Page 1 of Heart of Snow
Chapter 1
Margaretha
I did not look atthe pyre in the center of the crowd.
I watched boys in hooknose witch masks chase screaming girls toward their mothers’ skirts. I watched celebrating villagers dance, kicking up the dust of the open field as they pounded their feet to grating tunes from slide trumpets and shawms. I even watched drunken men staggering and spilling ale from their cups. All so I might avoid seeing the woman of twigs and straw propped atop an ominous pile of logs, waiting to burn. The villagers paid her no heed, carrying on with their throbbing noise and chaos, forgetting what I could never forget.
I remembered when the woman who burned was real.
“You’re shivering, Countess.” My lady-in-waiting, Belinda, rubbed my arm. “Let us warm you with some ale.”
“It isn’t the cold; it’s the place.” Despite the nearly ten-year absence, dark memories hovered around me like fog clinging to the forest’s trunks.
Belinda’s eyes turned sympathetic. “Do you wish to leave? Perhaps we can sneak away without your father noticing.”
My heart swelled at the idea of escaping the mock burning, and I nodded excitedly. “Yes, let’s do. Only, first I must deliver these electuaries.” After reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the small vials.
“Margaretha, you brought your medicaments to a festival? Do you never rest?”
“Ailments don’t cease simply because it’s Walpurgisnacht.” I rolled onto my toes to search for the blacksmith. “I’ve only two left to dispense.”
“Very well. Let us be quick.” She slid her arm through mine, letting me lead her along as I weaved through the crowd. Heads turned as we passed, young men staring after me, old men’s eyesgoing wide. I batted away my rising embarrassment from their attentions, until my sights landed on a nobleman, his brown eyes following me with interest as his foot relentlessly tapped the dirt.
I nodded a quick acknowledgement, though it was not quick enough. Belinda had already followed my line of sight to the man, a broad grin coming over her face. “Is that Baron von Dalwigk? Well, this will be diverting. Let us have a chat with him.”
“Belinda, no.” I tugged on her arm to steer us away from another of her attempts to have me speak with a man, but Belinda was stronger, dragging me toward him. Before he’d even pushed himself up to greet us, my hands trembled, and it seemed my tongue was swelling in my throat. As Belinda and I dropped our bows, I locked my gaze safely on his boots. His tapping toe indicated he welcomed this conversation as much as I, but he returned our bows, greeting me first to show deference for my higher rank.
“Guten abend, Herr von Dalwigk,” Belinda said. “You’re looking quite a man now. Are you yet five and twenty?”
“Eight and twenty, Baroness, and I see you are as lovely as ever.” He took her hand to kiss it, and peeking at the pair, I suddenly saw Belinda as he might, with the advantage of five years’ maturity over my nineteen and beauty enough in her own right. Her darker features were not as fashionable as my fair ones, but she had a cleverness about her eyes, and her mouth was bent in a soft, knowing smile.
Dalwigk turned to me next, and I dropped my sights back to his mud-splattered, fidgeting boot. “But could this really be the young countess? Lady Margaretha, I would not have thought it possible you would grow to be such a beauty.”
His compliment was part insult, but at the insistence of Belinda’s elbow in my side, I stammered out my thanks.
“What calls you from Burg Lichtenfels, sir?” Belinda asked. “Would you not rather be feasting with your own people?”
“Not when there’s such company to be had here.” Dalwigk caught hold of my hand and lifted it to his lips, but before I realized what I’d done, I wrenched my hand away. Cheeks warming from my blunder, I risked a glance at the frown that dropped the corners of his mouth. Annoyance colored his words as he added, “I own a second motive for my presence. I bring news for the count.”
News?
His fingers joined the rhythm of his foot, drumming a beat on his leg that made my head heavy. This was not good news. My thoughts flew to my brother, and I cast Belinda a nervous look.
“About the war?” she asked, perfectly anticipating my anxiety. “Not unpleasant news, I hope.”
“Ah, here is the count now.” Dalwigk ignored Belinda’s question, stepping past us to greet my father with a bow.
Father’s mouth was already set in a frown as he acknowledged the man, then nodded to our private tent. He said nothing until the four of us were safely inside.
“My man tells me you’ve come to report.”
Dalwigk’s nervousness did nothing for the weight on my brain. “It’s not good, I’m afraid. Mühlberg was a loss. Your troops were defeated, every man either captured or killed.”
Father’s face drained of blood, and he sank into his chair. “Every man?”
Dalwigk nodded, his face solemn.
My throat seized until I could only whisper a strangled, “Samuel.”
