Page 93 of Heart of Snow
“Are you more afraid of losing”—his eyes sparkled—“or of having to chase me for a change?”
Before I could answer, he’d spurred his horse forward, leaving me little choice but to follow. Autumn colors blurred, flashing bright yellows, reds, and oranges, until my head swam. My legs and arms felt numb, oddly disconnected from me as black spots punctuated my vision, bouncing up and down on the horizon.
I needed to slow down.
“Felipe.”
My voice was too weak for him to hear. I tried calling again just as the spots swelled, painting my vision black. I had the sensation of falling. Then nothing.
Chapter 44
Friedrich
Margaretha and the prince hadbarely left the stables when a soft whistle sounded behind me. Turning, I found that page boy, the master of the dice, motioning me toward him.
I cocked a brow. “Have you another missive for me?” Now that Margaretha had been allowed to see her brother, I thought our letter exchanges at an end.
“I do. And it’ll cost you.” He held out his palm, wriggling his fingers expectantly. “Four talers, same as last time.”
Sighing, I dug into my pockets, pulling out the money and dropping it into his hand. “The letter?”
“In your quarters.” He clicked his tongue, then abruptly departed, biting each coin while he walked away.
I made my way to my room, my pace brisk despite the distraction of my thoughts. Margaretha had hinted she was unwell. Though she’d dismissed it as nothing much, her face lacked its usual color, and I’d sensed a tremor in her hand when I’d helped her up the mounting stool. Mayhap it was only nerves at the prospect of facing the prince. If my words last night had persuaded her at all—and I believed they had—she was about to separate herself from the prince for good. No wonder she looked pale. Losing hope for her brother must be a terrifying prospect, and my heart ached for her. I wished I could be with her, hold her hand to lend my support.
A flicker of movement ahead caught my eye, and my steps slowed, my mind catching up with my impulse to seek out the letter.
My quarters were already within view, the little window looking empty and innocuous, but as I stared, I detected the sliver of a yellow uniform shifting ever so slightly from inside. I made a subtle turn, keeping an easy pace until I passed aroundthe corner of a nearby building, then bolted in a dead sprint toward any hiding place I could find. A small gardener’s shed met my needs, and I hurtled myself inside only moments before the tromp of boots approached. One man called to another, his Spanish words indecipherable, but I understood his intent. He was searching for me.
The boy had sold me out.
Gripping the door handle, I held it tight as someone shook the other side, struggling to open it. He seemed to think it locked, for he gave up trying, and no one else repeated the effort. My hands were sweating against the handle, but I kept them firm, afraid of what might happen if the soldiers found me. Crouched in the dark shed with the gardening tools, I couldn’t tell just how many men there were, but I sensed at least five. They called back and forth to each other, some voices close, some farther, but eventually all their words faded to murmurs.
Was it safe to leave? I couldn’t hide here forever. With Spanish soldiers on the lookout, I couldn’t stay in Brussels at all. I’d need to flee back to Wildungen. Margaretha would return there, wouldn’t she? If she loved me, she’d have no desire to remain here seeking a husband. Then again, I had nothing to offer her. Perhaps it wasn’t even right of me to ask that she consider me; her father would most certainly cast her off. But I would let her decide for herself.
These thoughts were nonsense. First I needed to get clear of the shed.
Looking around, I found the nearest source of defense and took a firm grip of the rake’s long handle. I quietly lifted it with one hand, still holding the door closed tight and ignoring the pounding in my chest as I strained to listen. A breeze whistled through the cracks in the planking, but there was nothing more to be heard. I took a deep breath and cracked the door, seeing nothing. Resting the rake just inside, I opened the door wider,stepping out of the shed and immediately pulling to a halt. Carrera stood only a few paces away, his brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me.
He unsheathed his sword and took a step closer. “I was hoping we’d meet again. You left too soon last time.”
“Your German has improved.” I took a small step back. “I can almost understand you now.”
His smile dropped, but he quickly regained it, moving another step closer as he clicked his tongue. “Spying is not allowed, boy.”
“Then it’s a good thing I haven’t been spying.” I retreated into the doorway of the shed, my hand finding the rake just inside.
Carrera came closer. And closer.
I waited until he was near enough, then in a swift movement, pulled out the rake, swinging it toward Carrera’s head. He raised his sword to block it but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the thick wooden end of the rake crashing against his skull. He dropped to the ground in a heap, and I stared wide-eyed, surprised my plan had worked so well.
He wasn’t dead, was he?
His unconscious frame lifted with breath. Alive, then.
I dragged him back into the shed, my chest heaving from the effort, and closed the door behind him. I hoped his disappearance would buy me some time, for I couldn’t leave the palace until I’d spoken with Margaretha.
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