A Forest of Wolves (7 page)

I touched an area of uninjured skin on his back and traced my fingernail along his side and over to his stomach. Another wound—much older and completely healed—ran the length of his torso. “How did you get this one?”

His hand fell over mine. “Do you really want to know?”

“I do.”

He sighed. “When I was twelve, the political climate in Prague was much as it is now: Protestants versus Catholics. There wasn't a revolution, but there were small pockets of rebellious activity all around town. Constant fighting erupted between the Crown and the peasants.”

“My mother was involved in that small rebellion; she was secretly helping the Protestants. That's why Václav killed her.”

He caressed my face. “Prague has always been at war. Can you imagine what it would be like if there was peace? Do you know how strong and prosperous this country could be if we could unify it?”

I smiled at him.

“What?” he asked.

“It's the way you speak. You sound like a leader.”

“I'm digressing from the story,” Marc said. “You wanted to know about my scar.” He pulled me to my feet and we moved to the bed.

I slipped off my shoes and grabbed the old quilt. “I like hearing you talk.”

Marc stretched his long legs. “As I said, I was twelve and I was working in my father's shop with Henrik. My dad was out making deliveries so it was Henrik and me forging metal for swords. Jiri and Kristoff were out playing; they were inseparable at that time.”

Marc's eyes focused on the wall behind me. “Ruzena's mother barged into the shop. She has a son, too. He's Jiri's age and he always played with Jiri and Kristoff. She was shouting and crying that the boys were caught stealing fish from the market. She wanted my father to help before the they took them away to the castle.”

Ruzena's family and the Sýkoras were close. I knew they'd grown up together, but hearing stories about their past made it real. Marc had known Ruzena his whole life, similar to how I grew up with Radek.

I pushed my jealousy aside. I wanted to hear Marc's story.

“I didn't know where my dad was so Henrik and I went to help. We had to get to Jiri before the guard escorted him to the castle. Or worse. We told Ruzena's mother to lead the way and we sprinted after her to the open market.” He clasped his hands behind his head. “I was scared. I was worried something would happen to Jiri and I wouldn't be able to save him in time. I remember sneaking glances at Henrik as we ran through the streets. He looked so calm.”

I smiled.

“Henrik is always composed and collected,” Marc said. “It doesn't matter what the situation is, he's calm and in control. Nothing riles him. It drives me insane that I can't be more like that. He's my big brother, you know? I look up to him. But I was hoping—no, I was praying—that Henrik wasn't scared because I was terrified.”

“We finally reached the market and I saw Jiri. One guard had all three boys. He had bound their hands and was about to march them up to Prague Castle. Henrik and I looked at each other and I knew what he was thinking. We had to stop him. We couldn't let the guard take the boys to the castle. They wouldn't come back alive if they did.”

“The Crown would've killed them?” I asked.

Marc bit his lip. “Three Protestant kids caught stealing? There was a good chance that's exactly what the Crown would have done. Either way, Henrik and I weren't taking that chance.”

“Was there a crowd?” I asked.

“The whole market was watching. The owner of the fish cart stood there. We knew him. He came into our shop all the time. He looked scared for the boys, but he couldn't say anything to the guard. I didn't know what happened at the time—Jiri told me later—but Kristoff had dared Jiri to steal a fish. He did, but the owner caught him and caused a scene. It was their bad luck that there happened to be a guard walking through the market.”

I crawled closer to Marc, settling into the nook of his arm and laying my head on his chest.

“Henrik confronted the guard and demanded the boys' release. The crowd around the fish cart became unruly. Ruzena's mother edged closer to the boys and, as Henrik caused a bigger scene, she grabbed her son. She melted into the mob and darted off with him. The guard drew his sword and went after her, but Henrik tackled him.”

“Did Henrik have a weapon?”

“Neither of us did. It was so stupid. We were kids, though, you know? We didn't think about what we were doing. We'd come from a blacksmith shop full of weapons, and now we were fighting a grown soldier of the Royal Guard who was armed with a sword. We all could've died that day.”

Marc exhaled. “Anyway, Henrik tackled the guard and I grabbed Jiri. His hands were bound, but I snatched him and ran. I looked over my shoulder and saw Henrik getting to his feet. But during the distraction Kristoff had taken off in the opposite direction.”

“What was the crowd doing?”

“They closed in on the fish cart and made it difficult for the guard to move. Henrik reached me and we ran away with Jiri, but when I looked back, the guard was chasing Kristoff.”

I glanced up at Marc.

He absently kissed the top of my head. “I didn't like Kristoff, but I couldn't let the guard catch him. I told Henrik to take Jiri back to the shop. Henrik protested, but I ran off. I sprinted through the crowd and reached the guard as he was closing in on Kristoff. I jumped on the guard's back.”

“Oh my God.”

“And then I went crazy. I was twelve, but I punched and kicked with everything I had. I yelled at Kristoff to run and he did. My hands were bloody from punching, but I didn't know how much damage I was inflicting. The guard shoved me off and drew his sword. It happened quickly, but the guard lunged and stabbed. The point of his sword sliced me here.” He absently touched the long scar on his torso.

“My God, you poor thing.”

“I couldn't believe it at first because I didn't feel anything. When I looked down, blood had soaked through my shirt. The crowd swarmed around the guard, distracting him, and I was able to escape. I went back to our shop. Henrik, Jiri, Kristoff, and Ruzena's family was there. Ruzena's mother tended my wound and we stayed at her house until my dad came back from his deliveries.”

“Then what happened?” I couldn't imagine a man stabbing a twelve-year-old boy over a stolen fish.

“Word on the street was that the Crown was searching for five unruly boys—me, Henrik, Jiri, Kristoff, and Ruzena's brother. The guards ordered that we were to be delivered to the castle by the end of the day.”

“What did you do?”

“Ruzena's family smuggled us to Kladno. We stayed with Igor for a month while things died down. My dad sneaked out of Prague to see us when he could. Our neighbors knew what happened, but they never gave us up. They never revealed our identity to the guards. We stood strong as a community against the Crown.”

I pressed my forehead against his. “That's only one of the reasons you hate the Crown. Look at what they've done to you.”

“That's why we're fighting back.”

“And Kristoff? Why do you hate each other? I mean, before what happened to Jiri. You grew up with him. You saved him. What happened?”

Marc shook his head. “He's a bad person. Everything he's ever done has influenced Jiri in the wrong way. He's trouble and I never liked him. It was fitting that he had a hand in my brother's murder.”

“I'm sorry.”

“He's never taken responsibility for his actions. Kristoff does what he wants, when he wants, and he doesn't care who it affects. He never cared for my brother. He was always out for what was best for him.”

I bent down and lightly pressed my lips against his stomach—on top of the old raised scar. “I can't imagine a twelve-year-old with this type of wound.”

Marc inhaled when my lips touched his warm skin.

Our eyes met and a fire burned deep in my belly. I crawled on top of him, trailing my kisses up his stomach to his neck. His chest heaved as his breathing came faster. He pulled me down so I lay on top of him. I traced my tongue up his throat to the stubble on his jaw and kissed his bottom lip.

“You were a brave boy,” I whispered.

“I did what I had to for the ones I loved.” He kissed me deeply and then held my face in his hands. “I'd do the same for you.”

I closed my eyes as he stroked my hair. “I'd do the same for you, too.”

* * *

Sunlight shining in through the windows woke me from a dreamless sleep. I wanted to lay in the warmness and soak up the rays. It was the first time in days I'd woken up at ease in Kladno. I reached for Marc, but my hand slid over the empty mattress.

My eyes opened.

Marc wasn't there. I was alone.

I stretched like a cat lying in the sun. Maybe he'd gone to get breakfast? My stomach rumbled at the thought. Perhaps harder than adjusting to the manual labor was adapting to eating like a rebel. I'd grown accustomed to feasting in the royal hall. Now I was lucky if I received one-tenth of what I previously had in a meal for the entire day.

I'd kill for a roasted hen—

I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my cloak, thrown over the chair. Surely he wouldn't . . .

I burst through the door and raced down the street in my bare feet. The town was empty; everyone was still asleep. A feeling of dread and a worse feeling of betrayal fell over me. I ran over the damp grass and through the narrow alleyway. I skidded to a halt and slipped in the wet grass.

I fell to my knees, but I didn't bother getting up. I probably couldn't stand anyway.

My stomach churned, and before I could stop it, I vomited in the grass. My stomach heaved and clenched as it emptied its nonexistent contents. Clear bile wretched from my belly.

I looked up again, but it wasn't necessary.

How could I ever forget the image of Kristoff swinging in the light breeze? His lifeless body dangling from the end of rope.

I
burst through the tavern door.

A handful of men were scattered around the tables despite the early morning hour. Everyone turned when I entered. They were huddled at the table near the window—Marc, Henrik, Stephan, Ivan, and a few other rebels whose names I couldn't remember.

Henrik's seat faced me. Our eyes met and he jumped to his feet. “Uh, Marc . . .”

Marc swung around. “Mila.”

“You liar!”

“I'm not a liar. I told you I'd make my decision in the morning.” Marc stood on wobbly feet. One hand gripped the table to steady his balance. Bloodshot eyes darted around the tavern. “Please don't make a scene.”

“You made the decision while I was sleeping?” I ignored his plea. If he didn't want a scene, he shouldn't have murdered someone in cold blood behind my back.

“Mila, it wasn't your decision to make,” Marc slurred. “I'm the leader of this camp. I made the decision. I took what you said into consideration, but I made the right choice.”

“Are you drunk?”

“He's had a few.” Henrik scratched the rough blond stubble on his chin. “Actually, more than a few.”

“Mila, you don't understand,” Marc mumbled.

“Oh, I understand all right. You're no better than Radek beheading that poor pastor.”

“You don't understand what's going on.” Marc reached for me, but I stepped back. Alcohol fumes emanated from him.

“No, I understand clearly. It's you who doesn't understand. The Marc I knew never would have killed to satisfy his own lust for revenge.”

I had nothing left to say. It didn't matter anymore. What was done was done. I couldn't bring Kristoff back to life and I couldn't make Marc see the fault in his ways. At least not while he was this drunk.

I turned on my heel and stormed out of the tavern.

I had no clear plan. I needed to get away because if I stopped to think about what had happened, the anger would consume me. It wasn't only Kristoff's killing that infuriated me; it was
how
Marc had gone about killing him. He'd hanged Kristoff while I was sleeping so he wouldn't have to face me. It was sneaky and eerily similar to something Radek or Václav would've done. Were all powerful men alike? The thought made me sick to my stomach.

“You walk incredibly fast for someone wearing a dress,” Henrik said. “I never understood how girls could move wearing all those skirts. It's an accomplishment. I don't think men could do it.
I
couldn't do it.”

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you're walking aimlessly into the forest.”

I stopped and stuck out my chin. “Am I a prisoner now? I can't walk in the woods by myself? Am I an enemy to the rebels because I'm a human being who showed sympathy for Kristoff?”

“The woods are dangerous. That's the only reason I'm here. Of course you're not a prisoner. I'll take you back to Prague Castle right now if that's where you want to go.”

I huffed.

“Is that what you want? No one is making you stay in Kladno, Mila. You don't have to be here. It's about to get bad, so if you don't feel comfortable with us, you should say so.”

“I don't feel comfortable anywhere.”

“But you're safe here,” Henrik said. “That's more than you can say about the castle.”

I shrugged. “Where is Marc?”

“Drunk at the tavern. He stumbled after you when you ran out, but he didn't get far. I told him I'd go . . . he's not feeling too well.”

I exhaled. “Poor Marc.”

“You're angry.”

“You're observant.” I exhaled again, deeper this time. The crisp morning air filled my lungs. “Sorry. I shouldn't be taking my anger out on you. It's not your fault . . . it's Marc's.”

“I think Marc should have executed Kristoff,” Henrik held up his hand, “let me finish. He should have executed Kristoff, but he shouldn't have done it behind your back.”

I made a face.

Henrik ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “I'm not defending my brother's actions, but Marc has a lot of responsibility now. Being the leader of a rebellion is not easy. There are no simple choices for him anymore. He's trying his best.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“That's fair. We don't have to talk about Marc or Kristoff anymore, but I don't want to be in the woods.” Henrik nodded toward Kladno. “Come back to town with me. I'll cook breakfast.”

I didn't have an argument. Where was I going to go? Wander aimlessly through the woods? I couldn't go back to Prague. I was officially without a home.

I followed Henrik back through the forest and into town. We walked in silence side by side until he glanced at me. “Are you hungry?”

“I'm always hungry these days.”

He smiled. “I have a little bit of pork I can fry up with some potatoes. How does that sound?”

“My stomach is growling.” I picked up my skirts and stepped over a mud puddle. “I don't know where you live.”

He pointed down the road. “Not too far. I was fortunate enough to have a house donated to me, too. I guess it's one of the many benefits of being Marc's brother.”

“Does that bother you?”

“What?”

“That he's the leader of the rebellion?”

Henrik shook his head. “Absolutely not. I wouldn't be involved in any of this if it weren't for Marc and Dad. I don't get as emotional as they do.”

“I've noticed.”

“I support the cause. I believe in what we are doing and what we are fighting for. But I'm not the type of man to organize and lead a full-scale rebellion against the Crown. You know?”

I sighed. “Yes, I know.”

We veered off the main street and onto a side dirt lane. Houses lined this road, too, but they were closer together. I followed Henrik to the last small house on the left.

Inside, it smelled of freshly baked bread. It had the same arrangement as the house I shared with Marc: one room with a bed, a table with two benches, and a pot for the fire. It was simple, but Henrik's house felt cozy.

Henrik went straight to work in preparing breakfast.

I wandered to the window. I shouldn't have. The way the house was positioned presented a view of the common area beside the tavern.

Marc stood near the well, but he wasn't alone.

“What's wrong?” Henrik asked.

I didn't turn around. “Oh . . . just enjoying the view.”

Henrik's footsteps echoed off the wooden floor. Six giant steps later, he stood behind me. “Oh.”

Marc held the stone for support as he hunched over and vomited in the grass. Ruzena, with one hand on Marc's back, soothed him as he wretched.

“Do you want to go out there?” Henrik asked.

“No. I don't.”

“He was drunk when I left him.”

“I see that.”

“I'm sure Ruzena was only walking by. She's protective of him.”

“I've noticed that, too.”

“Marc doesn't like her that way.”

I turned away from the window. “You don't have to defend him, Henrik. I'm a grown woman. I'll deal with him when he's sober. Maybe.”

Henrik tilted his head. “All right. Do you want a piece of bread while I fry the pork?”

“I'd love some.” I sat at the table. I refused to be angry. I didn't want to think about any of it anymore.

Instead, I focused on Henrik.

“How did you learn to be such a good cook?” I asked.

Henrik flipped the sizzling meat with a fork. “I didn't have a choice. After my mother passed away, it was only us. My dad was busy working and Marc and Jiri were always hungry. One day I grabbed some ingredients and threw them into a pot to feed them.”

“You took care of them?”

He shrugged. “I had to. No one else could. When Marc was older, he hunted in the woods—illegally, by the way; the Crown doesn't allow hunting in the woods even though everyone is starving—and I would cook the food. We worked well together.”

“You still do.”

“We do,” he conceded.

“Do you believe the rebels can win this revolution?” I tore off a piece of warm bread.

“We have to. It's either win or we all die.” Henrik placed the cooked pork on a plate with a heap of roasted potatoes and sat it in front of me. “Usually when people are fighting for their lives, they fight harder than the other side. I'm hoping that's the case here.”

“That's a smart way to look at it.” I cut the pork with the side of my fork and placed the smoking piece of salty meat in my mouth. It was delicious. I swiftly ate everything on my plate.

Henrik served more potatoes. “Sorry, that's all the meat I had.”

“No, it was wonderful. Thank you for sharing with me. I haven't had pork in a long time.”

“Not accustomed to the peasant diet?”

I shook my head. “I don't know how you do it. I get so tired because I'm always hungry. The idea of food consumes my thoughts.”

“It does. Unfortunately, I should tell you—we're eating relatively well now, in the summer. Food will be sparser when the other rebels join us and winter comes. We will need to ration our food supplies.”

Loud voices erupted from the square.

It was a commotion of some sort. Men were shouting. Had the Crown arrived already?

“What is that?” Henrik asked.

I went to the window. Half of the town had congregated at the well. The men were all huddled together. “Something's happening.”

“Let's go.”

I dashed out of the house with Henrik on my heels. I picked up my skirts so I could run faster. “What do you think it is?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Stay back. Let me check first.”

I had no intention of staying back. Henrik must have known that because he positioned himself in front of me.

A group of people had gathered near the tavern. Marc was there with the other rebels, including Stephan and Petr. Everyone was focused on a stranger at the edge of the forest walking toward the town. The man held a package.

“Is he a member of the Royal Guard?” Petr asked.

“I don't recognize him.” Stephan tugged at the ribbon securing his curly hair. “But he could be.”

“Mila.” Marc still reeked of alcohol, but the commotion had sobered him up significantly. He placed his hand on my back.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked.

“I drank too much.”

“Did Ruzena take good care of you?”

“I made a mistake.” Marc squeezed my hand. “Can we let it go? I don't want to fight. Please? Kristoff isn't worth fighting over.”

“Don't come any closer!” Petr addressed the man walking from the forest. “Stay where you are!”

“I was instructed to deliver this package to the duchess!” The man lifted the box above his head as if to show proof.

My heart sank.

Marc looked at me.

“What did he say?” Henrik tilted his head at Marc.

The man waved the white box in the air. It boasted an elaborate silky blue bow—the royal color—which meant it had come from the castle.

Not a good sign.

I stepped past the rebels to the front of the crowd. Marc and Henrik flanked me.

“Be careful,” Marc whispered. “It could be a trap.”

“How do you know that package is for me?” I called out to the stranger. I didn't want anything from the castle.

The man cautiously approached. His eyes were glued to the rebels; most of them had their weapons drawn. When the stranger was close enough, he shoved the package into my hands and hastily backed away.

The box felt heavy.

Ominous.

The man bowed once he was a safe distance from the rebels. “The package was given to me by a member of the Royal Guard at Prague Castle. It is from Václav Novák, high chancellor of the Kingdom of Bohemia. I was instructed to deliver it to Ludmila Nováková, Duchess of Prucha.”

“How did you know where to find her?” Henrik asked the courier.

“I didn't. I was told she'd be at one of the Protestant camps. The Crown believes the duchess is being held hostage and that her life is in grave danger.”

“I doubt the Crown thinks that,” I said.

The man shrugged. “I only received the order to deliver the package.”

I bit my lip. Dozens of eyes scrutinized me. Waiting. Everyone wanted to know what was in the box—everyone but me.

“Do you want me to open it?” Marc asked.

“No,” the stranger said from a distance. “I had strict orders that the package was for the duchess and her only. I was instructed that it was imperative that she be the one to open the present.”

“What if it contains something that can harm her?” Henrik asked.

“It's a box.”

“You don't know the Crown very well.”

“Let me see it.” Marc grabbed the package and held it to his face. His nose wrinkled. “It stinks.”

“Like what?” I moved closer until I could smell it, too.

The rotted odor churned my stomach. Whatever it was, it smelled horrible. I slipped my finger around the silky knot. The bow spilled to the dirt and I carefully lifted the lid.

What hit me first was the odor—not the sight but the unbearable smell. Once my brain was able to move past the reek of decayed flesh, my eyes processed what sat before me.