“I know.”
“I knew something was wrong when she didn’t come to tuck me in bed. I waited, and when she didn’t come, I went to find her. I could feel it in my bones that something was wrong. I was the one who found her body in the tub.” I shrugged. “Now, whenever I hold a dagger or knife, I get nervous and all of these awful images invade my brain. I’m still angry with her even after all these years. How selfish can you be? Her life might have been tough, but to just leave me? I was only ten.”
Marc watched me for a long moment. “No.”
“What?”
He held out his hand. “That’s not you.”
“What’s not me?”
“That’s not the Mila I know,” Marc said. “The Mila I know wouldn’t cower from her past. She’s strong and determined. She doesn’t shrink away from painful memories. She uses them to give her the strength to fight back.”
His hand was still extended.
I swallowed. It felt like cotton had been jammed down my throat. His eyes were wide and expectant. No one had ever looked at me like that before—like I mattered. Like my thoughts and opinions meant something. Like I could do something.
Change something.
I placed my hand in his and he pulled me to my feet.
Marc placed the dagger in my hand and curled my fingers around the handle. “It’s heavy, but think of it as an extension of your hand. Of you.”
I gripped the handle and pushed away all thoughts of my mother.
He turned me around so my back was against his chest. He extended my arm in front of me, and his other hand lay flat on my waist with his fingers spread over my bodice. Pressing his palm against my stomach, he straightened my spine, forcing me to stand tall.
“You gain strength from in here,” Marc said. “Do you feel that pressure when I press my hand here? Now, when you take a step toward your attacker, you want to transfer that power from your entire body to your arm.”
Marc moved with me—like I was a part of him and he a part of me.
“See? Good. Shift your weight from the back foot to the front.” He guided me again, pressing his palm into my waist and shifting my weight forward. “Just like that. Now try by yourself.”
I sprang forward with the blade, keeping my stomach tight and transferring my weight from my back foot to my front foot.
“Good. Try again, but quicker this time. Pretend you’re plunging the blade into someone you hate.”
I imagined Urek standing in front of me. I sprang.
“Again.”
I lunged with the dagger more than a dozen times. The movement became easier. The transfer of weight became more fluid. More natural.
“That’s good. I think you could take someone down with that move.” Marc relieved me of the blade. “I want to show you where you should aim on the body.”
“Not the head?”
He gave me a look.
“Just kidding.”
Marc placed my hand to the side of his navel and pressed my palm against his stomach muscles. “A wound here would be lethal.”
Our passionate encounter at the inn rushed back. I remembered what he looked like without his shirt and how I’d felt as he lay on top of me and kissed me. Warmth rushed to my cheeks and I lowered my eyes.
Marc lifted my chin and guided my hand to his neck. The heel of my palm settled at the base of his throat. My fingertips grazed beneath his jaw and I stroked his stubble. I liked how rough it felt.
Marc stepped closer. “You could attack the jugular.”
His head was bent and mine was lifted. Our lips almost touched. He slid my hand down his neck and over his chest, stopping at his heart. The strong thumps of his heartbeat matched my own.
Quick flutters.
He lowered his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. “An attack to the heart is a fatal blow. One I’m afraid you’ve already given me.”
Marc cupped my chin and cradled my face in his hands. He kissed me softly on the lips and Zora’s words rang in my ears: Please don’t hurt my friend. A tear ran down my cheek.
He wiped it with his thumb and sighed. “Don’t cry.”
“What happens now?”
“We camp here for the night and then head out tomorrow,” he said. “We’re not too far from the castle.”
“And then?” I pressed. He knew I wasn’t asking about our riding schedule. That I was asking about so much more.
Marc sighed. “Nothing. I take you back to Prague so you can marry Radek.”
Chapter Thirteen
Marc’s words stung.
I flinched as if he’d struck me. “What did you say?”
His arms fell limply to his sides. “I said, I have to take you back to Prague so you can marry Radek,” he repeated.
“How could you—?”
“Do you think I want to, Mila? Do you think I want you to be Radek’s wife?” His voice shook. “You have no idea how much it hurts me to think about you and him together. Or how it felt when I had to watch Radek lay his hands on you like he owned you.”
“Yet you’re willing to take me back to him!”
“What choice do I have? You’re engaged to the Duke of Prucha! What am I supposed to do?”
“Fight for me.”
Marc balked. “You don’t think I’d fight for you if I could? If I had a sliver of a chance to win you? I’m a blacksmith’s son, Mila.” He held up his calloused hands. “See that? Do you know what that means? I’m not good enough for you. Whatever I say or do doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I want!”
“Don’t say that!”
“You’re supposed to be with someone like Radek, and I’m supposed—”
“What? You’re supposed to be with Ruzena?” Rage flooded through me like a tidal wave. “Or Zora? Or whoever else in your long line of women? Is that who you’re supposed to be with? Is that who you’ll run to the moment you drop me off at the castle’s gate?”
Marc’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw you with Ruzena the day I came to give you the invitation to the ball, or were you too drunk to remember? She came downstairs with you. From your bedroom. It’s obvious what happened.”
“Oh, it’s obvious, is it? What happened?” Marc crossed his arms over his chest. “Please tell me, because I’m dying to hear.”
I opened my mouth and shut it.
Dark eyebrows rose. “What? You can’t say what you’re implying? Are you too much of a lady to say what you’re actually thinking?”
“I—”
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong,” he said. “I’ve known Ruzena since we were children. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t at my house. She used to play with Jiri as a child.”
“I don’t want to hear her life story!”
Marc made a noise that resembled something between a growl and a groan. “Would you listen to me for a moment and stop being so stubborn? When my brothers and I returned home from the tavern that night, Ruzena was already passed out on my bed upstairs. She tends to drink heavily.”
“Figures.”
He ignored my comment. “I didn’t want to wake her, so I slept in Henrik’s bed and he slept in Jiri’s, because Jiri was passed out on the kitchen table. We woke up—in different beds—and I helped Ruzena down the stairs so she wouldn’t fall on her face. That’s it. It was my bad luck that you happened to see the tail end of that awkward exchange. Nothing happened with Ruzena.”
I crossed my arms to match his stance. “She doesn’t want you?”
“I don’t care what Ruzena wants. It only matters what I want.”
“And what is it that you want, other than your revolution?”
“You,” Marc said simply.
“Me?”
“Whatever ideas you have about me and—what did you call it? my long list of women?—aren’t true. I’ve been with Zora and a few others in the past. I’m nineteen, what do you expect? But nothing I shared with any of them compares to
how I feel about you.”
My bones turned to liquid.
“But I can’t have you,” he whispered.
“I—”
“Don’t,” Marc said. “It’ll only make it that much harder for me to give you up.” He ran his hand roughly over his face. “Let’s set up camp. We only have a day left before we reach the castle, and I don’t want to spend it arguing with you.”
He turned away from me like it pained him to look at me. I inhaled and waited for my heartbeat to slow. I needed a distraction, so I gathered wood for a fire and fetched water from the stream. Marc shot a quail with his newly acquired bow. He seemed pleased with his hunt, but he remained quiet while he prepared and cooked the bird.
The tension between us faded as we ate dinner, but it was replaced by a palpable sadness. How was I going to say good-bye to Marc? How could I let him walk out of my life? Would it be fair to marry Radek if I didn’t love him? Or was Branka right—would I forget the feelings I had for Marc over time? It seemed impossible.
The sun had set and the night air was the coolest it had been since my kidnapping. The flames danced off Marc’s face. “I bet you never thought you’d eat the things you have over the past few days.”
I placed the quail bone on my plate. “It’s delicious.”
“No, it’s not. You’re just hungry.” He smiled sadly at me. “What do they serve for dinner in the castle? Not for a ball, but for a normal, everyday dinner?”
“Steak, veal, or a roasted pig or different types of fish for the main course. They also serve sausages, soups, vegetables, and cakes. There’s always a lot of cakes.”
“All for one meal?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s excessive.”
“I couldn’t tell you the last time I had a steak for dinner. Do you eat with the king?”
“No. No one really sees Rudolf anymore, other than my father. The king stays in his wing in the main palace. I live in one of the other castles toward the back of the grounds, where most of the nobility and administration live.”
“How many people do you eat dinner with?”
I shrugged. “Fifty?”
“I thought it was crowded at our table with my dad, Henrik, and Jiri. Fifty people—that’s overwhelming.”
“Who does the cooking in your house? You?” I asked.
“No way. You’re lucky you aren’t eating burned quail. I’m a horrible cook. I stick to hunting and Henrik takes care of the cooking. Actually, Henrik takes care of most things at our house. He’s like the mother hen.” Marc laughed.
“You’re lucky you have such a close family.”
“I am,” he agreed. “What about you? Are you close with your father?”
“Not really. I don’t see him that often because he’s so busy. But I have Branka—she’s my nursemaid. She’s taken care of me since I was a baby.”
“Is she nice?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Nice wouldn’t be the first word that comes to mind, but she’s lovable, if you can get though that tough outer shell.”
Marc’s eyes flashed over my shoulder.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Urek’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
I scrambled to the other side of the fire. Marc was already on his feet with his sword in hand as Urek, Kristoff, and Jiri shifted out from the shadows.
“Cuddled by the fire, telling stories on a cold night.” Urek glanced up at the sky. The fire reflected off his greasy hair. “It’s almost romantic.”
“Told you he fancied her,” Kristoff said.
“You should’ve let us be, Urek,” Marc warned.
“You stole what was mine.”
“She was never yours.” Marc pushed me behind him.
“Tell me, Marc, what type of person knocks out his little brother for a woman?” Urek shook his head. “With family like you, no wonder Jiri sought me out. Don’t you know the number one rule? You always choose blood over everything else, especially a girl who’s engaged to another man. You think Blue Eyes likes you? She’s using you to get back to the duke.”
Jiri cowered beside Kristoff and stared at the ground like a beaten dog. His eye was swollen from Marc’s punch, and a dark purple bruise colored the skin beneath his lashes.
“This is only going to end one way,” Marc said to Urek. “With one of us dead, because I’m not letting you take her.”
“I figured you’d say that.” Urek crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Well, let’s not delay the inevitable. Shall we, Kristoff?”
Kristoff drew his sword and advanced toward Marc.
Urek threw out his arm to stop Jiri. “You stay right here, little Sýkora.”
Kristoff’s sword clashed against Marc’s. Urek lazily lifted his knife and pointed it in my direction. “I’m pretty good at throwing this. So don’t move. Or you’ll get a dagger to the forehead. Stay put and watch while Kristoff kills Marc,” Urek said to me. “Then we’ll see what we can come up with for you. Maybe something special.”
The sound of metal clashing filled the forest. Marc swung his sword and the sharp blade caught Kristoff in the leg. Blood from a superficial wound welled from behind the shredded fabric.
Kristoff’s nostrils flared, and he charged at Marc. The edge of his sword sliced across Marc’s arm. Marc grunted in pain, but he brought his sword up and around for another strike. Kristoff dodged the blow.
Both men were injured now. Kristoff’s thigh wound had slowed his footwork and Marc was bleeding from his left arm. The men performed their deadly dance until Marc ducked an errant blow and swung his sword upward with two hands.
Kristoff’s sword clattered to the dirt.
Marc kicked the weapon away and held the point of his sword to Kristoff’s throat. Both men were breathing heavily, but Marc’s eyes were trained on Kristoff. “Jiri, do you want to come with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Marc. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s all right,” Marc soothed him. His eyes flickered to his brother. “We’ll fix it. Just come over here. Come stand by Mila. I’ll take you home and we will forget all about this. It’ll be like it never happened.”
Jiri stepped in my direction, but Urek was quicker.
Urek snatched Jiri by the neck and held the knife to his throat. “Not so fast. Let Kristoff go or I’ll slice his throat.”
“Let Jiri go,” Marc said.
Urek’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I have to get these jewels to Germany and I need Kristoff to help me do that.”
“If you harm my brother—”
“Let Kristoff go and I’ll give you your brother. It’s an even trade, Sýkora. Let him go and you won’t see Kristoff or me again. Ever.”
Marc’s eyes shifted to his brother and then down to Kristoff on his knees. The tip of his sword grazed Kristoff’s throat.
“Come on, Marc.” Kristoff smiled. “You don’t really want to hurt me. For old times’ sake. Let me go. Take your brother and your girl and live happily ever after.”
“The clock’s ticking,” Urek said.
“Give me your word that you’ll release him,” Marc said.
“You have my word that I’ll hand over your brother.”
“And that you won’t come after us again.” Marc ground his teeth together. “I don’t want to see your face ever again. This ends now. Here.”
“You have my word.”
Marc inhaled before he lowered his sword to his side. “Get out of here.”
Kristoff scrambled to his feet. The wound in his leg had bled enough that there was a pool of blood in the grass where he’d been kneeling at Marc’s feet. Kristoff limped to Urek holding his injured thigh.
“I let Kristoff go. Release my brother like you promised.” Marc’s words were low and dangerous.
“As you wish.” Urek inclined his head. “I don’t break promises, but you didn’t say whether he had to be dead or alive. I pick dead.” With one rapid flick of the wrist, Urek swiped the blade acr
oss Jiri’s exposed throat. A thin line of crimson materialized under Jiri’s neck from ear to ear.
“Jiri!” Marc screamed.
Jiri sank to his knees. The wound expanded from a thin line to a thick gash. Blood flowed from the laceration like water trickling down a stream. Jiri’s eyes flitted around helplessly until they landed on Marc.
Jiri opened his mouth, but no sound came out—only a dreadful bubbling gurgle. His face paled and his lips moved in a silent prayer. He gasped one last bloody breath before he slumped to the grass and died.
Chapter Fourteen
Urek and Kristoff took off into the forest the moment Jiri’s lifeless body hit the grass. Marc ran to his brother and dragged his lanky frame into his lap. I stood frozen. The fire flickered in the cold wind. It felt like time had stopped. The horror of what I’d just witnessed was too terrible to comprehend.
Marc silently sobbed over Jiri’s body.
A ringing hollowness filled my ears. I approached Marc and sank to my knees beside him. Jiri’s eyes were closed, and if you ignored the ghastly wound at his neck and the blood that drenched his shirtfront, you might think he was sleeping. His face was peaceful. He looked young. He was only sixteen—one year younger than me and already dead. Murdered.
We sat quietly beside Jiri for a long time. The forest was eerily silent. I listened carefully, afraid that Urek and Kristoff would return, but I knew they were long gone with Rudolf’s crown jewels.
Marc’s eyes had dried, but they were red-rimmed and glazy. He placed Jiri’s body on the ground and folded his hands on top of his chest.
“I’m so sorry.” The words sounded small and insignificant.
“I always knew it would end like this for him.” Marc petted his brother’s hair. “Quick and violent. Jiri lived so recklessly. It didn’t matter what we said. We could never get through to him.” Marc ran his hand over his face. “Oh God, what am I going to tell Henrik?”
I crawled over to Marc and hugged him. I held him in silence for a long time.
“You’re cold,” he said softly.