasn’t he watching his daughter? I pushed down the anger I felt for this neglected child and stretched out my hand. “Come with me; let’s get you something to eat.”
Yelena’s little hand fell into mine and we walked across the busy street to the vendor she’d been eyeing from afar. As soon as we approached, the man with the beard shook his head. “Get that rat away from here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get. That rat. Away from my stand.” He glared at the child. “She’s been trying to steal from me for weeks.”
“What do you expect? She’s hungry.” I moved in front of Yelena to block her from his venom. She held my hand like it was a lifeline. “You couldn’t spare any food for a child? Not even one piece?”
“Everyone’s hungry around here, lady.”
“She’s starving.”
He smirked. “Look around. She’s not the only one starving. The girl’s not my problem. I have a family to feed, too. I can’t give a handout to every beggar—I’d go broke.”
The man couldn’t see my face because my hood was pulled forward. I wanted to keep it that way. “Fill up a basket of food for the girl, please.”
“Not without some money.”
I handed him two coins.
The man’s eyes grew to the size of his cantaloupes. He gathered a basketful of fruits, vegetables, and bread. He started to make change for me, but I held up my hand. “Keep it. But next time you see Yelena, why don’t you give her a piece of bread or something? Have some compassion.”
“Of course, of course.” He squeezed the shiny coins in his palm.
I didn’t know how much it cost to purchase a basket of food, but from the look in his eyes, I guessed the two coins were more than enough to cover it. I kneeled down and handed the basket to Yelena. “Do you know where the blacksmith’s shop is? I need to see the man who works there.”
Two little hands gripped the basket handle. She enthusiastically nodded. “The Sýkoras?”
“Yes.”
“They’re nice.”
“I think so, too.”
“My daddy says the Sýkora brothers are going to save us all. Then we won’t be so hungry all the time.” The little girl peered down at the basketful of food.
“Is that so?”
She nodded and pointed down the alley. “Turn at the second right. It’s the one across from the tailor with the green sign.”
“Thank you, Yelena.”
She kissed me on the cheek before scurrying off into the alley with her basket of goodies. I followed Yelena’s directions, and halfway down the curving road, I saw the green sign proclaiming the blacksmith’s shop. It was nestled between two buildings made of timber wood—a striking contrast to the formidable stone of the castle.
I knocked on the door.
After a long moment, the hinges creaked as the door cracked open. “We’re closed.” The man’s face was hidden in the shadows, but I knew by the sound of his voice that it wasn’t Marc.
“But I need to see—”
“Sorry. We’re closed.”
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I shoved back my hood and revealed my face. A long lock of brunette hair tumbled down my shoulder. “I don’t want to disturb you, but I’m here to see Marc Sýkora.”
The door swung open. The man bowed so deeply that his shoulder-length blond hair almost touched the floor. I scanned the crowded street, hoping no one saw the grand gesture. “Please, there’s no need to bow.”
He was one of Marc’s brothers. They had the same tall, muscular build and similar shaped eyes, but this man had a crooked nose and his hair was shockingly light—a vivid contrast to Marc’s dark hair.
He moved aside so I could enter. Weapons filled the room—swords, shields, shovels, picks, and bows. The back door opened to a small courtyard, presumably where they crafted the weapons. The lanky form of a boy around my age with sandy brown hair was passed out on top of a sturdy-looking dining room table.
“Please forgive my brother Jiri.” He motioned to his limp body sprawled across the tabletop. “He’s . . . tired.”
“He seems very . . . tired.”
“I’ve seen you in the castle,” the man said. “I deliver arms for the king each week. My name is Henrik Sýkora.”
“Nice to meet you, Henrik. I’m—”
“Lady Ludmila Nováková,” Henrik finished with a grin. “Pleased to meet you, too. Did you say you wanted to see Marc?” He glanced to where a winding staircase disappeared into the ceiling.
“Yes. Is he here?”
Henrik blushed. “He’s . . .”
I waited for Henrik to finish. He seemed to be struggling with an answer.
A crash shook the ceiling above, immediately followed by a high-pitched giggle. Henrik frowned as Marc and a young blonde staggered down the winding staircase. I couldn’t stop my back teeth from clenching when I noticed the woman’s arm around Marc’s waist.
Surprisingly, I recognized her—she was a kitchen servant in the castle, but I didn’t know her name. Guilt replaced my initial twinge of jealousy. How many times had she served meals to me and I never bothered to ask her name?
Henrik cleared his throat.
Marc’s head snapped up. A bluish-green bruise circled his left eye. Where there was only a shadow yesterday, now a dark growth of stubble covered his cheeks and jaw. He looked like he hadn’t been to sleep yet. Marc’s arm dropped from the girl like she was on fire. He pulled himself to his full height and almost hit the top of his head on the room’s low ceiling.
Jiri woke and stretched his hands high over his head. He released a jaw-dropping yawn.
“Mila,” Marc said. “What are you doing here?”
I flushed.
“Lady Nováková.” The young woman bowed, but the planes on her face hardened to sharp angles. Judging by the way she’d spit out the greeting, she didn’t like the way Marc had used my informal name.
Marc watched the girl bow. His eyebrows burrowed together, and then, as if remembering something important, he turned to me and bowed, too. He snapped a finger at his younger brother. “Jiri!”
Jiri stumbled off the table and stood on wobbly feet. He lowered himself to an identical bow beside Marc and the girl.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I waved at them to stand.
Henrik’s light eyebrows almost touched his hairline. “Lady Nováková is here to see you, Marc.”
Marc crossed the room in two sizable steps. “Mila, is everything all right? I didn’t know you were coming—”
“What happened to your eye?” My hand went to his face, but I stopped myself before I touched him.
Marc patted the swollen lump. “Rough night.”
My eyes drifted to the young woman. She crossed her arms over her chest and I fought the urge to kick her. Or at least push her down. It was a strange impulse—I’d never had violent tendencies before.
Marc followed my gaze and sighed. “This is my friend Ruzena.”
I forced a smile and she bowed again. This time I was positive she muttered something under her breath.
“Ruzena was leaving. Wasn’t she, Marc?” Henrik shot a dirty glance at the servant girl.
“Ruzena is always leaving.” Jiri laughed.
Henrik elbowed Jiri in the ribs.
“No, please don’t leave on my account,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you and Miss Ruzena.”
Marc grimaced. “You weren’t interrupting anything.”
I dropped my eyes and shoved a thick envelope into his hand. “I stopped by because I wanted to give you this.”
“What is it?”
“An invitation to the revealing of the Holy Roman Emperor’s crown jewels,” I said. “I wanted to thank you again for helping me yesterday.”
Ruzena’s eyes scorched Marc’s back. I wanted to jump in between them and shield him from her nasty glare.
“Really? I’ve never been to an event at the castle,” Marc said. “Thank you.”
“If you present this invitation at the front gate, then whoever is with you can enter. You can bring your brothers.” My eyes reluctantly found Ruzena. “Or anyone else you’d like.”
Marc shook his head. “No, no. My brothers and I will be there.”
Jiri leaned around the table to look at the invitation. His hair was parted deeply to one side and long sandy locks fell in his eyes. “We can get into the castle with that piece of paper? To see the revealing of the crown jewels?”
“Yes.”
Marc playfully shoved his younger brother out of the way. One side of his mouth lifted into a grin. “Thank you, Mila. We’ll be there.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Any word about your situation?” Marc tilted his head.
I knew he meant Igor Otto. “No, no word. Can I speak with you outside for a moment?”
“Of course.”
“It was nice meeting you all.” I pulled my hood over my hair and went outside.
Marc closed the door behind him and put his hand over his eyes to shield the sunlight. “It’s a nice day.”
“Yes, it is. Do you think you could help me book passage to Spain?”
He frowned. “That’s what you want to talk about? You want to run away again?”
“If I have to marry Igor Otto, I am. Could you help me? You know people, right?”
“That’s a long way for a woman to travel on her own. And you don’t even know if you have to marry this man yet.”
I huffed.
“Not to mention, I’d be in serious trouble with the Crown if I helped the chancellor’s daughter run away to Spain.”
“Are you a rebel?” I blurted out.
“What? No.” He nervously glanced down the street. “You should be more careful saying that around here. If the wrong person hears—”
“I apologize.” I glanced up at him from under my hood. “Could you at least ask around for me? Please? I don’t know who else to ask for help.”
Marc frowned. “I’ll see what I can find out, but I think you should wait.”
“I may not have a choice. I should go before someone recognizes me.”
“Wait, you’re leaving already? Do you want to—?”
“I have to get back. I’ll see you soon.”
I turned on my heel, fleeing Marc and the blacksmith’s shop and, for once, seeking the safety of the castle’s walls.
Chapter Four
I’d suffered from the same nightmare for seven years. Well, it wasn’t only a nightmare, but a memory. No detail changed. Every horrible emotion that it conjured was always exactly the same.
The door to my parents’ chambers was ajar. The drapes around their bed were pulled shut, but the silky fabric snapped wildly in the wind from the open window. The flames from a dozen candles lit the room and flickered in the night air. Light seeped from a crack in the adjacent door. I breathed in deeply and braced myself.
Water—tinged pink from blood—lapped over the rim of the porcelain tub and pooled on the stone floor. A slender ivory arm dangled over the edge, but the skin looked too pale
to be alive. Too translucent. Fingers with painted red nails curled stiffly into a claw.
I leaned over.
Lifeless blue eyes stared back at me. The long, glossy hair floated on the water like seaweed. My beautiful mother was dead. Her lips were slightly parted—evidence of her last gasp of air.
I stepped closer and my toe hit something.
The fighting-dragons dagger lay on the floor, the blade stained with my mother’s blood. I picked it up. The handle was still warm from her grip.
Blackness flashed before my eyes as the scene changed.
I stood next to the flower-covered coffin with my father by my side. No one else was around. No one mourned my mother. There was no funeral. No eulogy. She was an outcast. Exiled from Heaven and the Catholic Church.
The priest’s voice repeated in my head. “I’m sorry, Chancellor, we do not accept suicides.”
Another scene.
Running down the hall—still wearing my black funeral dress. I stopped at my father’s study. It was empty. I walked out to the balcony and climbed over the railing. I knew I wasn’t thinking rationally, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t contain the anger inside me. The helplessness. The feeling of abandonment from the one person I loved the most.
I held the railing with one hand and the dragon dagger in the other. I’d washed the blade that morning, but I could still see a crust of my mother’s blood near the handle.
“Don’t do it.”
I twisted my neck. I couldn’t turn all the way around because I stood on the very edge of the balcony. If I moved my feet, I’d plunge to my death three stories below.
An eleven-year-old Radek slowly moved out onto the balcony. He raised his palms. His clear blue eyes were wide and panicked. “Ludmila, don’t move.”
“I couldn’t do it with the dagger,” I whispered. “I’m a coward.”
“Climb back over the railing.”
“She left me.”
“Good riddance.”
I lifted my head. I hadn’t expected that response.
“You’re better than this, Ludmila. Climb back over the railing. No one has to know. It will be our secret. Forget your mother. She left you.”
“But I can’t live—”
“Yes, you can. Forget her. Don’t let her weakness seep into you. You’re better than this.” He moved closer and placed a hand around my arm. “Let her go.”