A Forest of Wolves (19 page)

Optimistic.

This was what life should be about—spending it with the ones you loved. Being happy. Everyone deserved that. Everyone deserved the right to eat and not be hungry. To pray as they saw fit—as Zora had done at the pyre—and to drink and be happy with loved ones.

This sense of community and camaraderie didn't exist in the castle. The strict, rigid rules and court gossip were far from what I had experienced in Kladno. In the castle, it was about social climbing—what you could say or do to move higher up in the ranks. Here, people genuinely cared about one another. They loved one another. And they were willing to die for one another.

That was what my mother had meant in the letter.

“Mila?” Marc grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

His eyes met mine in the darkness. They were glassy. I wasn't sure if it was from crying or from the alcohol. The flicker of the fire played off his handsome face. The pain he suffered through was visible on his features.

“Marc, are you all right?” I touched his cheek. It was unfamiliarly soft without his stubble.

“I'm tired. Do you want to go back with me? I want to go to bed.” His eyes searched my face, looking for something.

I knew what he was asking, and yet I had no doubts. After everything we'd been through—all of the death, loss, and pain—and tomorrow's journey would bring more war, more fighting, and possibly more death. Marc and I needed to feel whole. We needed each other. Who knew how much time we had left?

I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him softly. “Yes.”

A sad smile claimed his lips. I hadn't seen one in days. We walked hand in hand through the crowd. Past Ruzena. Past Zora. Past Henrik. Away from the pyre and down the long, empty rode through Kladno. We walked into our temporary home and closed the door. We did not light a fire or a lantern.

Marc faced me in the darkness. “I love you, Mila. Absolutely and completely. I've been difficult the past few weeks and I'm sorry. I know my brother loves you. Who wouldn't? But I feel, deep down, that you love me as much as I love you.”

“I do,” I whispered. Tears slid down my cheeks.

“Tomorrow we'll rescue the prisoners, but then we will be at war. I'll try my best to solve it by peaceful means, but there is a strong possibility that my negotiations won't work.”

“It's beginning.”

“It is. People are going to die. We all may die. But I want you to know that I will fight to the death for what I believe is right. I will take down the current regime and I will replace it with what is just. I will instill you as the ruler of Bohemia, because you are the rightful heir and you will be fair as queen. Together we will fix this entire country.”

And that's when I understood.

How we were both needed. How we would both play crucial roles in this whole bloody, rebellious dance.

Marc was needed now—to lead the rebellion. To fight for what was right. To lead. To topple down the Crown, Radek, Archduke Matthias, the Catholic Church, and the House of Habsburg. To destroy them.

And then it would be me. My part. I would stand tall above the rubble and fix this mess. Restore order. Restore life. Reign with justice. Protect the people.

I would reign as the queen of the Kingdom of Bohemia.

He pressed his mouth against mine. My lips parted as we slowly moved in perfect rhythm. He stepped into me, his hands gliding down to my lower back. His fingers spread apart and he pressed me against him. My body crushed against his—the hammering of his heart matching the beat of my own.

I slipped my sleeves down so my dress fell to the floor and puddled at my ankles. I wore no girdle or corset and stood completely exposed. He pulled back, only for a second, to look at me in the darkness before he undressed.

Marc picked me up, careful of my shoulder wound, and carried me to bed. He gently climbed on top of me and we kissed, the passion inside of us consuming us. Finally, uniting us as one.

The leader of the Protestant rebellion and the heir to the Catholic throne.

I
had imagined that the day after such a monumental night, I'd wake up embarrassed or shy. I was Catholic and Marc and I weren't married. I should've felt guilt, shame, and discomfort.

I didn't.

I felt good. Strong. Determined. I loved him and he loved me. In a perfect world, things would have been different. Marc could have courted me and we would have married and lived together happily into our old age. But we didn't live in a perfect world—far from it. We lived with death and war hanging over our heads. We had to live in the moment because we didn't know how many more we had.

It was as if everything had finally been cleared up. We knew what we were doing. We had a plan. And I would back it wholeheartedly. There would be no turning back at this point. We had to rescue the innocent people imprisoned by the Inquisition. If the Royal Army caught us, we would fight.

Marc woke up beside me and kissed me. We ate breakfast, dressed, and met the others at the remnants of Petr's pyre. Despite the amount of alcohol consumption that had taken place the night before, everyone was wide-eyed and alert.

The rebels were ready.

“Good morning,” Henrik said.

“Morning, Henrik.”

He handed us a bundle.

“What's this?”

“Muffins.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. It was a peace offering.

He patted the top of my head. “You're welcome.”

“Are you and Marc—”

“We're good,” Henrik said.

“I'm glad.” I reached up on my tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Shall we?”

It took an hour to gather everyone. One hundred and thirty people were going to Prague. This number included rebels and Gypsy fighters. It was mostly men. A few women were coming along, including Zora and me. Ruzena stayed behind, as did Igor, much to his protests. But as Marc pointed out, we needed leadership in Kladno, too. Over three hundred people would be staying behind, so we had to make sure those people were safe and cared for.

“I have something for you.” Marc walked over with his hand closed into a fist.

“Is there a big, juicy piece of meat hidden in there?”

He laughed. “Unfortunately, no.” He opened his hand. A black string lay in his open palm. “I know you believe strongly in your Catholic faith. I respect that. We are fighting against the corruption of that—not the religion itself. Even though you are not a Protestant, you're fighting with us—like your mother did ten years ago. You are a part of this revolution.”

My eyes watered. “I'm completely behind you.”

He tied the black string around my wrist. “Now you are officially part of this revolution.”

It was a small token but an enormous gesture. I'd formally joined the cause. Just as my mother had before me. I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Marc.”

We set out on foot and horse. The plan was to move as a group through K
ivoklát Forest until we were a few miles from Prague. There, we would split into a smaller group to free the prisoners. The main group would stay in the forest unless we needed their help.

Hopefully we wouldn't need them.

As our group trudged out of Kladno, the cemetery rose in the distance. The perfectly round space was meticulously maintained, unlike the wild growth that surrounded it. That's how I noticed it.

In the middle of the graveyard, where the old man had kept watch for his daughter-in-law, was a pile of dirt. The grave had been dug up; loose soil was messily piled on top of the grass.

The sight disturbed me. Had the old man dug her up? Had she risen? What had happened?

“What's wrong? Marc asked.

My mouth opened and then shut. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

I wasn't. But now was not the time. I smiled, knowing the gesture didn't reflect in my eyes. Marc didn't press the issue.

Marc, Henrik, Stephan, Zora, and I rode in front. My shoulder was healing; it was sore when I moved, but the constant pain was gone. I wouldn't be fighting of course, but I was glad Marc hadn't insisted that I stay back in Kladno. I wanted to be a part of this revolution.

It was my fight, too.

“I was highly impressed with you in Prucha,” Zora said.

“Why's that?” I asked.

“You did not scream while you were in that torture contraption.”

“I wanted to.”

“Yet you didn't,” she said. “That was brave.”

“Thank you.”

“But what was braver—to me, at least—was that you had the courage to go against the grain for what you believe in.”

I glanced at her pretty painted face. “You thought I would stay with Radek and Václav? Run back to the castle?”

“You could have chosen the easier route and stayed with the Crown. But you chose the tougher journey.” She nodded. “Very brave.”

“That sounds exactly like my palm reading.”

Zora smiled. “You remember.”

“How could I forget?” Zora's words were forever burned into my consciousness:

“I'm going to die,” I said to Zora. For some reason, the prospect of dying no longer frightened me.

“We all die.” She tapped her heels against her horse's sides and rode ahead toward Stephan.

“You all right?” Henrik asked.

“I think so.” I shook my head to clear it of Zora's ramblings. Fortunetellers. Vampires. I'd never known life outside the castle was so complicated.

“Look,” Henrik said. “More notices.”

The royal announcements listing those considered guilty of crimes against the Crown were stapled to several tree trunks ahead. The Inquisition's list was growing every day.

Marc trotted beside us. “See those?”

“Yes,” I said. “You're right.”

“About what?”

“Even if we rescue all these people, it's not going to stop the Crown. Václav and the Inquisition will not lay down their weapons because we ask them to. They're committed to this madness. They will continue to round up innocent Protestants and kill them.”

“They will,” Marc conceded.

“This conflict will have to be resolved by force,” I said, finally understanding. “It's the only way to stop them.”

“It is. That's why I brought the extra hundred people with us. I probably should have brought more men.... I don't think we're walking away from this without a fight.”

* * *

Things grew worse closer to Prague.

The notices on the trees increased. We checked—they weren't copies of one another—each letter held different names. Names of innocent people. Names of Protestant peasants. Unfortunately, that wasn't the worst part of our journey; as we rode closer to town we passed several hangings.

Peasants had been hanged from nooses slung over low-lying branches. Each atrocity was clearly marked by the Inquisition. The deceased had signs either hung around their necks or positioned next to the tree, proclaiming them Protestants.

Each time we came across a hanging, my heart dropped. How could this be happening? The gruesomeness and swiftness with which the Inquisition was doling out their punishments was unspeakable. How could they do this much damage across the kingdom so quickly?

The hangings reminded me of my horrific dream. Of all the people I loved hanging from the parapet of the bridge.

Were we walking to our deaths?

By my count, there were twelve peasant hangings by the time we reached our meeting point a few miles from the city. We stopped each time to cut down the bodies and bury them, but it didn't ease the burden in my heart.

The group of one hundred and thirty rebels camped a half mile off the road, roughly one mile from where the forest ended and Prague began. If needed, the army could be in the city to help us within the half hour.

Marc had initially wanted the army a few miles deeper in the forest, but something during the solemn ride had changed his mind. He wanted our army closer and I absolutely agreed.

We didn't know how many of the royal guards were stationed at Prague Castle. We were blind to the number of men we could be up against. The Austrian army hadn't arrived yet, but they would be here soon, and with the arrival of the Habsburgs, our Protestant army would be drastically outnumbered.

Night fell and our group of thirty left the others and marched through the darkness until we came to the forest's edge. Stephan stopped our progression with a quick whistle and we gathered around him.

“The camp is directly to the west of town,” Stephan said. “A handful of us should attack from the side. We'll take out the main guards and signal for the rest of you to come inside.”

“Zora, you and your five men stay back,” Marc ordered. “We may need your bows. I'll whistle if we need you to strike.”

“Of course.” Zora flipped up her hood and stepped away from the group, disappearing into the darkness.

“Stephan, Henrik, Ivan—pick two men apiece and we'll head to the camp,” Marc said. “We need to move quickly but quietly. I don't want anyone knowing we're here. We can't have the Royal Army descending on us now.”

I opened my mouth, but Marc put his hand over it.

“You stay put. Once I signal that it's clear, you, Zora, and the rest of the group help free the prisoners, all right?”

“Fine.” As long as I had a part in the plan, I was happy. I'd be of no use to Marc trying to fight the guards. He'd only be concerned for my safety and it would endanger his own life.

“I'll see you soon.” He kissed me roughly on the lips before disappearing into the darkness.

Henrik kissed the top of my head. “Stay safe, Mila.”

The men melted into the night. My heartbeat sped up the moment I could no longer see them. I said a quick prayer for their safety.

“Let's move closer in case Marc whistles for our arrows,” Zora said. “Come Mila, stay by me until we get the signal.”

I followed Zora out of the trees and down the basin that was Prague. The terrain off the main road was rough and wild. The trail was overgrown with weeds.

The sounds and smells of the city were close, but they still seemed far away. How could this be happening so close to the city? Why didn't the peasants do anything? Why didn't they fight back? Were they that afraid of the Crown? How could they tolerate having their loved ones unjustly imprisoned in such ghastly conditions so close to their homes?

We knelt near a giant tree sitting alone among the mess of overgrown bushes and grass about fifty yards from town.

“There,” Zora said. “Do you see?”

I focused on where she was pointing.

Down the slope, nestled next to the dozens of red-tiled roofs and the Vltava River, was a crudely erected camp. A fifteen-foot fence circled the imprisonment. Guards were posted at the entry where a single torch burned in the darkness.

I didn't see Marc and the others. “Do you see them?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“I'm not a cat, Mila. I cannot see in the darkness,” Zora said.

“You should be able to with those eyes,” I muttered.

Zora smiled. “There they are. Do you see them?”

Marc and the others were crouched in the shadows of a two-storied building on the edge of the city. Six guards casually stood at the entrance of the camp. They hadn't noticed anything yet.

Marc and Stephan slipped from the building, staying in the shadows to the side of the camp's wire fence. I watched to see if any of the guards had noticed them, but they were still leaning against the fence, talking to one another. They were completely unaware of what was about to happen.

Henrik, Ivan, and two other men moved from the building to the fence. They waited a full minute before they crouched to the entrance.