Page 2 of Heart of Snow
“The kaiser is sending his Spanish troops to every rebelling German territory,” Dalwigk continued. “Unless you keep fighting, it will only be a matter of weeks before your county isoverrun and you’re forced to renounce Luther and return to the Catholic faith.”
Father gave him a dark glare. “Keep fighting? Every man in my army was at Mühlberg. Whom would I fight with? And it’s no different for the other nobles in the league.” He ran a shaking hand over his beard, letting out a low curse. “All that work, yet in one battle the Reformation is dead.”
The Reformation. For nearly thirty years our lands had been aflame with reform. Ever since Martin Luther bravely nailed his criticisms of the Catholic Church to the Wittenberg chapel door, each beat of his hammer echoed throughout the German lands in the drums of war. If Luther and all our territories denied the Catholic faith, then Luther and all our territories would deny the kaiser his God-given right to rule. And with the core of the kaiser’s empire free from his control, how much longer till Burgundy, the Netherlands, Spain, Sicily, Naples, and the rest of his lands wrestled for independence? No, the kaiser would put down such rebellion here, enforcing with sword and ball his divine right to govern and fighting whatever hordes of men dared rise against him. Men like my brother.
“But what of Samuel?” I asked, finally meeting Dalwigk’s eyes. “What fate befell my brother?”
Father leaned forward, just as eager for Dalwigk’s answer, but the grim set of Dalwigk’s mouth was not encouraging. “I admit I do not know. But take heart.” He offered us an unconvincing smile. “Count Samuel is a fighter.”
That was precisely what worried me.
I wrestled back the threatening emotion, rubbing a hand over my nose until I caught Father watching me. He shifted his sorrowful eyes to my lady-in-waiting, his voice weary as he addressed her. “Mistress Hatzfeld, why don’t you see Lady Margaretha back to the festival.”
She nodded, giving him a sweet smile and pulling me toward the tent door.
“But—”
“Look,” Belinda whispered, holding back the tent flap. “The sky grows dark. Let us deliver the vials and be gone.”
Behind the orange and pink clouds loomed a darker purple hue, and I knew Belinda was right. We hadn’t much time.
I let her lead me away through the field’s matted grass, plunging back into the thick of the crowd to resume our search for the blacksmith, but I passed faces without seeing. When would I learn what had become of Samuel? No doubt it took time to identify the bodies of war’s mutilated dead. But no, I shouldn’t think that way. Samuel could well be alive.
“Your brother is all right, Margaretha. He has to be.” Belinda’s fierce tone matched her grip on my arm. She was every bit as worried as I, though she would never admit it. “And anyway,” her posture relaxed, an air of indifference slipping over her like a comfortable chemise, “we have our own troubles to fret about. Your sorry showing with Dalwigk... You must be more sociable if you hope to succeed in Brussels.”
She was intentionally diverting the conversation, but I allowed it. “Will you persist in dragging me to speak with every nobleman in the empire?” I shot her a glare.
“Until you can learn to look a man in the eye and say two words together, yes.” Her smile was infuriating. “Oh, don’t furrow your brows at me. It’s my duty to prepare you for the courts of Brussels.”
“Why all this talk of Brussels?” I pulled to a stop. “Has Father asked you to speak to me?”
She suddenly seemed very interested in searching for the blacksmith.
“Belinda?”
Meeting my eye, she heaved a great sigh. “As it happens, another invitation from the queen arrived today. It’s quite a distinction, you know, being asked as her lady-of-honor.”
I shook my head and resumed the slow push through the crowd. “You know full well I’m not going to Brussels.”
Belinda huffed. “Why would you refuse the queen’s invitation now? As the kaiser’s sister, she could sway him to—”
“The war is lost.” I rounded on her. “Any plans to promote our reformist cause have been slaughtered. I do more good here with my healing medicines.”
Belinda pressed her lips in a tight line, her usual countenance when she had much to say but not the composure to say it with. She kept silent, following behind me until I found the blacksmith. Upon seeing me, he whipped off his cap and gave a bow so hasty he nearly knocked his head with mine.
“I thank ye, m’lady,” he said, taking the vial I offered. “Weren’t never a better brewer than you. Or a prettier one.”
His wife slapped his arm.
I pretended not to notice. “Can you point me in the direction of the harness maker’s wife?”
“There,” he said, “beyond the pyre.”
At the mention of the pyre, I glanced at the forest and dark purple sky beyond. There was little time left before the burning would begin. Torchlights flickered about us, sending shadows dancing over the villagers’ faces as I squirmed between them, hurrying to reach the harness maker’s wife.
“Frau Baumann?” I asked, breathlessly dipping into my pocket for the last vial. “For your son.”
“Oh,dankeschön, my lady. But I worry his wound’s not healing like it should. Would you mind takin’ a look at him?”
