A Forest of Wolves

  I opened my eyes.

  The poor woman’s neck was bent at an unnatural angle and her body swayed slightly from the rope. That was two now. Two people—Kristoff and Helga—killed by hanging in the past few days. One Catholic killed by the Protestants and one Protestant killed by the Catholics.

  Was it ever going to end? Would we just continue to kill one another?

  Henrik was on his knees, focused on the ground in front of him. His chest rose and fell in long, deep breaths. He scraped his fingers, even the injured ones, against the cobblestone.

  Marc stood stoic. His eyes coolly watched Václav, but his face betrayed no emotion.

  Václav pointed at us. “The three standing before me are guilty of a host of crimes, including kidnapping and escaping from Daliborka Tower. I will not bore you with the details of the long list of crimes these criminals have committed against the Crown. Their most important offense, the one that matters the most, is their crime of heresy. Ludmila Nováková, the Duchess of Prucha, and Marc and Henrik Sýkora are guilty of Protestantism.”

  The crowd rumbled.

  It wasn’t a cheer or a jeer. It was an upsurge of panic. Of fear. It was plain on their faces; they could not believe what they were witnessing.

  We all knew what was coming.

  Václav cleared his throat. “As we all know, those in the Kingdom of Bohemia found guilty of Protestantism shall suffer the most severe of consequences. Therefore, I declare that the penalty is death.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It wasn’t true. Death would be too easy. Too quick.

  The penalty was excruciating torture in front of an audience and the terrible burden of watching someone you loved being slowly tortured to death. Helga’s death had been swift; we would not be so lucky.

  That was the penalty.

  “Ludmila, step forward,” Václav said.

  The crowd reverberated. My name floated from the lips of strangers. Disbelief stunned the town of Prucha. I could see it in their eyes. The incredulity. They were about to witness the high chancellor of the Kingdom of Bohemia torture and kill his own daughter.

  If only they knew the truth.

  At the announcement of my name, Marc and Henrik went wild. Marc rushed toward Václav. At the same time, Henrik’s demeanor changed from its normal calmness to pure fury.

  Guards tried to restrain them. There weren’t many royal guards in Prucha, but it took eight of them—four for each of the Sýkora men—to contain the brothers.

  While Marc and Henrik screamed and fought, a selfish sense of relief washed over me. My shoulders relaxed and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I couldn’t bear to watch Marc or Henrik die. I wasn’t strong enough. Now, I wouldn’t have to be.

  I surrendered without resistance as one of the royal guards—another one I recognized from the castle—escorted me to the center of the square. The man’s face was resigned. He gave me a small nod before grabbing me by the arm.

  “Mila!” Marc struggled against the guards.

  Henrik had been forced to his knees. The broad plane of a sword’s blade was pressed against his Adam’s apple. Henrik licked his lips. His eyes burned into Václav. “If you hurt...”

  Václav scratched his chin. “Stop wasting your last breaths on empty threats.”

  “How can you do this to her?” Henrik asked.

  “True, I never thought I’d be in such a situation, where I’d be punishing my own daughter in public. This is quite odd.”

  “I’m not your daughter,” I said simply.

  The guard froze.

  Václav’s beady eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. He swallowed down a lump in his throat. He averted his glance and rubbed his hands together as if he was cold. “Strap her to the rack.”

  The guard escorted me to a rectangular wooden frame, raised from the ground, with a roller on both ends. Four leather straps were placed in each corner. The guard twisted me around so my back lay against the wood. He cuffed my hands and ankles to the leather straps.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Chancellor?” the guard asked.

  “Watch your tongue,” Václav spat, “or you’re next.”

  The guard lowered his head and scurried away.

  I faced the silent crowd, a curious sense of calm flooding over me. All sound dissipated, except for my thumping heartbeat echoing in my ears like a rapidly beating drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. Perhaps it was signaling my death march?

  Was my heart beating that fast? Was I scared? No, I didn’t feel scared. I was... relieved? This was how I would die—at the hands of Václav in Radek’s town. On display for everyone to see.

  My death felt long overdue. It was as if the headsman’s blade had been hanging over our heads for weeks. Marc, Henrik, and I had been waiting for the blade to fall and now, here it was.

  All of my senses were heightened, except for my hearing. I only heard my heartbeat. The thumping of blood pumping through the vital organ. Each beat accelerating as my death neared. It was as if my body knew it was on borrowed time. The coarse rope chafed against my wrists and ankles.

  I smelled decay—a leftover aroma from the torture devices? Death along with a sweet floral scent—it must have been from the flowering trees—mixed together to combine into a confusingly strange fragrance.

  The moments played out slowly. Was this how it was when one knew death was near? My eyes trailed around the square. The crowd was an assortment of unknown faces, strangers standing in the heart of the town to watch me die. Their faces were a collection of fear and disbelief. A few were excited.

  A morbid curiosity.

  Václav addressed the crowd. He motioned wildly with his hands before jabbing his finger at me. Spittle flew from his mouth. One hand held the table. He could barely hold himself up.

  Henrik was on his knees. All four guards’ swords were aimed at his throat and head. Sharp, pointed blades grazed his skin, making superficial cuts on his neck and face, but he appeared oblivious to the threat to his own life. Hazel eyes were wide, unblinking. He mouthed something to me, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  Marc, somehow, was still on his feet, fighting the guards. The men had restrained his hands behind his back, but Marc bucked like a bull, shaking the men off. His face was red and the veins in his neck bulged.

  How much more loss could Marc bear? How much loss could one man endure?

  A rush of panic washed over me. This was the last time I’d ever see Marc. I was about to die. I forced myself to take in the sight of him. I engraved his face into my memory. I never wanted to forget him.

  His strong jaw with the shadow of stubble. The dark eyelashes. The straight nose and mahogany eyes. I wanted Marc’s face to be the last thing I remembered before I died.

  The fear and hatred I held for Urek and Václav subsided as I allowed the love I had for Marc to fill me instead. The tension in my shoulders relaxed despite my limbs being tied. My eyes watered and tears trailed down my cheeks.

  “I love you,” I whispered to Marc.

  Like a crackle of thunder, all sound came rushing back.

  Marc’s screams filled my ears. The crowd roared. Guards shouted. A raven cawed overhead.

  “Admit to the crime of heresy,” Václav said.

  “I will not. I’ve committed no such crime. I support the Protestants.”

  “Admit to conspiring against the Crown.”

  “Look at what you’re doing!” I lifted my head to the peasants. “Do you see what the Crown has done? We cannot follow them blindly anymore. They are murdering innocent people! We have to fight back!”

  The crowd rumbled.

  “Proceed,” Václav said.

  The board titled back until I was halfway between lying at the horizontal and the vertical. Václav spun the rack around so I faced Marc, Henrik, and the crowd.

  The heavyset guard with the beard—the one who had hanged Helga—moved to the handled mechanism attached to the roller at the top of the board
. He rotated the lever once and the torture board groaned with the grinding of gears and levers.

  The ropes strained under the tension and pulled tight. Pressure built and drew my limbs in every direction.

  I exhaled as the pain of being drawn apart sent waves of agony through my body. I would not scream. I would not give Václav the satisfaction of hearing my cries.

  “Mila!” Marc screamed. “I love you, I love you!”

  I lifted my head. “I love you, too.”

  Marc stopped fighting; his body went slack. He crumpled to his knees. The guards grabbed his arms, but he no longer resisted.

  Václav moved before me, blocking my view of Marc, and stood over me. His shadow impeded the sunlight. He lowered his mouth to my ear. “What did you mean before?”

  The crowd couldn’t hear our exchange.

  “When you said I wasn’t your father.” Václav’s eyes skidded over my face. “What did you mean? Did Rudolf say something to you about Isabella?”

  His face was lined with questions.

  Had he always assumed I wasn’t his daughter? Was he oblivious? Didn’t Radek say Václav suspected as much? Was that all it was—a hunch? Did Václav not know the truth?

  He leaned closer, waiting for my answer. Needing it. I could see it in his face. He was dying to know the truth.

  “You’ll never know,” I whispered.

  Václav’s cloudy eyes blinked. A long moment passed in silence until he nodded at the guard. “Proceed.”

  The guard turned the lever one more rotation.

  The gears groaned again, stretching my limbs. I squeezed my eyes as pain coursed through my body. How long would it take to pull me apart? Would they draw it out? Would I pass out from the pain before I died? Would my bones snap apart in front of everyone?

  The crowd thundered, but I couldn’t determine whether it was with cheers or jeers. It was a rolling wave of noise. Were they enjoying the show? I could no longer decipher Marc’s cries from Henrik’s. It was all one blur. Overwhelming pain consumed me; I could no longer concentrate on anything else. Nothing else mattered but stopping the agony.

  My groin and underarms burned from being stretched. A cold sweat had broken out all over my body. One more turn of the lever and my body would snap. Would my spine break?

  Václav motioned to the guard again. This was it.

  “Stop!” A sharp voice cut through the crowd.

  A familiar voice.

  Václav froze.

  I struggled to lift my head.

  A second carriage had arrived and stopped behind the crowd. This one was black and accented in silver. The door swung open—before the footman had a chance to open it—and Radek IV, Duke of Prucha, hurried down the steps, waving his hands in the air. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Two simultaneous thoughts crossed my mind: Oh, thank God. Radek would stop the pain. He wouldn’t allow me to be tortured anymore. My second thought: Oh, dear God. He’s going to kill Marc and Henrik.

  Radek’s cheeks were flushed pink. His short, muscular body shoved his way through the crowd, throwing his elbows as he did so. Despite the mad dash, his blond hair was in place. The mob of people surrounding us instantly recognized Radek and scurried out of his way.

  Henrik and Marc stopped struggling.

  Radek skidded to a halt in front of Václav. His chest heaved with exertion and his lips were parted as he discreetly sucked in gulps of air. Clear, almost colorless blue eyes roamed over me and then to Marc and Henrik, restrained by the royal guards. Everyone had become silent except for the raven cawing in the trees above.

  The vein in Radek’s forehead pulsated to the beat of his heart. He sucked in deeply before exhaling in the chancellor’s face. “What is the meaning of this, Václav? How dare you torture Ludmila? And why are these two rats sitting here unharmed? You have no authority to do this!”

  “She’s committed the sin of heresy,” Václav replied. “I have the authority to do whatever I want.”

  “She is the Duchess of Prucha!”

  “Is she, now?”

  “I demand that this injustice cease immediately!” He pointed at Marc and Henrik. The dimple in Radek’s right cheek deepened as a sinister smile spread across his handsome face. “Bring both of them here. Their blood will run through my streets. I demand it! I will not allow this to happen to my wife. How dare you, Václav!”

  “She ran away from you, Radek. On your wedding night. Or have you already forgotten?” Václav’s voice sounded flat. Bored.

  Radek ignored Václav and turned to the guards. “Bring both of those reprehensible blacksmiths here now. Put the dark-haired one in the chair next to the table and the blond one in the gallows next to the bar wench. Immediately!”

  Panic washed over me. “No!”

  Radek had forgiven my desertion. Perhaps forgiveness was too merciful a concept to attribute to Radek, but at least for now he was unwilling to kill me on the spot, which was more than I’d imagined. Somehow I’d been given a momentary reprieve, but I knew Marc and Henrik wouldn’t stand a chance.

  I had to stop this.

  The guards seized Marc and Henrik.

  Radek pulled a blade from the inseam of his boot and sliced the leather cuffs binding my wrists and ankles. “Are you hurt?”

  Pain coursed through my limbs as I sat erect. I groaned in response. Every bone in my body ached, but now was not the time to address it. I had no time.

  Henrik was positioned with his neck in the noose. His eyes slid over to Helga’s body dangling beside him. The point of the guard’s sword dug into Henrik’s chest—right over his heart. The guard stood with his leg slightly bent—he was waiting for Radek’s order to kick out the stool.

  Oh God.

  One of the guards moved a wooden chair—with leather arms and leg restraints—next to the table with the dirty metal torture devices. Marc was forced into the chair.

  “Now, once and for all, we will have them out of our lives,” Radek said to me. “After this, we can move forward.”

  “Please don’t do this, Radek. Let’s talk.”

  “Do not worry, my love. We will have all the time in the world to talk. Trust me.” Clear blue eyes constricted. “I didn’t forget what happened on our wedding night. You will be punished as well, but not out here for all to see or with these barbarians. You are my wife. You will be treated with the dignity and respect you deserve. I apologize for Václav’s behavior.”

  Václav stood to the side with a hand on the table for support. Tiny eyes twitched back and forth at the scene. Twin red circles claimed his sallow cheeks, the only indication of the fury he held within. This was his arena. These were his torture devices, and Radek was robbing him of the satisfaction of killing us. I could see the rage swirling within him.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” Radek whirled around to face the crowd. He raised his hand dramatically to the sky, in a way only Radek could do. “Let’s show the good people of Prucha what happens when you go against the Crown! Begin!”

  A buzzing noise sliced through the air.

  An arrow sailed over the crowd and sank deep into Václav’s shoulder. The momentum pushed him back and he fell on top of the table he had been using for support. The table broke in two and he crashed to the ground.

  Everyone froze.

  Another arrow soared through the air and landed on the wooden board right where Radek’s hand had been a moment before.

  Václav stared at the arrow protruding from his shoulder. He released a delayed scream. Spit bubbled from his mouth as he cried out in agony. He gripped the arrow to pull it out, but a guard stopped him before he ripped it from his flesh.

  “Who shot the arrows?” a guard shouted.

  The guards were on the defensive. Heads whipped back and forth, scanning the crowd for the culprits.

  Radek stared at the arrow in the board. His jaw bulged as he ground his back teeth. The violent rage bubbling near the surface was about to spill over. I could see it tran
sform inside him.

  Henrik slipped the noose from his neck and slowly stepped down from the stool. The guard who’d held the sword to Henrik’s heart was now searching the crowd for the person responsible for shooting the arrows. Henrik tried to get my attention. He waved his hand and motioned his head to the side again and again.

  I didn’t know what he wanted me to do.

  Marc slid out of the chair and moved toward the front of the crowd. He nodded at his brother.

  “Who shot at me?” Radek seized the arrow from the wood and snapped it in two. He slammed the broken shaft to the ground. “Who dares to shoot an arrow at me in my own town?”

  I wearily placed my feet on the ground, hoping they could support my weight. The muscles in my legs trembled but managed to hold me upright. I edged away from Radek.

  He screamed obscenities at the mob. His face was bright red. “Who shot the arrows? Come forward! I order you! Now!”

  The royal guards surrounded Václav in a protective stance. The old man lay helpless on the ground, pressing a hand against the wound to stanch the bleeding. The arrow awkwardly protruded from his body.

  “Who shot the arrow?” Radek shoved the table holding the torture devices. It flipped on its side and the metal instruments clanged to the ground.

  The crowd parted.

  A dark-haired woman sauntered forward with a bow held casually in her hands. A quiver of arrows was strapped to her back. She wore a flowing purple dress, a green robe with a hood, and sandals. Bracelets clinked together as she walked.

  “Zora?” I whispered.

  The Gypsy glided through the mob with ease. She showed no signs of fear as she came to stand in front of the Inquisition’s torture platform. She pushed her linen hood back and boldly displayed her face.

  “Who are you?” Radek’s eyebrows reached his hairline. He turned to the guards on the platform. “What is this? Some joke?”

  “Let them go,” Zora said simply.

  “Arrest her!” Václav’s hand shot through his protective circle of guards. “Arrest that Gypsy now!”