A Forest of Wolves (16 page)

I
awoke with a start.

Uneasiness settled around me when I didn't recognize my surroundings. The dark space was unfamiliar, and it took several minutes to remember that I was in some room in some tavern in some unknown town.

I was in the lone bed. Marc lie on the floor beside me. Henrik was next to him. I didn't see Zora.

I hurt from head to toe, but mostly my shoulder ached from the knife wound. I rolled on my side to see the boys. Both were asleep and both looked as if they felt as miserable as I did.

Henrik's injured hand was held protectively off to the side. The dried blood from his nail beds stained his fingers all the way to the knuckles. His mouth was slightly open and his chest rose and fell with deep breathing.

Marc slept on his side. The skin over his bruised eye was swollen from Urek's assault. His frame also rose and fell with sleep, but his face didn't look as peaceful as Henrik's. A deep line creased between his dark eyebrows. The planes of his face were angled. He was troubled, but how could he not be?

Our situation was getting worse.

I'd listened to most of Henrik, Marc and Zora's conversation. The Crown, led by Václav and the Inquisition, were rounding up Protestants and holding them in a camp on the Vltava River before they were tortured and killed.

My stomach twisted.

How many people had Václav killed? How many more was he willing to kill in the name of religion?

It was exactly how I had imagined this revolution would be— murder in the streets. Innocent people killed, and all of it would be done in the name of religion.

We had to rescue the imprisoned peasants. We had to save them.

And I knew this was it—the revolution had begun.

* * *

“Zora went back to the Gypsy camp,” Marc said. “She's meeting us in Kladno in three days.”

Henrik trotted beside us. “Does she know how many men she'll have?”

I rode with Marc. Zora had supplied us with two horses, but the pain in my shoulder wouldn't have allowed me to ride alone anyway.

I was fevered and chilled. My teeth chattered uncontrollably and the circumference of pain in my back grew with each passing hour.

What had begun as a severe, white-hot pain at the center of the knife gash had developed into an intense throbbing that covered my entire shoulder and half my back. It hurt to move. I couldn't see what the wound looked like—I'd yet to come across a looking glass—but from the expressions on Marc and Henrik's faces, it wasn't good.

“I don't know,” Marc said. “The boys Zora used to help us escape in Prucha were only fourteen or fifteen years old. We can't use them to attack the Crown. Our group of rebels in Kladno and whatever men Zora can round up are all we'll have to attack the camp. Hopefully, we can catch them off guard before they can send word to the Royal Army at the castle.”

“Do we have any idea when Archduke Matthias and his men will arrive? When will they bring their army to Prague?” I wrapped the cloak around myself to ward off the chill.

My brain felt cloudy, as if I was drunk with ale. I was feverish, with no way of warding off the sickness.

Becoming ill outside the Crown's walls—being ill as a peasant—was often a death sentence. If I were in the castle, King Rudolf would call one of his healers and I would be tended to. With the Crown's assets, I'd be healthy in no time. That wasn't the case out here in the villages. The fever was consuming me. Like a wave crashing against me—I could feel it overpowering me. Weakening me.

“I don't know,” Marc said. “The Austrian army has to assemble and make the journey all the way from Vienna to Prague. That's why we need to attack the camp and rescue the prisoners before the Crown's reinforcements arrive.”

The ground sloped upward and I slid against Marc. I groaned when my back smashed against his chest.

“Mila? Are you all right?” Marc pushed me away from his body and peeled back the collar of my dress. He sighed. “We need to get to Kladno quickly.”

I braced my shoulder with my other arm to stop the jostling.

Henrik and Marc signaled their horses and we galloped through the forest to Kladno. The woods became one blurred green image. I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, so I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke with a start when I heard voices. My first inclination was that it was Radek and his men, so I panicked. My eyes came into focus and I recognized my surroundings; we were in Kladno.

The people emerged from their houses to greet us as we trotted down the main road to Uncle Igor's house. I dreaded seeing the man. Igor would find a way to blame everything that had happened in Prucha on me, especially his brother's death.

Stephan and Ivan met us first.

“Henrik!” Stephan grabbed the horse's reins. “Marc! Where have you been? I knew something was wrong when you didn't return here yesterday.”

Ivan looked behind us. “Where's Petr?”

Marc dismounted and carefully helped me down from the horse. “Petr's dead. Urek captured us in Prucha, and then Václav tortured Mila in the name of the Inquisition. Zora and the Gypsies saved us.”

“What?” Stephan looked from Marc to Henrik. “What do... ?”

Henrik shook his head.

“Dead?” Stephan asked.

“Murdered by Urek.”

Stephan swallowed. “I'm sorry about Petr. He was a great man. What do you need from me?”

My legs were weak and Marc had to support all of my weight. “Send for someone who can tend a wound. I need a healer. Mila is ill—”

“I'll go,” Henrik interrupted. He ran in the opposite direction, before Marc could stop him.

“I need you and Ivan—and just you two—to head to Prague,” Marc said to Stephan. “No one must see you. A prison camp was erected outside the city walls on the Vltava River. They are holding Protestants as prisoners before they torture and kill them. I need to know everything about that prison. How many guards? How many prisoners? Can we get in? How tall are the walls? How far is it from the castle?”

“Consider it done,” Stephan said.

“And Stephan?” Marc gave up trying to hold me upright. He scooped me off the ground. “Hurry; we're running out of time.”

Stephan and Ivan ran off.

“Come on, love,” Marc whispered. “We need to tend your wound.”

Marc carried me into the house and gently lay me on the bed.

I cried out when my wound made contact with the mattress. Marc rolled me on my side and propped me up with pillows and blankets. He kneeled on the floor beside me and leaned over to inspect the wound.

A low hiss escaped.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“It's seeping liquid.”

“What color is it?”

“The wound or the liquid?” Marc asked.

“Both.”

“The wound has turned purple and there are spidery veins spreading out from the incision. The liquid is a greenish-yellow.”

“That doesn't sound good.” I placed my hand on his. “I haven't had the chance to say so, but I am sorry about what happened to Petr.”

Marc's eyes glistened. “I know. I'm sorry that happened too. It's no one's fault. No one but Urek's.”

The door flung open.

Marc shot to his feet and I inched my neck around him to see who it was. I was worried that Urek or Radek would appear out of nowhere to capture us. Marc must've had the same concerns because he had drawn his sword.

Henrik and Ruzena rushed into the room, Ruzena's face scrunched in distaste. She jabbed her finger into Henrik's chest. “You said Marc was hurt.”

Marc sheathed his sword.

“Well, he's hurting because Mila's hurt,” Henrik said. “Now please help her.”

Ruzena folded her hands in front of her chest. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Forget it,” I said. “I don't want her help.” I rolled back onto my side and gasped when my wound made contact against the bed again. “Isn't there someone else who can help me?”

“No,” Henrik said. “There's no one. The town's healer died when she visited a family member in Prague. Ruzena can help you. Her mother was a healer. She knows what she's doing.”

I didn't say anything.

“Please, Ruzena,” Marc said. “She was stabbed and the wound is festering. You have to help her.”

“Come on, Ruzena.” Henrik nudged her forward. “Help her. We'll owe you. I promise.”

“You already owe me.” Despite her tone, she'd uncrossed her arms and pushed up her gown's sleeves. Ruzena moved beside the bed and I rolled onto my stomach. She peeled back the fabric. A long moment of silence passed. “I can't help her, Henrik. She's going to die.”

Henrik and Marc stood over me.

“Ruzena, please, do everything you can,” Marc whispered. “Please. You have to try.”

“Fine.” She pushed me flat. She gathered my hair, knotted it on top of my head, and undressed me.

My face burned. I was naked from the waist up, but because I was lying down no part of my breasts were exposed. Still, I felt extremely self-conscious.

“I'll need warm water, towels, a needle, thread, hops, and dandelion leaf,” Ruzena said. “Quickly. The wound is already festering.”

Marc and Henrik scrambled out the door.

I lay quietly in the bed. Ruzena fell back on her knees watching me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I wouldn't thank me yet.” Ruzena yawned without covering her mouth. “There's a good chance you still will die.”

Her words were cold, but when the boys returned a few minutes later, she set to work on my shoulder. She washed the wound with a pungent mixture of warm water and herbs. It smelled of the earth, and the concoction bubbled when it touched my skin.

“Get back.” Ruzena swatted at Marc, hovering over me. “I can't see. You're standing in the firelight.”

Marc moved to the side. Henrik sat in a chair near the end of the bed and watched Ruzena's every move.

“Not that you don't deserve it,” Ruzena said to me, “but who stabbed you in the back?”

“Radek.”

She hesitated before picking up the needle and thread. “Why did your husband stab you?”

“He's not her—” Marc started.

“I know, I know,” Ruzena said. “She's not the duchess. Anyway, why'd he do it?”

“Because I ran away from him,” I said.

“Again,” Ruzena added.

“Again,” I repeated.

Ruzena pointed with the needle. “This is going to hurt, but I have to close the gash. Marc, hold her down from the top. Henrik, hold her legs. I can't have her squirming while I'm stitching.”

A sharp sting that resembled being stabbed again burned my injured shoulder. How many stitches would Ruzena have to make to close the wound? Sweat covered my forehead and the back of my neck.

Ruzena tugged and pulled at my skin for what felt like forever. “There,” she whispered.

“Are you done?” I twisted my neck as far as I could to see her face.

“That was only one stitch. I have at least twenty more to go.”

Henrik walked across the room and grabbed something from the shelf. “Here, Mila, drink this.”

“Good idea,” Marc said.

I pushed myself up on my elbows and accepted the bottle from Henrik. I had no idea what it was and I didn't care. I swallowed a mouthful. The liquid burned my throat and settled deep in my belly.

I took three more swigs.

“That's enough for now.” Marc peeled the bottle from my fingertips.

“Yes,” Ruzena added. “Let's save some for me when I'm done.”

I lay back down, this time with my head buried in the pillow, as Ruzena sewed my skin back together. My entire body was covered in sweat from head to toe. I wanted to cry like a baby. Instead, I concentrated on the cloudiness the alcohol provided.

“Mila?” Marc asked.

Ruzena sewed the wound with the needle and thread. How much longer?

“Hmm?”

The pain was so intense. It was getting hard to focus. My vision was becoming blurry.

“Stay with us. Ruzena is almost finished.”

“Almost,” Ruzena said.

“Is she drunk?” Henrik asked. “Or passing out from the pain?

“Can't tell,” Ruzena said. “Maybe both. At least she's not squirming anymore.”

As they discussed me as if I wasn't lying right in front of them, I felt myself drifting farther and farther away. I welcomed it; the farther I drifted, the less the pain consumed me.