Forest of Whispers Page 20

  I bend on my knee in front of her and take her hand in mine. “I have no answer for you other than the very fact that you wouldn’t be who you are today without Matilde’s influence. That girl who has me so charmed—the one I am willing to risk everything for in order to make sure she is safe. Would you have been the same person growing up elsewhere?”

  “I would have known my family.”

  “No, you’d be alone. They are all gone, except for you.”

  Her sigh is heavy. “Matilde is gone. What’s the difference?”

  “I never would have met you. There’s no hedge surrounding Pyrmont for me to pull you out of.”

  This earns a small smile from Rune, and I finally feel it’s time to tell her I too have lost someone close to me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This room reminds me of my brother.

  “My brother used to read to me when I was little, after our mother died,” I say softly.

  She leans her head to the side and waits for me to tell her more, and before I know it, I’m telling her about Friedrich and how I miss him, how I wish the past could be revisited and altered all at once, and how the only thing altered now is me—first because of the deaths of my brother and mother, and second, because of her.

  “When did he die?” Rune’s hand touches my arm. It is warm, and I let it stay there. As soon as she asks, I’m surprised how easy it is to tell her.

  “Years ago, when I was eight.” I breathe. “I wanted my father to think I was ready to join his Guard. I was only a boy, but you couldn’t tell me that. I was strong, and willful, and capable in my own eyes. My mother was gone. It was a house full of men. Well, not Cook. But she wasn’t my mother. Friedrich told me I couldn’t balance the crossbow, but I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to prove my father wrong.”

  I haven’t spoken of that day in so long. All I’ve wanted was to forget, and even when I thought everyone else had, something would happen to upset my father, and I would know he had not forgotten, and never would.

  “It was an accident,” she tells me.

  “No. I was the accident. If it weren’t for me, Friedrich would still be alive.”

  “If it weren’t for me, Matilde would still be alive,” she says. “She died for a careless mistake I alone was responsible for. And I watched it happen. I watched them dunk her in the stream over and over again.” There’s silence, and then she says, “I did that. I killed Matilde.”

  I know what it feels like to carry a heavy stone in my heart, like she does. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close, and she lets me. Her body is thin and frail beneath my touch, but she’s warm, she’s alive. She’s Rune—the girl who continues to heal me, inside and out, whether she knows it or not.

  Chapter 38

  Rune

  Somehow, between the moment he told me I was an heir of Pyrmont and the moment he left us alone in the library, Laurentz’s father made the decision to trust me, not to fear me so completely, and to let me try to put a stop to the terrible illness threatening to claim his wife. The halls of Eltz are hushed as Laurentz and his father lead me to her chamber, like the castle itself knows it is about to be placed under a spell, that unfamiliar forces will be tapped into, and that perhaps a miracle will happen.

  My heart beats faster than my footsteps, and two voices register as we walk—my mother’s that follows me, and the other that pulls me forward. They are almost alike, overlapping, pleading, and by the time we come to a stop I am facing the ornate chamber door I had been led to earlier on my own, after my bath. With trembling hands, I push it open. A body lies still upon the bed, already so close to death there may not be enough time.

  I knew you would come, she seems to say though unmoving lips, and I peer over my shoulder at Laurentz, positive that they too have heard her, only they haven’t. With every pained breath her body screams her name so that I will know it’s hers. Angeline. I peel away the sheets that cling to her with dried sweat, feeling inside me how her body trembles at the cool air touching her sallow skin.

  Laurentz and his father move to stand at the foot of the bed, giving me room but watching closely. They think I have a power to fix what has been done. They believe I can perform magick so her dying body will have another chance at life. Part of me wonders if they watch so intently to see if I really am capable, if I truly am a witch—which makes me notice someone else. My mother’s presence is terrifyingly close. I stumble a bit, suddenly unsure where to begin, or if I should even begin at all.

  I ignore the dread that seeps into me and continue to survey my task. I turn from the bed to grab the ends of the brocade draperies, yanking them until the glass pane of the window is exposed and the moonlight pours into the room. I need to see her. My hand runs lightly across her forehead, feeling the fever beneath the skin. The heat is deep, near her bones. It pulses and pushes against my palm until my hand aches and fills me. A peculiar feeling spreads inside me, and I feel sick. My body feels shaky, as if it has lost control of itself, but I stand firm and tell myself I am only nervous.

  The remedy that comes to me is what I’ve seen only Matilde do. It isn’t magick. It’s common sense. It’s using the precise amount and selection of herbs, and knowing that they will do what we ask because we give it time.

  “I’ll need much more than this,” I say, holding up a half-empty pitcher of day-old water.

  The Electorate steps forward and I see the gleam of desperation on his face. Every line around his eyes comes from crying over this woman. Every whisker in his chin is grayed over the idea of what the next day will bring. His eyes show how he has foreseen her death for months. He is relying on me to stop his misery, as well as hers.

  I rattle off the list of herbs and concoctions that suddenly spring to my memory. I want to smile, in spite of the task that lies ahead, because Matilde would be proud of this moment. I’ve paid attention. I remember. Despite the dark feeling as my witch mother watches over me, I am doing this on my own. “I’ll need Wormwood and a handful of Meadowsweet,” I begin. “See if the kitchen has fresh Sage, Camphor, and a bit of Elecampane Root.” The list grows, and it takes several trips between the two of them to bring it all back to me. I work diligently to add the ingredients to the mortar and pestle, grinding them all together to create a poultice. I ask Elsie, who has quietly shown up at the door, to fill a cooking pot with muddled Juniper berries and a touch of vinegar, warming it somewhere accessible so that she might bring it in to the room as we need it.

  I lay my hands across Angeline’s chest, feeling the shallow beat of her heart buried beneath the pain. I feel the poison searing into me. I don’t know how, but I do, and my hands fly from her chest to the folds of my dress, where I hide them as if they’ve been burned.

  I lift the bedclothes with a careful hand, hearing the illness call to me. What I find yanks a gasp from my throat—the tips of her toes have begun to blacken. With absolute care, I take her fingers into my hands and inspect closely. Sure enough, there is a darkness spreading beneath her nails, as if she is slowly beginning to rot inward from the furthest extremities. Laurentz comes to my side, his eyes wide.

  “She was not like this yesterday.” He places a hand over his mouth. “Is it Plague?”

  “No, I think not. There are no buboes.” I try to reassure him. While I am certainly no expert, I know that he and his father would have fallen ill by now if it were the Black Death, as would the rest of the household. Not to mention their frail patient would have been dead long ago. “It’s something else. Something rather clever, for it leaves no trace of itself.”

  I cover particular areas of Angeline’s body with the herbs—the tender skin beneath her arms, the space between her earlobes and jaw, all the while whispering softly to her, and then to Elsie for more when the bowl runs dry.

  “Sacred Mother, help your daughter. Take away the poison that fills her veins. Heal the darkness that marks her skin.” There is a whispering beneath my words that is not mine, but I ignore it, only paying attention to
my voice.

  “Matilde, help me,” I whisper back. “Fire against fire, light against death…”

  I feel the energy that belongs to my mother surge with me rather than against me. All at once, my hands burn and I yank them away, seeing the red marks they have left on Angeline’s body. All is silent around me. Laurentz. The Electorate. The servants who have congregated in the room and spill out into the hall to watch. All stare and pray. They wait for the magick to work. My hands burn so tremendously that it takes all I can to hold in the screams. Instead, I curl up on the floor at the foot of the bed and press my face into the sheets.

  Footsteps rush to me. I know it’s Laurentz. He helps me to my feet as an audible gasp fills the room. We both turn to see his father standing over the bed, his hand to his mouth. He slumps to the bed, weeping, as his wife slowly opens her eyes and looks up at him, smiling.

  Chapter 39

  Laurentz

  Rune won’t stop looking at me, pleading with me with those dark eyes of hers to tell her what’s wrong. This is what I wanted; this is what my father wanted. Like a dream, my stepmother has conquered death and opened her eyes, after all these weeks of waiting.

  And Rune did this, just as we asked her to.

  Then why can’t I look at her? Why can’t I thank her and bring back that moment when we stood together in the library, just the two of us?

  I know the answer, and it’s killing me, because I didn’t expect to feel this way. I saw her heal my arm in the forest, but somehow, this is so much more, and my mind cannot grasp what I have just witnessed.

  My father doesn’t notice how I slink past everyone who is in awe of Rune—past Angeline, who now sits up in bed fully awake and alive, overwhelmed by the smiling faces that fawn over her. He’s too immersed in getting back what he almost lost.

  I, on the other hand, have lost everything in this one moment.

  Rune leans against the corner of the bed, wordless, weak. She struggles to see me past the people who stand between us. I shake my head. I don’t want her to follow. I know she doesn’t understand.

  All I know is that she is a witch. She is a full-blooded, second-generation spellcaster, and this room feels too small. This castle feels too uncomfortable. My own skin feels alien and the thoughts coursing through my head threaten to burst and corrode everything I felt earlier.

  Was the library all part of her magick, too? Did she cast a spell over me and force me to tell her about Friedrich? That was my own doing, wasn’t it? Now, I’m not so sure.

  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

  Can 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 h
eight 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.”