Forest of Whispers (26 page)

I don’t pay attention to where my feet take me. All I know is I need to breathe. I end up in the chapel. I don’t know why.

I didn’t plan on coming here, but it is quiet and the furthest place away from the room where I know they still gather.

I pass the rows of box pews and begin to pace, my legs aching to run from something I don’t understand. Yet I saw it with my own eyes. Finally, I do the unthinkable and fall to my knees at the foot of the altar.

I ask God to help me separate miracles from magick…or are they really one and the same?

Did I witness witchcraft? Did I witness medicine? My mind whirls, coming up with only questions, no plausible reasons to explain sensibly what I just witnessed. And why must I be the one to question it all? Everyone else is still upstairs, rejoicing.

My head aches and I press my hands to my eyes.

Behind me, a woman’s voice speaks softly. When I turn, there is no one there.

I have lost my mother, my brother, and my father. The girl I was with in the library was an illusion. Now, it seems, I am losing my mind. I shift my weight upon my knees, preparing to stand when my leg catches on something sharp. On the grout between the floor tiles shimmers a tiny speck of red. It is a strange stone, familiar yet confusing, and I pocket it, not wanting to waste my time on figuring it out just yet.

I rush to the barn, harness my horse, and ride to the tree line at the base of what belongs to Eltz. If I look up, I will see her face peering out the glass after me. It is all I can do to keep my head down.

The woman’s voice comes again but shifts in the wind until I hear the unmistakable voice of my brother coming from deep within the woods. Without hesitation or looking back, I yank the reins, feeling the muscles of the mare beneath me, and charge after it in hopes of finding something I once lost.

Chapter 40
Rune

C
an you forgive me?
Laurentz’s breath grazes my ear. Having brought someone back to life has earned me a place here, and tonight, he steals into the chamber, luring me from my warm sleep.

I reach for him and touch his face.
Of course I do
.

Only I can’t remember why he needs forgiveness. Was it the look in his eyes when he saw what I had done? I’d tried to tell him that it was the herbs that brought her back—tried to convince him it was the little training I had, but he insisted otherwise.
He knew
.

And so did I.

I remember saying words—my words, not my mother’s. I remember a tremendous ache inside me as I pulled what was dark and ugly from Angeline into my own body. I’ve been weak for the three days and nights since, but I’m not on the brink of death. I’ll live through this.

You shouldn’t be so trusting
, he says again, confusing me. His voice is low and hushed, familiar as it trades tones, and soon, my head is filled with a single word.

Witch…

I bolt up, and I am alone.

I creep out of bed and tiptoe toward the door. Shadows play beneath it.

Someone is there.

For the last few days I have heard noises such as this from behind corners, from over my shoulder. They don’t think I notice, but I do. Or maybe that is their intention—to let me see, and hear, to frighten me away. The good I did is now past its welcome here among the staff at Eltz. What held them in awe now gives way to suspicion and lies that remind me of the village back home. Angeline tells me to ignore them, but she too shows a cautious detachment whenever I visit her chamber. For the Electorate’s sake, she tries to be my friend, but she only knows me as the witch girl who brought her back from death. She doesn’t know the real me, and I firmly believe she’d like to keep it that way.

I dress in the quiet dark of the room, knowing that, despite my unwanted presence here, I will act as if it doesn’t bother me until it is time to leave. My arms push through sleeves and smooth the pleats of my dress with my hands. I am nearly ready when I step on a loose floorboard. The sound sends the shadows outside my door scattering.

Angeline is sitting up in bed when I enter her chamber, and I immediately notice the rosy color that fills her cheeks, glad that she is no longer pale and sickly.

“Rune,” she smiles, patting the thick duvet, but I cross to the foot of her bed and pretend not to notice how I make the chambermaid nervous. The girl stokes the fire crackling away in the hearth, then sets about plumping Angeline’s pillows, avoiding my eyes all the while. She pretends to give us privacy, but I know why she leaves so quickly. I make everyone uncomfortable.

When it’s just the two of us, I smile lightly and sit at the foot of her bed like she wanted.

“You look better,” I tell her.

“I feel better, thanks to you.” She reaches for the water goblet, but in her hurry to leave us, the servant girl placed it just beyond Angeline’s reach. I hand it to her, then walk to the window, looking out at the trees.

“You aren’t happy here,” she says quietly behind me. “Is it because he hasn’t come back yet?”

I know Angeline makes idle conversation with me. My palm presses against the glass. Funny how I’ve gotten used to the height and no longer feel as though the glass is an illusion, holding me up, waiting to topple me out. I can’t help, however, letting my eyes drift toward the horizon where the other day a thin tower of black smoke rose from the Drudenhaus. It felt like Laurentz and I rode for days that afternoon—that we had surely placed a much greater distance between the horror of the courtyard and the protection of Eltz. From this height it appears we are not really all that far away, and the trees there look like giant green teeth.

“Partly,” I admit finally, and peek at her from the corner of my eye. “Only…”

“Only?”

“Eltz is a dream I will eventually wake up from, and when I do, I’ll have to face things again. I’ll have to face what’s waiting for me,” I stare at the forest, “out there.”

“But you’re safe here.” Angeline frowns. “Why would you ever want to leave?”

I don’t feel safe. I feel lonelier here than I did on my own in the forest. I often think of asking the Electorate to take me to Pyrmont. I have yet to see it. I have yet to walk its halls. But what do I know of running a castle? I am only sixteen. I am a girl living in a man’s world. I think I understand that my mother tried to change that. She tried to become something bigger than she was ever meant to be. And it destroyed her.

I turn away from the wild world outside and bring myself back into the room, to the woman whose delicate beauty hides the fact that days ago she was nearly dead. She sits atop layers of silk and fluff. Fresh flowers adorn her night table. There is a gleam in her eye. But ours is a friendship that is not genuine yet. It’s based on the fact that I gave something back to her. Is she afraid that, if she doesn’t act appreciative, I might take it away? Will I always be the person everyone fears? I know Laurentz fears me, and I will never forget the look on his face the last time I saw him.

“When Laurentz returns he’ll surely ask for you to be married.” Angeline’s soft voice breaks the silence, and I watch her as she lifts the water goblet to her lips.

I stiffen. “That will never happen.”

“And tell me why not?” Angeline shifts her weight, leaning forward on her stack of pillows so she can see my reaction better. “My husband has had the chance to fill me in on all I’ve missed. You’re of noble blood and are the rightful heiress of Pyrmont. It’s a perfect match.”

“You and I both know it will take a long time for me to claim Pyrmont, if I ever do. According to the law, I own nothing. I have no rights. Besides, we all know it’s more than that. I’m a descendant of…”

“Ah, yes, the infamous Witch of Bavaria.” Angeline nods her head, acting as if it’s not a weighted subject.

“The Witch of Bavaria?”

There is a fresh gleam in Angeline’s eyes that tells me she is getting better, returning to the vivacious woman she must have been before falling ill. “Are you surprised I know something about your mother that you don’t? Oh no, your mother was quite the lady, so much more than an Electorate’s wife. She was a wild thing, one I do believe her husband felt nearly impossible to contain.”

After all the trivial conversations Angeline and I have shared, this one is most surprising. She leans closer so that I can see how the sparkle in her eyes makes the circles beneath them darker.

“You know there are others like your mother.”

“Other Electorates’ wives? Or others being accused and burned at the stake?”

She shakes her head, keeping her voice low, savoring the chance to gossip. “No, others who practice. Some who followed your mother, and others who have gone off on their own.”

Angeline’s hand feels heavy on top of mine. It makes me feel like I’m sinking.

“I don’t want to be like my mother, Angeline. I will
never
be like her.”

“You’re right. You will be what the Sacred Mother has planned. You’ll see.”

My breath catches in my throat. She notices and her smile grows. “I see I’ve surprised you by my knowledge of the Great Mother.”

“Did you…” I swallow hard. “Did you follow my mother?”

Angeline sits up straight, and her face switches from sneakily playful to serious. “Let’s just say I knew of her many years ago.”

I don’t know how, but I’ve offended her. I feel something strange pass between us, and I worry that Angeline is darker than I understand her to be. I wonder if I should be careful around her, and without being aware of what I’m doing, my body inches away.

“Rune, you can trust me.”

Can I?

“Oh poor Rune, you’ve been without a mother for so long.”

There’s pity in what she says, but she’s wrong again. Matilde has always been a mother to me. I haven’t gone without.

“And poor Laurentz. He’s been through so much.”

We are interrupted as a young girl enters, carrying a tray. She sets at her lady’s bedside a plate of Schupfnudeln, rolled dumplings made of rye and potato, but my presence disrupts her duty and she topples the entire plateful onto the floor. Angeline curses the girl for her clumsiness. The girl mutters apology after apology, that she herself will ride to town for more rye, as it seems Cook’s supply has run low.

It is a side to Angeline I never would have imagined witnessing. The room has become quite warm, and I stare at the flames in the fireplace—a volatile element tamed. I am beginning to wonder if I’ve been foolish to think Angeline has been my friend.

“Yes, he’s told me of his brother.” I continue our conversation after the chambermaid has left us.

“I’m not speaking of Freidrich. I’m speaking of the first Lady of Eltz, his mother,” Angeline says. “I don’t follow witches like she did. I don’t run off looking for trouble, believing in what is child’s play. Oh,” she says innocently, seeing my reaction to her words. “You don’t know about the Electorate’s first wife? Did you know for years Laurentz’s father has covered up the fact that his first wife was murdered?”

“Murdered?”

“She was among those found in the woods that terrible morning just outside your village all those years ago.”

Horror spreads across my face. Images flood my mind. The girl hanging from the tree, her heart cut out of her chest. A girl lying in blood-soaked leaves. No wonder Laurentz ran off after watching what I am capable of. No wonder he and his father exchanged strange looks after I told them who my mother was, when I told them where and how she had died. I lift myself off the bed and begin pacing, ready to burst from my skin. But it’s more than that. It’s Angeline. It’s
why
she is telling me this.

“Laurentz’s mother knew your mother. His mother and yours are dead. Is that a coincidence?”

I have no doubt Angeline is feeling better, stronger, for she seems intent to wound me with her words. She doesn’t appreciate what I’ve done for her. She only sees me as a threat, a witch, and the friendship I thought we might form is being challenged with every question that bounces back and forth between us.

“Was Laurentz’s mother a…”

“Witch? Goodness no. They found Laurentz’s mother on the other side of the stream, Rune.” She picks up the goblet, tilting it this way and that. The water sways back and forth, creeping up the sides of the glass, then slipping back down. Angeline takes a long, exaggerated sip, then smiles and says, “You and I both know witches can’t cross water.”

Chapter 41
Laurentz

“F
riedrich!” I’ve called out into the dark for hours, getting closer, yet further away.

Behind every tree I hear his voice. Around every bend is the distinct crunching of hooves. I was convinced he’d led me here, but I can’t find him. I never will. And what would I say if I did? I would break down at his feet and ask for forgiveness. But what sort of forgiveness would he give for taking his life? Mine has been haunted by my guilt. Isn’t that enough?

Finally, I can take no more and lean over my horse’s neck, willing this outrageous goose chase to come to an end. My brother is not here. This is a trick of the forest—an illusion. I should have known better. This is how men die in the Black Forest—seduced by the voices they think they hear, like pirates falling to the whims of the sirens at sea.

I will my heart to stop beating so quickly. I will the voice of my long-dead brother to fade away, to let reality set in. In the end, when I do, there is only one voice I hear, and it is hers. I try to let that fade, too. It is apparent that for hours I’ve done nothing but ride in circles, becoming completely turned around, and the part of the forest I am in is not familiar to me. My horse leads me wherever it wants to go. At this point, I don’t care where I end up. I know, after what I’ve done, I can’t go back to her.

But there she is, tall and majestic, whispering to me through the treetops as if telling me she’s been watching over me all along. It isn’t really her, but Pyrmont’s Keep, that I see. My horse, it seems, has led me to
somewhere
after all, as opposed to the
anywhere
I originally set out for.

Softly, we approach, following the thinly marked path along the ground. As soon as we reach the briar bushes lining the walk, I pull the reins hard and cover the mare’s snout with my hands. Two carriages are parked beside one another, and my blood runs cold as I tread closer, immediately recognizing them—for one belongs to the Prince Bishop, and the other belongs to my father.