A Forest of Wolves (4 page)

“A
re you all right?” Henrik no longer appeared drunk. His eyes were focused and glued to my face. “Are you going to faint?”

Somehow, during the course of reading my mother's letter, I'd risen to my feet and begun to pace in front of the tree. Now, here I was, standing in front of a very concerned-looking Henrik.

“Are you all right?” He repeated.

“No.”

“It looks like you've seen a ghost.”

“I heard from one. Does that count?”

Henrik stared at the parchment vibrating in my shaking hand. “Is there something bad in that letter?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I'm asking you.”

I glanced up at him. I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth but quickly closed it.

He stepped closer. “You can't tell me?”

“I don't know. Can I?”

“You can tell me anything,” he whispered. He bent his head down to mine and stood so close to me that the quivering letter grazed his stomach. He smelled of cedar.

“You can keep a secret?” My words were barely above a whisper.

“On my life.”

I believed him. And I wanted nothing more than to tell him my secret. I did not want to be judged by the letter's contents. It was too big of a burden wrapped up in one small letter and I didn't want to bear it alone.

I could trust Henrik, couldn't I? He was Marc's older brother. Of course I could confide in him, but my mind countered with an extremely important point—I hadn't told Marc about any of this. Should I tell his brother first? Was I committing some moral betrayal?

Henrik studied my face.

“It's a letter from my mother,” I said. “The king is my father. I'm King Rudolf's only surviving child. I'm his heir.”

A long moment passed.

Henrik's face remained calm, but his eyebrows rose to his hairline. He scratched his head. He bit his bottom lip before the words came tumbling out. “You're telling me that
you
are the heir to the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of Bohemia?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said. “According to my mother's letter, a royal decree declaring my lineage is hidden somewhere in the castle's Treasury keep.”

A grin spread across his face. “Well, hell, Mila. That changes everything.”

* * *

“She shouldn't be here.” Igor drank deeply before slamming the empty mug onto the wet table. “I'm telling you all, but no one wants to listen to me. Mark my words. We will regret this later.”

“Drink your ale, Brother,” Petr said.

I sat at the end of the table beside Marc, but I heard Igor's accusations. I dismissed his words as the rambling of an old drunken man, but I worried about the consequences of people overhearing him. This was our third day in Kladno and I didn't want to be labeled a spy or a traitor. I had enough people after me; I didn't need to add to my list of enemies.

The tavern was filled to capacity, people squeezed onto the benches as more and more of the townsfolk poured into the room. The stifling air reeked of sour beer and unwashed bodies.

Ruzena sat close to Ivan, one of the men who had helped with Marc's escape. Her hand rested lightly on his arm. Ivan wore a smug smile; it was clear he thought the other men in the room envied him because Ruzena was showing him attention. Did she know all the rebels? Did they all desire her?

With her long blond hair and heart-shaped face. Ruzena—who was in love with my Marc. My jaw clenched, but I swallowed back the vile feelings I held toward the former castle servant.

I would never forget the day I first met her. She'd tumbled down the stairs arm in arm with Marc when I stopped by the blacksmith's shop unannounced to give him an invitation to the revealing of the crown jewels. Afterward, Marc had claimed nothing had happened between them the night before, but if that was the case, it wasn't because Ruzena didn't want it to. She clearly was in love with him.

She wanted Marc more than anything....

I was being petty.

Ruzena had risked her life to help Marc escape from Daliborka Tower. She'd smuggled my dragon dagger outside the castle to Henrik. I'd suspected he would need the jewels for bribes. I wasn't certain if she'd do it, but she had. I wasn't stupid enough to believe she'd helped me out of the goodness of her heart. She'd done it because she loved Marc and wanted him out of prison. And she'd assumed I'd be married to Radek by now.

Which, arguably, I was . . .

“You're thinking hard.” Marc pushed the hair from my face. “What's turning around in your pretty little head?”

“Nothing. What are we waiting for?” I whispered.

“For everyone to get here. Then the meeting will start.”

I couldn't imagine more people fitting into the tavern, but a never-ending stream of rebels proceeded to pour inside. The entire town of Kladno was in attendance.

Finally, after another half an hour of waiting, Petr climbed on top of the bar.

“What is he doing?” I asked.

“Getting the room's attention,” Henrik answered.

Henrik was right. As Petr stood high on the bar, the room grew quiet. He stepped over a plate of goulash and between a row of beer mugs. “People of Kladno and our visitors from Prague, welcome!”

The room applauded.

Petr lifted his arm and the crowd quieted. A black string was tied around his left wrist. Marc and Henrik wore the same band. It was the symbol of the Protestant revolution. All the rebels in the room wore the same symbolic string around their wrists.

“I am happy to announce the safe arrival of my sons, Marc and Henrik.” Petr paced on top of the bar.

Igor stood on wobbly legs and raised his mug in the air. “To Jiri, may he drink with the angels in Heaven. We will avenge my nephew's murder.”

A hundred or so mugs rose in the air.

Marc swallowed and slammed his mug on the wooden table. Ale sloshed over the rim and pooled onto the damp wood.

Henrik clanked his mug against Marc's. “We'll get Urek and Kristoff. Don't worry. We will find them both.”

“I'll hunt them down if it's the last thing I do.”

An old man sitting a few tables away stood. Hooded eyes found me. “Is it true we have the duchess?”

A collective movement of eyes shifted to me. I couldn't hide anymore. My presence was officially known. There would be no more rumors. There would be no going back.

“Ludmila Nováková is here,” Petr said.

The crowd rumbled. It was clearly a rumble, not a cheer.

My stomach plummeted to my toes. I lowered my head. The people of Kladno didn't want me in their village. I was an outsider. An outcast. They didn't trust me. I wanted to run from the tavern, but Marc wouldn't let me.

I kept my eyes averted; I didn't want to make eye contact with any of them. My cheeks grew hot. Igor's glare was the strongest, and it bore into me like a dagger through the heart.

A few of the braver men in the room shouted their disapproval. “She's a Catholic! A member of the royal house!”

Petr waited for the noise to die down before he resumed. “She is,” he conceded.

The crowd grumbled.

“You are right in your assessment,” Petr said. “Mila is most certainly a Catholic and she most certainly was a member of the royal house—an elite member of Rudolf's court. While we are on the topic, I should disclose to those of you who do not already know . . . Mila is the daughter of Václav Novák, the high chancellor.”

The people hissed and booed.

Marc stiffened beside me.

My eyes flitted around the tavern. It was fully of angry faces and one smug smile—Ruzena's.

“With that being said, none of it matters anymore. Mila is one of us now.” Petr nodded his head. “She is a member of the rebellion.”

“We should ransom her!” a voice shouted. “We need the money! The Crown will pay a significant sum if we return her.”

“She's a spy! Arrest her!”

Marc shot to his feet.

The room went quiet.

“No one will touch a hair on Mila's head.” Marc glared around the room. “Does everyone understand? If anyone touches her or speaks ill to her, then they will have to deal with me. She is a lady and our guest. She will be treated as such. I will not have it any other way.”

“Marc.” Petr waved at him. “Come.”

Marc squeezed through the narrow row of benches, softly caressing the back of my head as he passed by. It was a comforting gesture, but I still felt uneasy. The tension in the room was tangible and it was all directed at me. I'd never experienced such animosity before.

Marc lithely climbed onto the bar as Petr slid down to the ground. The movement felt symbolic. It was as if Petr had passed the torch to his son.

Henrik inched beside me on the bench. “You're not a crowd favorite.”

“You've gathered as much?”

“I did. I thought from all the booing and chanting that they wanted to burn you at the stake.”

“Don't give them any ideas.” I slapped his arm. “Why is Marc up there? Isn't your father the leader?”

Henrik shook his head. “No, he was the acting leader. It was assumed when Marc arrived, he'd be in charge.”

“Why?”

“Everyone listens to Marc.”

“So . . . because everyone listens to him . . . he's the leader?” I blinked.

“The men will follow him into battle. We need someone the people can rally around. Marc's the right man for the job; trust me.”

“He's the leader of the whole rebellion?”

“Of this division of the rebellion.”

“Oh,” I said.

Henrik laughed. “Yes,
oh
is right.”

My heart hammered inside my chest. Marc was the leader of the Kladno division of the Protestant rebellion and I was the heir to the Catholic throne. Moisture beaded my forehead.

Henrik was right—everything had changed.

Marc stood tall on top of the bar. “Mila is under our protection. She is one of us now . . . she is a defector to the Crown. She is a rebel.”

“But the Crown will come for her!”

“Let them come.” Marc paced the bar top with an aura of authority. His movements were catlike. Confident. He'd always commanded respect, but this was different—something emanated from him. He looked like the leader of the Protestant rebellion.

“Two days ago, we received Henrik's final secret shipment of arms from our blacksmith shop in Prague,” Marc said. “The supply will be an invaluable asset to our cause, but it is not enough. We need more iron to forge weapons if we hope to have a fighting chance in this rebellion.”

A slender man stood. “We've been taking as much iron as we can from the mines. If we take any more, the Crown will notice.”

“Let them notice.” Marc shrugged. “We are no longer answering to the Crown. We are no longer idly sitting back. We've crossed the line. This is it. This is the revolution.”

The room cheered. Fists pumped in the air.

Marc talked over the crowd. “We need more iron, weapons, food, men, and money. We need more of everything if we wish to survive. I will direct small envoys of volunteers to visit neighboring towns to recruit more boots for the cause. We need better numbers.”

Igor balled his gnarly fists on the table and leaned forward. “Our numbers are good. We outnumber Rudolf's army.”

“Yes, Uncle, that is partially true. We do currently outnumber the Royal Bohemian Army. However,” Marc glanced toward our table, “we received word this morning that Matthias of Austria and rest of the Habsburgs are marching toward Prague Castle.”

Nervous murmurs fluttered through the crowd.

“Soon the Austrian forces will join with Rudolf's Royal Bohemian Army and we will be outnumbered three to one,” Marc said.

Anxious chatter grew louder.

Marc raised his hands to quell the crowd. “But those numbers do not matter, do they?”

More chatter.

“Do they?” Marc yelled.

“No!”

“Because we believe in our cause. We believe in our mission.”

I leaned in. I was entranced by Marc's speech. The crowd united behind him. Behind his ideas.

What was the mission? War? When would the rebels attack? Would we attack first or wait for the Crown to make the first move?

The tavern was on edge. Everyone waited for Marc to finish his speech. The room was deathly silent despite the number of people crammed inside. No one moved. No one breathed.

Marc paused. “Our mission is straightforward. It is precise and to the point. We will overthrow the Catholic regime in Prague and crown a Protestant ruler.”

“R
uzena!” Petr threw open his arms. “What a pleasure to see you, my darling! It's been so long.”

I plastered a smile on my face as I followed Mr. Sýkora up the dewy slope.

Marc and Henrik were hunting with some of the rebels. Last night, Uncle Igor and Petr had politely suggested to Marc—well, Igor not so politely—that I should learn how to adapt to living outside the castle.

It had been three days since the rebel meeting at the tavern, and the Sýkora men believed I needed help. They claimed I wouldn't survive during the long winter without the proper training. They were wrong—I could survive.

There just wasn't much to do in Kladno.

I had no friends other than Marc and Henrik, and they were gone most of the day at meetings or trainings. I didn't know where to go in town—other than the tavern—so I stayed in my room and slept. I never thought I'd admit it, but life outside the castle felt isolated and dreary.

So here I was, learning how to survive and making friends with Ruzena. It wasn't my idea of a good day.

Why Ruzena was the first person Petr thought could help me was unknown to me, but apparently the shapely blonde had strong ties to the Sýkora family.

I tried not to get angry thinking about how close those ties ran. She made no qualms about hiding how much she loved Marc and how much she wanted to take him from me.

“Mr. Sýkora!” Ruzena dropped a basket of clothes and embraced Marc's father like old friends.

My smile tightened.

Petr squeezed her hands. “The boys told me what you risked to help Marc escape Daliborka Tower. I will be forever grateful to you, my dear.”

Ruzena's eyes darted to me. “Oh, Mr. Sýkora, I would do anything for Marc.”

“You are a loyal ally to my family and we are grateful to have you in our lives.” Petr motioned to me standing awkwardly off to the side. “I understand you know Ludmila from your time working in the castle, is that correct?”

Ruzena started to curtsy but stopped herself. She didn't bother hiding her smile. “I know the duchess.”

“We want to help Mila adjust to life outside the castle. She's grown up confined behind those walls, but I knew you would be the perfect teacher to help her adapt to our life.”

“I'd be happy to help, Mr. Sýkora.” Ruzena bounced on her toes. “Mila, can you cook?”

My face burned. “No.”

“You've never cooked before?”

“No.”

“What about laundry? Have you ever washed clothes?”

“No.”

“Sewing?”

“I've never had to do any of those tasks, Ruzena.” I lifted my chin. I would not let her shame me.

“Really? That's strange. I've never met a woman who has never done any chores before.”

“I was raised as a lady in King Rudolf's court, which meant my time was devoted to other tasks.”

Ruzena placed her hands on her hips. “Like what?”

“My studies, languages, and proper etiquette.”

She clicked her tongue. “Hmm, well. Proper etiquette isn't too useful now, is it? It's not going to keep you clothed and fed, that's for sure.”

I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes.

“No worries, Duchess, I've taught young children these tasks, so I'm sure I will be able to teach you.”

“Thank you for taking the time,” I said icily. “I don't know what I'd do without your help.”

Petr's eyes flickered back and forth between us. “I will leave you two alone. I'm sure you have much to discuss amongst yourselves.” He walked away before either of us could respond.

“Come on,” Ruzena said. “The laundry isn't going to wash itself.”

She pointed to an oval metal tub filled with dingy, soapy water. A rusted washboard leaned against a mound of dirty clothes that stood higher than my thighs. There were no chairs to sit in, so I lowered to my knees.

The grass was wet from the morning dew and the moisture soaked through my thin dress. A pungent odor wafted from the tub; the water smelled no better than the dirty clothes.

Ruzena tossed a grimy shirt at me. “It's simple. Scrub the clothes until they're clean. Can you handle that?”

I shoved the dirty shirt into the brown water and scrubbed the fabric against the board. After a few furious scrubs, my knuckles grazed the board. “Ouch.”

A light blond eyebrow rose. “Watch out for that.”

I scrubbed until my knuckles were raw. It was hard work and before long I was sweating. My waterlogged hands became wrinkled. Time passed—the sun was now high overhead—but the pile of dirty clothes remained the same. Was this a never-ending task?

“Tired?” Ruzena asked.

“No,” I lied.

I'd never done this much manual labor in my life. My arms were sore from scrubbing. I was sweaty and my knees hurt from kneeling on the grass. My back ached from bending over. Shame washed over me; my maid, Branka, had done this tedious task for me, along with a long list of other chores, for seventeen years and I'd never once thanked her.

“You're slow,” Ruzena said.

“I'm trying.”

“It's not good enough. We'll never finish this load if you keep at that pace. We'll be here all night. Can't you work faster?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

She huffed.

I ignored her and focused on the task. Sooner or later, I'd be able to go home. They couldn't make me stay out here with her forever. Marc would be back from hunting soon. I inhaled a calming breath.

“You two will never last.” Ruzena stopped scrubbing. Her face was flushed—perhaps from scrubbing, or maybe it was the anger bubbling near the surface. She glared at me for a long time.

“Do you have something you'd like to say?” I asked.

“I have a lot to say.”

“Please, by all means, go ahead. We're not in the castle anymore. Speak freely.” I tossed the dirty shirt into the tub.

Water splashed Ruzena's bodice. I hadn't meant for it to happen, but I didn't feel bad that it had.

Ruzena angrily wiped at her wet dress. “Marc's fascinated with you because you're pretty and shiny and a lady from the castle. His interest won't last long. Trust me. He needs a real woman to take care of him. One who can cook and clean and raise the children she'll bear for him one day. More importantly, Marc needs someone who shares his views. Who understands where he comes from. Someone who knows him.”

“Let me guess, someone like you?”

“You two have nothing in common,” she said.

I retrieved the shirt from the water and resumed washing.

“You have nothing to say?” Ruzena asked.

I shrugged. “There is nothing to say. I don't have to explain my relationship with Marc to you. We love each other. That's it. It's simple. And it has nothing to do with you.”

Ruzena released a high-pitched giggle. She shook her head. “You love each other? You honestly think that's enough?”

* * *

“Someone gave you their house?” I twirled in the small, one-room home.

It boasted an actual bed—not a thin mattress on the ground—a rustic, wooden table for meals, and a pot over the stove. More importantly, the room was private; we wouldn't have to share it with Henrik or Stephan. “We're in Kladno for a week and you get a house?”

It felt like a castle.

“Temporarily,” Marc conceded.

“Because you're the leader of the rebellion?” My lips curved into a smile.

As much as the idea scared me, I was proud of him. Being named the leader of the Kladno division of the Protestant rebellion was an accomplishment, especially at his age.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Well, maybe.” Marc placed his hands on my waist. He lifted me off my feet. “Will you stay here with me? It's improper to ask, but I'd feel safer with you sleeping by my side. I can't protect you if you're all the way in the tavern.”

“Hmm.” I nuzzled my head under his chin. “You want me to stay with you so you can protect me?”

“Protect you . . . and do this.” Marc brushed his lips against mine. He nibbled my bottom lip. Dark eyes smoldered as the tip of his tongue traced the curve of my lower lip. A strong, calloused hand slid down my back, pressing me against his hard chest.

My breathing quickened and my knees felt wobbly—

A rough knock sounded at the door.

Marc groaned.

“I didn't hear anything,” I panted.

Marc laughed. “I'm sorry, but I have to go. I have a meeting at my Uncle Igor's house, but I'll be back in a few hours and we can continue where we left off.”

I kissed him on his nose. “Go do important things, fearless leader.”

He smiled, grabbed his satchel, and headed out the door.

I wasn't invited to the secret meeting, but I wouldn't have gone anyway because of the location of the meeting—I stayed as far away as I could from Igor.

Yet, again, I had nothing to do. All my chores were done. I still had no friends other than Marc and Henrik and they were at the meeting. It was too early to go to bed . . . but I was hungry.

Maybe I could make soup like Henrik did? It didn't seem overly complicated. I checked the shelf. There were two carrots, one clove of garlic, and three potatoes. Surely I could make soup out of that. But I needed water.

I had no water, but I had a lantern and a bucket.

The sun had set two hours earlier, but I decided to undertake my nighttime adventure. The streets were empty and there was hardly any light in Kladno. One torch burned from the tavern at the end of the road and another burned at the church on the other side of town. Other than my hand-held lantern, I didn't have any other source of light but a cloudless sky.

The well was located on the side of the tavern. I'd never, in all my seventeen years, retrieved my own water and I'd never, till this day, realized how onerous the task was. It gave me a greater sense of appreciation. Marc and Petr were right: I had no real understanding of life outside the castle.

I was helpless.

I trudged down the road and into the grass. I'd remedy my problem; I'd learn how to become efficient and effective. I wanted to be a contributing member of this community. I didn't want the others, especially Marc and Henrik, to view me as a helpless royal brat. I didn't want to be anyone's burden.

I climbed the slight hill to the old stone well. I placed the lantern on the ground and rotated the lever to raise the bucket. Within a few minutes, I was sweating, but I persisted.

I could do this.

Once the bucket was lifted and I filled my pail with water, I sat down to rest. Fetching water was hard work. I was exhausted and I'd only retrieved enough water to fill one small bucket and I still had to lug the pail all the way back to the house.

I sipped the cold water; it tasted delicious. The balmy night was peaceful. I drank a few more handfuls of water and gazed up at the cloudless sky. I could name all the constellations, but Ruzena was right. What good were all my studies? What was the point? I hadn't learned anything practical. Only years of useless knowledge.

I dreaded walking back with the heavy pail of water, but I reminded myself I was trying to be more self-sufficient. I sighed and rose to my feet, but when I bent down to retrieve the bucket, something flashed in the corner of my eye.

A light.

More specifically, a lantern blazing about two hundred yards from town, behind a thin row of trees. What was someone doing out there? Were they on patrol or watch? Was someone protecting the town from a midnight attack by the Crown?

I picked up my bucket, but the flicker of the lantern drew me like a moth to a flame.

The curiosity was killing me.

Marc wouldn't be back from his meeting for a few hours and I didn't have anywhere else to be. The soup could wait. I placed the bucket next to the well and grabbed my lantern.

The land behind Kladno was unkempt and chaotic. Weeds were taller than my knees, but I trudged through the hilly grass. As I walked closer to the light, a sense of unease filled me. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What if it was a scout for the Royal Army? What if it was some other enemy?

Despite my misgivings, I marched over the grassy plain and entered the sparse tree line. It was a cemetery; forty or so graves were spread out over the space and surrounded by large oak trees. The graveyard covered a perfectly circular space.

I shivered despite the warm weather.

Any graveyard at night was scary, but the way this one was situated away from town made it feel more eerie. It was an absence of life. Absolute, primal darkness surrounded me.

Something moved behind the trees.

An animal?

The light I'd seen from a distance was indeed coming from a lantern. An older man sat in a chair beside a stone grave marker. The lantern glowed at his feet. A substantial blade balanced on his knee while he softly hummed.

“Come on out,” he said. “I'll give you some advice: If you're sneaking up on someone, you might want to turn off your lantern.”

I stepped into the graveyard. I'd recognized the man from town. He was old—probably in his late sixties—and had a kind face. Red curly hair was tinged white around the temples and framed his wrinkly face. His mouth naturally turned up, creating a friendly demeanor.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” I said. “I didn't know this was a graveyard. I saw your light from the well and I was curious.”

“You're not bothering me. It's lonely out here.”