Page 88 of Heart of Snow
All those jests of Count Samuel’s—had he said he was escaping the ladies, or a certain lady? One very devoted lady?
“If I may, as you say, be frank”—I brushed the horse again—“why was it you married the count?”
She cocked her head as if surprised by my question but answered, “The man saved me from my uncle. It was out of gratitude.”
“Or was it because Count Samuel ceased to love you?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she quickly recovered, petting the horse’s mane with almost-convincing calm. “Did you know the kaiser’s Wildungen troops were recalled to Brussels, with Captain Carrera at their head? You and Carrera haven’t always been the best of friends, I think.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward me. “Imagine what he’d do if he knew about your little letters to Samuel.”
I dropped the curry comb in the bucket and faced her. “What do you want from me?”
“Stay away,” she spat. “Keep your distance from the countess, or I’ll report you to Carrera. He’d be only too happy to see you hanged.” She ducked back under the crossties, wriggling her jeweled fingers at me with a cheery smile. “Have a pleasant day.”
I watched her leave the stables before grabbing the body brush, whisking dirt from the horse’s coat with the stiff bristles.That snake and her threats. She wouldn’t dare expose my letter exchanges, or she’d implicate her husband in the plot. A risk I doubted she was willing to take, no matter her talk.
And what did she care about getting Count Samuel freed, anyhow? She was married now. That should be the end of it. Was she still holding on to her affections? Was she expecting the old count to die and leave her free to marry his son? No, none of it made sense, but one thing was very clear: nothing good could come of her being here, back in Margaretha’s life. In all Hatzfeld’s scheming, she’d kept her hands clean, leaving Margaretha the one holding a hand to the fire while Hatzfeld got the gain. She seemed to make a habit of leading Margaretha down dark paths, convincing Margaretha to entrap me with her flirtations, possibly even convincing Margaretha to abandon any thought of self and throw her lot in with the prince. The woman was poison, and nowhere did her venomous bite sink more deeply than in Margaretha’s mind. Why couldn’t Margaretha see that? Why was she so ready to believe her life worthless unless she sacrificed it for someone else?
The horse’s coat now a glossy shine, I grabbed the lead rope and unhooked the crossties to guide him back to his stall. At that moment, a bird swooped through the stables overhead, startling the horse, and he tossed his head back with a jerk. The lead rope ripped through my hand until the friction burned my skin. When I’d gotten him settled down and stalled, I looked at the red, stinging stripes traveling over my palm and across my fingers and had to shake my hand to let the chilled air ease the pain. As I walked to my chambers, glancing at the burn through puffs of cold breath, it was impossible not to draw a connection to Margaretha and our meeting at Walpurgisnacht. What had been her fixation then, hovering her hand beside the flame? She’d claimed no desire to hurt herself, but I had sensed it. Some kind of desperation rolled off her, drawing her handcloser to the torch. Had the mock burning of the witch filled her with the same painful memories it did me? Was it an unbearable reminder of her lies, filling her with guilt?
The idea pummeled me with the weight of truth, and I had to sink down onto my bed. With my head full of frustration for her self-sacrificing and self-doubt, how had I been so blind to her motives? I should have known it the moment she’d admitted her shame for my mother’s death. It was guilt driving her to hurt herself. Not just then, but now too. Why else would she be so quick to follow Hatzfeld’s guidance when it went against Margaretha’s very character?
But it was wrong to settle all the blame on Mistress Hatzfeld. Though she was guilty of conniving and bending Margaretha to her will, the pang in my heart told me I was to blame too. Margaretha had opened herself up to me, but when she had shared her agony of regret, what did I do? Sent her off to Brussels without even thinking of soothing her ache. I’d treated her like the deplorable person she already thought she was, confirming all her wrongheaded ideas that she was too corrupted to be loved. Too guilty and sin-filled to have worth. And so she’d come here, looking to earn her value through misguided deeds, when I should have shown her just how good and worthy a woman she already was. But it was too late now, wasn’t it? She had already chosen her path, submitting herself to the prince. There was nothing I could do.
Or was there?
Why else would Hatzfeld have ordered me away from Margaretha? If her path really was decided, why get rid of me? What power did I have?
And why did I have it?
Nervous excitement brought me to my feet, and I paced in front of my bed. Maybe it was only arrogance or wishful thinking, but I had to hope, to believe that if I wielded someinfluence with the countess, it was because she still cared for me. My opinion still mattered, and if it did, then it was high time I do the right thing.
Chapter 42
Margaretha
The ladies-of-honor were lining upat the chamber door, ready to follow Dame Thieuloye down to dinner, when Belinda appeared in the hall, flanked by a pair of page boys.
“What’s going on here?” Thieuloye asked.
Belinda held out a paper to her. “Comtess de Waldeck is moving to my rooms.” She directed the boys to my press to fold and pack my things.
Thieuloye broke the seal, perusing the paper with the very conspicuous signature at the bottom:Moi, l’empereur. “I, the emperor.”
I looked at Belinda, astonished. She’d gotten an audience with the kaiser?
Belinda ignored my gaze, throwing a summoning wave to Ilsa. “Lady Margaretha’s maid will need to come with us too.”
Ilsa waited for Thieuloye’s begrudging nod of permission, then left the room. Belinda took my hand and pulled me into the hall, following closely behind Ilsa as she led our way to the third floor.
“What is this about?” I asked. Her steps were quick, and I had to trot to keep pace. “Belinda, what is happening?”
“The kaiser granted me an audience this morning on account of a conversation he’s had with his son,” she whispered, releasing my hand. “He was keen to have you out from Thieuloye’s watchful eye in hopes that you’ll relent and become the prince’s paramour.”
I slowed. “Is that all?” I’d been hoping my removal to Belinda’s rooms meant we’d soon be leaving for Wildungen. “Then Samuel is not free?”
Belinda stopped to face me. “You know exactly how to free him, foolish girl.”
Her look was penetrating, but when I refused to answer, she continued walking, leading us down the stairs and into the empty halls of the second floor.
