A Forest of Wolves (8 page)

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.' ”

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.

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.

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 torturing 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.”

Igor smirked.

“I agree with Stephan.” Marc cracked his knuckles. “We need more men. We should go to nearby towns to see how many recruits we can convince to join our cause. It's necessary, especially if the rest of the Habsburgs are on their way to Prague. We'll go tomorrow.”

The men cheered.

Marc raised his glass to them. He sat down beside me and squeezed my knee.

“Marc?” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“If you do gather enough men and go to war with the Crown and you win... then what? You'll place a Protestant ruler on the throne?”

“That's the plan,” he said.

“Who? You?”

“Me?” Marc laughed. “I'm no king.”

“Then who?”

“To be honest, I haven't thought that far ahead, but anyone will be better than the current ruler in Prague.”

My eyes drifted to the fire.

The Protestants had no clear plan—only to oust the Catholics. Two powerful sides were fighting simply to fight.

How would I run a kingdom? What would I decide? Would I grant religious freedom or rule with an iron fist? Could either side truly be happy? Or would they always be at war?

“What are you thinking about?” Marc asked.

I forced a smile. “Nothing.”

* * *

“Small groups cover more ground.” Marc secured his bag on the saddle. “We need to be efficient. This will be a quick trip. We'll visit towns within a few hours' distance.”

“I'll take a group,” Stephan said. “Three men. That's all I'll need.”

“And me,” Igor added. “We'll head west.”

I inched farther away from Igor. I certainly wasn't going with Igor's group. It was becoming a habit to flee from him as if he had the plague. It had been over a week and the old man still hated me. I couldn't change his opinion of me. I'd always be a spy in his eyes.

“Henrik, Dad, and I will go east,” Marc said. “Everyone meet back here tomorrow at sunset. If someone doesn't appear, we'll assume the worst, so be on time. Tell potential recruits they are welcome to take up residence in Kladno if they're willing to join the cause.”

“Where will they stay?” Igor asked.

“We'll make room,” Marc said. “We can't ask men to fight and die for us if we aren't willing to house and feed them.”

Petr clapped his son's shoulder. “Marc's right. We need to make room for all the men who want to join the rebellion. Tell the ones staying behind to make arrangements to accommodate the influx of people they should be expecting.”

The men hadn't noticed me standing on the edge of their circle, or if they had, they'd ignored me. I kept quiet. I didn't want to embarrass Marc, but there was no way I wasn't going with them. I would not be left behind.

Stephan led a group of three men. Igor had four. They rode off into the forest and I stood quietly next to Marc as he readied himself to leave.

“I'll be back tomorrow before sunset,” Marc said. “I want you to stay in the house. You'll be safe here. Everyone knows how important you are to me.”

“I'm coming with you.”

Henrik covered his laugh with a cough.

“No, Mila.” Marc pressed his forehead against mine. “The road isn't safe. You need to stay here. It's the only way I can guarantee your safety.”

“Staying alone in a rebel camp isn't safe,” I said. “Thanks to your uncle, half of the men here think I'm a Catholic spy. What if they want to slit my throat in the middle of the night and you aren't here to protect me?” I hated having to resort to saying such things, but there was no other way Marc would agree to let me go with them.

Guilt washed over his features. He rubbed his face, pulling his skin down as he did so. Finally, he groaned. “If I let you come, you have to stay by my side and listen to me. No arguing with what I say. Do you understand? You have to follow my orders, Mila. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“For some reason, I don't believe you.” Marc squeezed my chin and pulled me in for a kiss.

Petr led a light coffee-colored mare to us. “Here, Ludmila. This one is for you. ”

Marc scratched his head. “How did you know she was coming with us? You weren't here when she asked me if she could come along.”

“I could see it in her eyes.” Half of Petr's mouth drew up into a crooked smile. “You have a determined woman on your hands.”

“Stubborn may be a better word,” Henrik mumbled.

I raised my eyebrow at Henrik.

“She is definitely strong-willed, like her mother,” Petr said.

I froze. “What did you say? You knew my mother?”

“Not personally. I knew of her. She was courageous.” Petr mounted his horse. It was clear he was done talking, but I wasn't.

Why hadn't he mentioned that he knew of my mother? I've been in Kladno for over a week; why would Petr only mention her now? What did he know about her? Was Petr aware that she had been helping the Protestant rebellion ten years ago? He must have; in what other capacity could he have known my mother? And what did he mean that she was strong-willed?

So many questions...

But I wouldn't be receiving any answers right now. Marc lifted me onto the mare and we set off into the woods—Marc, Henrik, Petr, and me.

I had to push thoughts of my mother aside or I'd go crazy. Instead, I focused on the gorgeous scenery and the fresh air. It was enjoyable to finally be out of the house. It felt good to be
doing
something.

My mare had a kind disposition. She was easy to navigate through the forest, but she was attracted to Henrik's horse. She kept nuzzling his stallion's hindquarters as we followed him through the trail.

“I've never seen you ride your own horse,” Marc said to me. “You're doing well. I'm impressed.”

“She grew up in the castle,” Henrik said. “Of course she knows how to ride a horse. You probably had royal lessons, right?”

I tugged the reins to stop my mare from nibbling Henrik's stallion. “Yes, I had lessons from the stable master. I don't know what you mean by royal lessons.”

“You know, where they teach you how to ride in the castle. You drink tea and eat suckling pig and slaves fan you with giant feathers as you ride your horse.” Henrik laughed.

Petr shook his head. “Don't mind my eldest son, Ludmila.”

“I do,” Marc said, but he was grinning, too.

Henrik smirked.

“However,” Petr said, “now that the subject has been brought up, I must admit I'm curious. Was it strange growing up in King Rudolf's castle? Some of the stories I've heard are outrageous; he keeps a pet lion in his garden and has séances in the middle of the night?”

An immediate sense of defensiveness washed over me, despite Petr having no way of knowing that the king was my real father.

Mr. Sýkora was simply being curious.

I swallowed down my initial reaction—Marc watched me carefully. He, too, was unaware that King Rudolf was my father; I still hadn't shown him my mother's letter. Only Henrik knew the truth.

Henrik shot me a look.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Living in Rudolf's court was incredibly entertaining. And, yes, he does have a pet lion in the garden. He keeps him in a cage. It was gift from the sultan.”

“Did you see the king much? Your father was close to him, correct?”

I tugged the mare again. She was still sniffing Henrik's stallion. “King Rudolf was around more when I was younger. Now, he spends most of his time in his chambers.”

Petr bit into an apple. “They say it was his son's death that made the king reclusive.”

I'd heard that allegation, too. However, now I was more inclined to believe it was my mother's murder. That seemed to be the more likely scenario. My heart squeezed. My mother's murder had driven the poor king mad.

“I forgot about the king's son,” Henrik said. “What was his name?”

“Don Giulio,” I replied. Queasiness filled my stomach at the realization: Don Giulio was my half brother.

“That's right.” Henrik snapped his fingers. “I remember hearing about Don Giulio now. He was crazy. He killed that woman, and then the king sent him to Daliborka Tower.”

“He did more than kill that poor woman,” Petr said. “He tortured her for days, raped her, killed her, and dismembered her body. He deserved to be imprisoned in Daliborka Tower.”

Marc sighed. “I'd say no one deserves Daliborka Tower after what I saw when I was there, but if anyone does, it was Don Giulio.”

“How did he die?” Henrik asked. “Did he starve to death? Or was he eaten by rats?”

“Rats?” I asked.

Henrik mouthed the word
rats
to me.

“No one knows,” Marc said. “He died mysteriously in his cell a few months after his confinement.”

Petr snorted. “Don't tell me you believe that, Son. The king had him killed because it was a scandal. His only heir was a complete embarrassment—a sadistic murderer. Rudolf couldn't allow him to live. It would have caused an uproar or mutiny if Don Giulio had become king. Did you know him, Mila?”