Page 92 of Heart of Snow
Ilsa doused a hot poker into a cup of wine and offered it to me.
“I must go.” I took a few sips of the sizzling liquid, hoping to relieve the headache still pulsing from last night, but the wine landed hard in my nervous stomach. “I must tell the prince that I have made my decision.”
Belinda’s face lit up. “You will be his mistress, then?”
“I will have nothing to do with him.” I raised my chin.
She stared at me, her dark eyes narrowing. “Hettie, Ilsa, leave us.”
I watched the maids exchange uncomfortable glances before moving toward the door. When it closed behind them, I faced Belinda again, rearing back at the look of sheer disgust darkening her features.
“So you will let your brother die.” Her tone was flat, but I sensed the anger beneath it. If I pushed her too far, she would snap.
“I will respect myself.”
“Margaretha, how can you be so blind?” She took the cup from my hands. “The prince could give you everything you ever wanted. Your family’s debts would be cleared in an instant, and becoming his confidant would make you the most powerful woman in the empire.”
Anger churned inside me. “You would have me debase myself for power?”
“Of course not.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she carried the cup to the writing desk. “I would have you save your brother. How can you discard his life and throw away our chance for redemption and call that dignity? Your thinking is backward.” She turned to me, leaning against the desk as she awaited my answer.
“Belinda, Friedrich helped me understand.”
Her jaw went slack, and I realized my blunder in naming Friedrich. Hoping to distract, I quickly added, “Samuel loves me. He loves you too and would not want us to suffer so on his account. And I would suffer, Belinda. Selling my soul to the prince would leave me miserable all my days.”
“And what of the healer? You think our sins nothing, then?”
I joined her by the desk, taking her arms in my trembling grasp as I held her gaze. “I think we’ve done what we can to atone. The rest is up to God. It’s time to forgive ourselves.”
Belinda’s hard eyes flicked over my face before they shifted to the window, pooling with moisture. She offered a small nod, and I pulled her into a hug, her body shuddering against mine with her quiet sobs. I could not hold back my tears, anticipating Samuel’s death, anticipating a newer, freer life for myself. Themoment was painful and sweet, and I wanted to both run from it and embrace it.
“I should go, else I’ll be late.” I gave Belinda a final squeeze, and she turned from me, discreetly wiping a hand over her face as I pulled on my cloak.
As I walked to the stables, I put a hand over my belly to quell the nausea that seemed to go beyond nerves. I felt almost ill. Several times the queasiness compelled me to lean against the wall, but I pushed forward, finally reaching the cold stables to find Friedrich standing ready with my horse. A smile glided over his handsome face when he saw me enter, but it disappeared the moment the prince arrived with his attendants.
“Good dawning,mea columba.” Felipe bent to greet me with a kiss, but I turned my head, offering my cheek instead.
His brow furrowed. “Are you unwell?”
“Nothing serious,” I assured him, but he was pulling off his glove, setting a cool hand to my cheek.
“You’re warm. Mayhap we should postpone our ride.”
I considered it, tempted by the chance to delay sealing Samuel’s fate. But my mind could not be changed. “No, I’m only hot from my brisk walk to meet you.”
“Very well.” He donned his glove and mounted his horse.
Friedrich helped me up the mounting stool, giving my hand a squeeze. Though he said nothing, the fire he’d ignited last night still coursed through me, sustaining me with the courage I needed. I squeezed his hand back and gave him a quick, nervous smile before following Felipe out of the stables. We couldn’t speak as we made our way, single file, down the hill to the Warande, which was just as well, for the bouncing trot atop the horse did little to settle my stomach. The morning’s wine made a slow crawl up my throat, but my deep breaths of frosty air pushed it down again. Despite the chill, I found myself patting beads of sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.
On the tree-lined avenue of the Warande, Felipe pulled up beside me. “I’m most curious to know why you’ve summoned me.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I was hoping to explain to you my change of senti—” Suddenly overcome by nausea, I turned away to suck in a hasty breath.
Felipe spoke softly to me. “How about you and I have a little race? You get to display your riding prowess, and we can outstrip any eavesdroppers.”
When I faced him, his sights were on his attendants behind us, apparently mistaking my illness as a reticence to speak before them.
“No, Felipe. I’d really rather—”
