Page 94 of Heart of Snow
It took some doing, sneaking through the palace unseen, but I managed to make my way to Margaretha’s rooms, hesitating with my hand poised to knock on the door. Would Hatzfeld be inside? Would Margaretha already be back from her ride with the prince? Perhaps it was better to await her return in one of the spare rooms, as I’d done the night before.
Yes. I would wait. I only hoped she’d appear before the soldier in the shed was discovered.
I camped in the empty room, glancing at the window with its long, silk curtains. I’d stood there just last night, with Margaretha tucked in my arms as I’d kissed her. She’d kissed me back, whole and unrestrained, not the ghost of the woman who’d been haunting my memories since her departure to Brussels. She was real, and she’d said she loved me.
The door to Margaretha’s chambers clicked open, and Ilsa left the room. I caught her arm and pulled her into the empty chamber, putting a quick finger over my mouth to warn her.
She pinched her lips together.
“Where is the countess?” I whispered.
“Not back yet. What troubles you? You’re sweatin’.”
I dropped her arm. “Carrera. There was a scuffle, and now I must leave. Immediately.”
“Is he dead?”
I shook my head. “Will you relay a message to the countess for me?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not your errand girl, Friedrich.”
“It isn’t much, but it’s important. The countess must know that I have left. And tell her...” I hesitated, aware of the pain my admission would cause Ilsa. But I needed Margaretha to know. “Tell her to stay strong, and tell her I’ll await her in Wildungen, if she’ll have me.”
Ilsa spun away, turning her back to me, her shoulders rising and falling with her rapid breaths. “You’d better go, or you’ll be discovered.”
“Promise me, Ilsa.”
She did not face me but, after a moment, gave a subtle nod. I took that as my assurance, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.“Thank you,” I whispered, then left the room, seeking my chance to escape Brussels.
Chapter 45
Margaretha
Voices around me first hoveredon the brink of consciousness, then grew stronger, more coherent, and far too loud. The prince was speaking, his words rushed and rapid, his Latin slurred with a heavy Spanish accent.
“She was just riding, and then she fell. She’d said her illness was nothing. I believed her. In face and form, she seemed unaltered.”
I tried swallowing, but my throat was hot and swollen. My attempt to speak was strangled into an indecipherable groan.
A cool, wet cloth came onto my forehead.
“What happened after she fell?” This voice was softer, somehow comforting, though I couldn’t place it.
“She was insensible. I had to lift her back onto her horse, but then she started vomiting.”
The second voice jumped in. “Can you describe the vomit?”
“Describe it? I didn’t study it.” Felipe’s voice had an edge of irritation.
“I only meant was there anything unusual or distinctive about it?” The second voice stayed calm, and this time I recognized it as Vesalius’s.
Sensation was slowly coming back to my body, and with it, a sharp, piercing pain deep in my belly. I pressed both arms to my stomach, curling my knees up to my chest and rocking to fight back the ache.
“Careful, now. Careful.” Vesalius put a restraining hand on my shoulder. “You’re on a table. Don’t rock too much, or you’ll fall.”
“Drink,” I begged, but Felipe’s voice overshadowed mine.
“What do you think it is?”
