Page 3 of A Touch of Charm
“Because girls are calledpuellae.”
“First of all, boys in Rome speak Italian these days. They’re not like the stories you learn to translate; they are ancient. Nobody truly speaks Latin anymore.”
“You do.”
“I speak several languages that came from Latin, and studying it as the basis of proper grammar was part of my education, but I still don’t speak it in conversation.” Mary didn’t need to know exactly how extensive Thea’s education had been; she was a princess in hiding. It was unheard of. Rebellious. Dangerous. It was empowering, in moments when she didn’t sit so uncomfortably on the cot. Her new sense of freedom had come at the cost of comfort and security. How odd that freedom and security were like two geometric shapes that never overlapped.
“Then why do I have to learn it if I could much better learn Italian to fend off the boys in Rome who pull my hair?”
“You’ve never been to Rome, dear. And as long as I’m watching out for you, nobody will pull your pigtails.” Mary looked unconvinced. “Remember, ‘Lingua viva sensus revocat’—a living language revives the senses. Even if Latin isn’t spoken commonly, its essence lives on through the languages we use today.”
“The roots are common for all?”
“Perhaps yes. Everything has the same origins. All people are equal; the differences are nuances like shapes on paper, but the essence of what they are made of, ink on paper, is the same for all.”
Mary seemed to contemplate that for a while as Thea put her back into bed and draped the covers over her. “So, words are ink on paper, and all share communities?”
“Communication,” Thea corrected her. “Yes.”
As sweet as Mary was, the life of a governess was not what Thea had had in mind when she’d left her home, Bran Castle, in the Grand Principality of Transylvania, which was under the control of the Habsburgs. They had been in search of her brother, Stan. She’d hoped to escape from the fangs of her parents, eager to organize her arranged marriage to Prince Ralph Maximilian von Habsburg, whom she’d never met; only her brothers had, and her father had promised her to his father under the pretense of a charter to prevent the exploitation of Transylvanian gold from its mines. But, there had to be another way to unite her family with the Habsburgs and give her people more power under the Habsburg rule.
And that’s why Thea needed to speak with her brother. She wanted to find out what he’d accomplished, not merely read the occasional letter with a three- or four-month delay. She wanted to be part of the excitement that was her brother’s life in resolving their family’s conflicts with the Habsburgs and their Prussian followers—accompliceswas a better word, but that was neither here nor there in the nursery.
Thea drove her fingers through Mary’s soft ringlets of curls that fell from her night bonnet, her braided pigtails peeking through. These days, they only had each other.
Mary jolted back, her eyes wide as saucers. “A monster!” she cried, leaping out of bed and clutching Thea with tiny, trembling arms.
Thea, feeling Mary’s small body’s warmth pressing against her, gently murmured, “A tree branch hit the window.” Her voice was calm, a steady anchor in Mary’s storm of fear. She stroked the girl’s hair, a gesture intended to soothe, as her mother’s touch did for Thea when she was little. “Come, I’ll show you there’s nothing to fear.”
With practiced ease, she took up the oil lamp, its light casting a soft glow that danced across the walls. She slipped into her gown, then helped Mary into hers, the fabric rustling like whispers of reassurance.
“Where are we going?” Mary asked, her voice a fragile thread in the quiet room.
“We must meet our fears head-on, little one. We must take the power, or the fear will control our actions.” Thea winked, offering a playful smile.
We ladies must always support each other.
Together.
And yet alone.
Together, they descended the servant’s stairs, the house around them sighing with the night’s sounds.
“Look, it’s just dark. Nothing to fear,” Thea said when she’d opened the door. “Let’s see.” That’s all she’d intended, a look out through the door. But Mary ducked under Thea’s arm and slipped before she could grasp her. “No, Mary! Come back!” When Mary had gone further than the lights from the building reached on the grounds, Thea knew the little girl had gone too far, and had no choice but to follow her. “I didn’t mean for you to face your fears outside like this.”
Too late.
Thea rubbed her arms and blinked several times until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then, she found Mary again and took her hand. Outside, the air was crisp, the remnants of the ball’s music still fading to the garden’s nightly sounds.
Thea’s grip on Mary’s hand was firm yet tender, a silent vow to protect her.
Time to face some fears…
The night hummed with life—the distant hoot of an owl, leaves rustling in a breeze—each sound amplifying the unease that prickled at her senses.
As they moved through the hedges, a sudden crack startled Thea, and her heart lurched. The darkness was thick, the moonlight weaving shadows that cloaked the truth. She glanced back, her breath caught as she scanned the gloom. Was it merely a deer moving through the underbrush that had snapped a twig with its hooves? Or a fox? Suddenly, the air erupted with a flurry of wings—bats, their erratic paths cutting through the night. Thea pulled Mary closer, the bonnet slipping over the child’s face like a shield. Her eyes darted about for answers, catching a glint—metal, cold and gleaming, momentarily revealed by the moon’s light. Once a place of serene beauty by day, the garden now held a chilling mystery, the thrill of the unknown tightening her grip on the nightly dangers.
Navigating the hedges, Thea’s thoughts danced between the house’s safety and the night’s mystery. Had she left her apprehensions behind with the guests who laughed and twirled inside? What shadows lurked in the garden’s darkness?
