Forest of Whispers Page 18

  He sighs deeply and stares down at his hands. “And you’ve brought her here because you assume my position will grant her security.”

  “I brought her here because of what she can do.”

  I have his full attention now. He knows what I am getting at. In my head I hear the door between us opening a little more, because my father has grown so very desperate not to lose someone else he loves.

  “This girl shines with a light I’ve only ever seen once in my life.”

  He’s skeptical, and I don’t blame him for his disapproving frown, as if I am nothing but a hopeless dreamer.

  “You used to be married to it, Father,” I say carefully.

  “That light is a memory, Laurentz. You were three when your mother died, and I doubt very much you can recall anything about her that the oil painting in the library cannot give you.”

  “You’re wrong—I do remember. I remember she meant everything to me, and you, and right now there are two women upstairs—one whose life was nearly extinguished, who is capable of doing the impossible, and the other who has only moments left to hold onto hers.”

  The nod is barely perceptible, but he seems to agree.

  “There’s more.” I pull at the small cloth bag fixed to my belt and spill its contents across the table, praying Cook isn’t eavesdropping too closely.

  My father carefully extends a hand to pick up one of the small, rounded stones, then cautiously recoils. With guarded eyes, he asks me, “Do you have any idea who you are dealing with here?”

  “Actually,” I unfold the cloth and lay it flat across the wood. “I was hoping you might.”

  He studies the aged cloth closely and before long his face registers with the same gleam of recognition I felt when I first saw it. “Pyrmont’s coat of arms. Where did you get this?”

  “The runes were wrapped in it. It was confiscated by the Burgermeister of Württemberg shortly after Rune’s arrest.”

  “Rune?”

  “The girl,” I explain.

  My father stares at the stones, knowing the coincidence is too great. He carefully lifts the cloth by the corners and carries it to the brighter light at the window.

  “The stitches were removed on purpose,” I offer.

  “Yes, I see that. If the threads had fallen out naturally from age or overuse, the holes would have been ripped larger; the cloth would be thin. These holes are just as small as the day the sampler was stitched. The embroidery must have been removed shortly after.”

  “Are you familiar with the type of cloth that is?”

  “Of course I am,” he replies. “It’s a portion of an infant’s mantle. You were wrapped in one just like it when you were born. But look here.” He walks the cloth back to the table so I can see it. “This is a little different than the coat of arms Pyrmont has now.” He shows me the way a line of stitching would have extended up, rather than over, as the Pyrmont shield appears now.

  “This is the original coat of arms.” My father’s finger traces past the stitchery holes to show me, then looks at me, realizing I know nothing about our neighbor’s past. “A family’s crest is only ever changed when there is a threat to the ruling heir.”

  “But Pyrmont had no heirs.”

  “Exactly,” my father agrees.

  I stare at the cloth, wishing its secret to jump out of it. “Was it to protect the Electorate of Pyrmont when he was a child?”

  “The crest was altered just after you were born,” my father explains. “That would have been too late to protect the Electorate. It was obviously changed for another reason.”

  I shake my head. There is something here, I’m sure of it. I lean my chin into my hand as I think of all I know about Pyrmont, about witches and plagues, and everything else in between, trying to find some way to allow it all to make sense.

  “Tell me, Father, is there a reason why Pyrmont is the only castle to succumb to Plague? There is no word of the infection amongst the villages.”

  “Then it is a witch’s farce—an illusion. Laurentz, it’s possible she stole this,” my father says, holding up the old scrap. “The girl could be a lying thief for all we know.”

  I understand what he’s trying to do, only I’m in too deep now. “And what would a girl accused of sorcery want with an old castle—going as far as casting a spell of Black Death within its walls, killing all who remain there, and instilling fear along its borders?”

  “We know nothing of this girl.”

  “And apparently, we don’t know everything about Pyrmont,” I argue back. “Should Rune be found guilty, what will become of the estate? What will become of the castle and the land?”

  “It would be legally inherited by the Prince Bishop, of course. He is the former Electorate’s younger brother, but any territory found without descendants automatically falls to the hands of the Church. And since Pyrmont is within the Prince Bishop’s province, then I suppose it comes full circle that he ends up its rightful owner.”

  I shake my head at the ideas that come crashing all at once into it, where nothing and everything begin to make sense. “And so, we are back to the bishop, aren’t we?”

  “Laurentz, any remaining descendent of Pyrmont is gone.

  They are all gone.”

  Steadily, I raise my eyes to his as I let my hand touch the strange old cloth, and ask, “Are you sure?”

  Chapter 32

  Rune

  I step out of the tub and onto the cool floor wondering when Laurentz will come for me. My soiled clothing lies in a heap at my feet, reminding me that it hadn’t even occurred to me what I would change into once I stepped out of the water, but nestled between the towels Elsie left is a simple blue dress, and the thoughtfulness brings a smile to my lips.

  Despite the bath, shame clings to me that I walked into this grand house wearing the filth that I did. I’m embarrassed to have clung to Laurentz’s back. He must have found me revolting. Even the water is a pale, gruesome gray with tiny bits of color floating in it, and I wish I could dispose of it before anyone sees it, but don’t know where, and I’m afraid of making a mess like I did before.

  The dress is exquisite and finer than anything I’ve ever owned. I touch it carefully, certain that, while I have been scrubbed clean, there is a film that will rub off of me onto it. I make sure my skin is dry and slip the delicate fabric over my head, eager, yet scared, to peer into the looking glass to see. It fits well, and the softness of it is like a cloud that sways around me as I lean across the vanity.

  My appearance has never mattered, except when the villagers seemed to take marked interest in me. It shouldn’t matter now, only there’s a certain boy—a man, really—waiting for me somewhere in this enormous place. Perhaps he hopes to see if the clean water and soap has transformed me. Has it erased not only the dirt and grime, but the terrifying stigma that has attached itself to me? Can a bit of flowers and oil do that? Can it wipe clean what someone is?

  I’d like to think so.

  I don’t look into the looking glass because I am afraid of the girl I’ve already seen reflected in it. She will be there still, wearing blue now. And this time, she will speak and tell me what I don’t want to hear. She will tell me I am a thief. I am a murderer. I am a witch.

  I should find Laurentz and tell him I’m grateful for what he’s done. I’m grateful for the new start—the chance for a new life. But he’s done enough, and I’ll leave immediately and find my way, somehow.

  The hall is empty when I open the door and step into it. There is no sign of Elsie or Laurentz, and certainly no rhyme or reason to the direction it takes me as I walk along, knowing one way or another will lead me to an exit.

  My legs have longed to stretch. Living in a tiny stone room for days has made me all but crawl out of my skin. The corridor runs long and far, bending around corner after corner, leaving me eager to find its end. It’s almost easy to ignore the closed doors I pass, and I am glad I do, because they remind me of the prison. They remind me of walking to
confession, passing door after endless door, hearing the screams and cries of those locked behind them.

  There are no screams behind these doors. There is only a gentle hum that blows in and out of my head, allowing me to forget the hideous girl in the mirror. Its pull is magnetic, and I find I’m following an unseen force along the corridor that makes me wonder if I’m headed in the right direction or further into the depths of the castle. I am not imagining things. It is not my mother but the pull of someone else entirely, and it crosses my mind that the witch is playing with me, disguising herself, so I am tempted to be led elsewhere.

  There is a window at the far end of the hall through which the sunlight casts a yellow rectangle upon the floor. For all the ornate beauty that surrounds me, I cannot help but be reminded of when I was led out of the dark prison and into the bright sunlight of the courtyard. And with this, I am reminded of the day before that, and the week before that. It seems my mind holds only terrible memories—Matilde, the prison, fire, death. I wish I could forget them all, but I force them to stay. If I choose to forget them, what will I have to push me onward? These terrible memories are all I have left to remind me who I am, that I can only rely on myself, that I am the only one I can trust. That is why I must leave.

  I tiptoe toward the deep sill and peer out, but the height of the window is tremendous, and I quickly back away, feeling dizzy. I will never make it if I’m frightened by silly things, so I step closer to the glass and force myself to look out at where I am. Off in the distance is an emerald sea of pointed trees. If I were to throw a pebble from this height I imagine the giant ripple it would make, stretching out further and further. Beyond where the ripple calms lies my freedom. It will take forever to get there.

  From the corner of my eye I notice the tall tower of smoke where the trees are not so thick. Possibly it is the prison burning. I briefly wonder if Laurentz will really come for me, or if he’s in fact disposed of me here. I’ve gone from one prison to the next, a low dungeon to a high tower, both fortresses to hold me in. Like the tiny window in the prison cell, I see a freedom that calls to me and laughs that I cannot touch it.

  When I turn away an enormous door faces me. The pull to open it is more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt. My hand reaches out for the latch…

  “You don’t belong here.”

  The voice startles me, because it is not in my head but behind me. It is Elsie, and another woman standing by her side who is older and very stern-looking.

  “The guest chambers are this way,” the gray-haired woman says, making sure I know I’ve explored a part of the castle where I am not welcome. “You will remain there until you are called for.”

  I follow her and leave behind the fading whisper, which has disappeared beneath the strange and beautiful door.

  Chapter 33

  Laurentz

  “There you are. Have you rested?” I smile when I see how transformed she has become in the blue dress she wears. I had asked Elsie to lay something nice out for her, and the quiet servant girl has indeed chosen well. If ever before I have felt that Rune has bewitched me, it is certainly now. I am practically speechless at the sight of her.

  “You look lovely,” I bend closer to her ear and extend my elbow, satisfied she has at least a small amount of faith in me to take it and let me lead her to dinner. “I’ve asked Cook to prepare a wonderful surprise for you. It’s one of her finest desserts, and she’s a master at it.” This brings a polite smile to her lips, so I feel confident in what I tell her next. “And I’ve already informed my father that you are here. He’s anxious to meet you,” I say, eager to put her mind to rest.

  She suddenly tilts her head to the side and slows her pace beside me.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  Rune bites her bottom lip and looks around. “It’s just that I thought I heard someone else speaking just now. Like a whisper.”

  I slow us to a stop, and I too listen.

  “I’m sure it’s probably one of the servants,” I tell her, although I don’t hear a thing. “You’ll be surprised to find the softest noises travel the farthest here.”

  It is best I don’t tell her the staff will find means to know of every possible thing that goes on within these walls. That there are too many spies among them, and that they are most likely looking at Rune’s presence as an excuse to follow her around instead of attending to the duties they should be concerning themselves with.

  “My stepmother’s chamber is down the hall from yours. You’ll most likely hear the servants attending to her.”

  “Is she the reason I’m here?” Rune asks me.

  “I see you’re reading my mind again.” I smile a little, hoping it softens the reason I’ve brought her here. “She’s dying. You’ve been surrounded by a lot of that, it seems—dying. I’m afraid I’ve brought you to a place that can’t seem to escape it, much like everywhere else in Bavaria.”

  We are walking again and her arm is light against the crook of my own as I hold it to me.

  “I’ve seen my fair share, I suppose.”

  I take a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you can work a miracle, can you? My father isn’t convinced that magick will help her.”

  She stiffens involuntarily, and it appears I’ve gone and stuck my foot in my mouth again.

  “What they’ve accused you of doesn’t scare me,” I say to reassure her. “There are men more terrifying than a girl accused of sorcery.”

  “Yes, I believe I’ve met him,” she replies.

  I know all too well who she speaks of, and all the other tyrants she’s run into in the days before today. “You’re safe here, you know that. Whatever happened to you in the village, or in Bamberg, will not happen here.”

  I want to touch her cheek like I did in the forest, but I don’t know that displaying such affection is a good idea. She is frightened, and I can’t help being frightened for her. I’ve brought her here to keep her safe, to gain her trust, and the last thing I want to do is give her the impression that she owes me, that she must save my stepmother’s life in exchange for my saving hers. This amazing girl by my side can do the impossible; I’ve seen it. I can’t explain it, but I believe in it, and if my father sees it too, then I will gain his respect—even though part of me still fears that is impossible in its own right.

  She takes my hand and places it back upon her cheek, as if my thoughts are obvious to her again, and it is like we are in the forest surrounded by the trees and the gentle breeze—surrounded by everything she is familiar with, and everything that dares to reveal who she really is.

  “Why do you fear me?” she asks. “Is it because you believe the silly tales that a person like me can end your existence with a flick of my finger, or turn you into a toad?”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the delicate linen handkerchief, then hand it to her.

  “Someone who appreciates something so beautiful couldn’t possibly have a heart as dark as gossip says.”

  Her eyes light up at the sight of it, and I know holding onto it all this time has been a good idea. “Thank you, but something so beautiful has gotten me into a lot of trouble.”

  “Yes, I know the feeling.”

  I don’t miss the way her cheeks blush at what I’ve just said.

  “I don’t fear you, Rune. I’m enamored by you.”

  “And your father? Will he be enamored too?” she asks, the worry returning to her eyes. “Will he sit at the head of a long table staring me down, trying to pick apart what I am? Am I a witch capable of doing damage? Or simply a girl mistakenly accused of being everyone’s nightmare?”

  The tender moment between us has changed to something very sad, and Rune looks down at the floor.

  “How can you have small talk with someone accused of something so enormous?” she asks. “Can you take a person who has witnessed unspeakable horror and put them in a pretty dress and expect them to behave the way you want them to?”

  “No, you can’t.” I lift her
chin with my thumb and make her look into my face so she can see I am not just saying words that don’t mean anything, just to make her feel better. “That isn’t the girl I intend to take to dinner tonight, or to introduce to my father. I don’t want you to fill a role that isn’t yours. I only want you to be you.”

  The girl I want to know, need to know, is someone surviving just like I am, faced with a stain upon her soul, the way I am. We’re standing outside of the door to the dining room. Inside is a long table of sumptuous food and a man I am more terrified of than anything, perhaps even a little more than this girl who stands by my side.

  “You’re afraid of him,” she whispers.

  I look into her beautiful eyes, and suddenly, the world has changed again. I nod, admitting to what she asks because there is no way to say it isn’t true. Then I take her hand in mine. “I suppose we’ll be frightened of him together then, won’t we?” And the only thing left to do is open the door.

  Chapter 34

  Rune

  The door opens to a beautiful room where windows fills an entire wall and a table, longer than any I’ve ever seen, sits at the center of the room, adorned with crystal goblets of all shapes and sizes filled with colorful liquids. The man who stands alongside the bejeweled banquet table, though, bears an expression that is not quite as inviting at first glance.

  “Rune, this is my father, the Electorate of Burg Eltz,” Laurentz tells me.

  I am not accustomed to meeting someone so formally, and do what I think is appropriate, giving a demure curtsy. Once again, I am grateful for the dress, doubting very much that my own tattered frock would have made a very good first impression. By the look on Laurentz’s face, I’ve done well.

  The Electorate steps closer and takes my hand, placing his lips to it, a gesture that stuns me because I know he does not really want to touch me. His eyes are not as warm as his son’s, and yet I am struck with a need to make this man approve of me. Perhaps if I do, it will help erase the terrible ideas he holds in his head about who and what I am.