A Forest of Wolves (9 page)

“Not really,” I said.

“Oh, no?”

“He was much older than me. He was a... strange man. Don Giulio kept to himself. Honestly, most of the court was afraid of him.”

“I don't blame them,” Marc said.

“But his death helped our cause.” Petr tilted his head to the side as if in deep thought. “Don Giulio was King Rudolf's only heir. When we take Rudolf down, there will be no other valid claims to the throne. It will be uncontested.”

Henrik's blond eyebrows rose to his hairline.

I dropped my eyes and petted the mare's mane. I couldn't meet his gaze. “What about Matthias?”

Matthias was archduke of Austria, leader of the Habsburg dynasty, and extremely pro-Catholic. Matthias also happened to be Rudolf's younger brother, but he despised his freethinking, Protestant-loving brother. Matthias believed he should rule as the Holy Roman emperor, not King Rudolf.

Petr glanced up at the white clouds. “Matthias is Rudolf's brother and he has royal blood running through his veins, but no one wants an Austrian on the Bohemian throne.”

“But he does have a valid claim if Rudolf isn't on the throne,” I said.

“He does,” Petr conceded. “If Matthias makes a claim for the throne, we will have to do what we originally planned.”

“And what is that?” I already knew the answer. There was only one answer, but for some reason I wanted to hear a rebel say it out loud.

Petr threw his apple core into the trees. “A Protestant must rule Bohemia. In order to do so, we must remove King Rudolf and eliminate every single person who has a valid claim to the throne.”

W
e rode for several hours.

The Sýkora men chatted and joked with one another while I tried to keep a smile on my face. I'd never felt so conflicted in my life. I didn't know what or who to believe in. The Protestants and the Catholics both wanted me on their side, each side wanting me to follow their views. But the honest truth was, I didn't know what I believed in.

Would these Protestant rebels kill me if they knew I was an heir to the Bohemian throne? Marc and Henrik would never harm me, but what about the others? Stephan? Igor? Petr? Hadn't Petr said they would eliminate every single heir? Would the Protestants want me dead if they knew the truth? And if the Protestants didn't kill me, they would never accept me for who I was... Princess Ludmila, heir to the Kingdom of Bohemia.

The Catholics wanted me, too, but I wouldn't survive one night in Prague Castle without having my throat slit—and my lineage hadn't come to light to any of them yet. My mother was right; there were too many snakes in the castle. What would the Catholics do when they found out my true identity? What would Václav do? Archduke Matthias?

More importantly, what did any of this mean? Did I want to be a ruler? Could I make a difference? I was one girl, and not an overly important one either. What would my mother have done in this situation? Would she seize what was rightfully hers? Fight back?

I flinched as I anticipated being barraged by my mother's murder scene. It happened every single time I thought of her, but this time, the words she'd written to me on that thick parchment flashed before my eyes:

No one side was completely right and no one side was completely wrong. The Protestants and Catholics were so entrenched in hatred that they couldn't agree on anything. Maybe it was possible to combine the best of both sides. Perhaps there was a way to compromise?

Could I possibly do it?

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Marc asked.

“Oh, you know, saving the world,” I said.

Marc laughed. “When you figure out the secret, please share it with me.” His stallion stayed in step with my mare. He lowered his voice. “I'll do my best to make sure no harm comes to Rudolf. I swear.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. “But he's in as much danger from your rebels as he is from his own men. Archduke Matthias will want him gone and Václav will do anything to make sure that happens.”

Up ahead, Petr hopped off his horse.

“Father, what are you doing?” Henrik jumped off his stallion, too.

Petr walked toward an enormous oak. Something white was pinned to the trunk. Marc and I trotted closer. A long letter was nailed to the bark of the tree.

“What is it?” Marc asked.

“A list,” Petr said.

“Of what?” I slid off my mare and into the overgrown grass. My feet sank in the soggy ground.

“Names.” Henrik ran his finger down the middle of two columns. The words were written in an ominous red ink. “It's a list of people currently under arrest by the Inquisition.”

Over a hundred names occupied the list. “Already? The Inquisition just arrived. How could this many people have committed crimes already?”

Marc frowned. “The only crime they committed was being Protestant.”

I wiggled in between Marc and Henrik and scoured the list.

Marc gathered me under his arm. “Branka's not on there.”

“Because they probably already—”

“We don't know that,” Marc said. “All we know is that she's not on the list. That's good news. Come on, let's get back on the horses. There is a town right through those trees.”

The village was indeed through the trees, but in covering that small distance, we passed another half dozen of the Inquisition's lists of captives. I stopped trying to read the names as I passed by. It was too upsetting and I hated the red ink; it looked too much like blood.

Were they picking people from the streets at random and torturing and killing them because they were Protestants? It seemed too atrocious to be true.

“What town is this?” I needed to take my mind off those terrible lists and the implications of what they meant.

“Vledrá,” Henrik said. “And it looks like we came on a good day.”

The town was in the middle of a festival. Tables piled high with food were placed in a great expanse of grass near the tavern. A pig roasted on a spit. Red, pink, and yellow paper lanterns decorated the small homes. The entire village was out drinking and socializing.

“It will be easy to recruit here,” Petr said.

“If they can remember what they committed to in the morning,” Marc said.

We dismounted before we entered the streets. The road was too crowded with people and tables to bring the horses through. We tied the reins to a post and walked through the crowd.

The peasants smiled at us as we passed. The town knew who the Sýkoras were and what their purpose was; most of the men wore black strings around their wrists.

Vledrá was clearly a Protestant town. What was particularly strange was that this was the first time I'd personally been greeted by friendly faces outside of Prague.

I'd been labeled a Crown traitor. According to the rebels, I couldn't be trusted. Here, however, people were as welcoming to me as they were to Marc and the others.

I relaxed.

We reached the center of the festivities. A kind older man invited us to sit at a table and share in the feast. Marc and Henrik sat down. I went to sit by Marc, but Petr approached me.

“The pastor of this town knew your mother,” Petr said.

I opened my mouth.

Petr held up his hand. “I will find him for you. I imagine you'd like to have a word with him?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

Petr patted my shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

I plopped down beside Marc. “That was strange.”

“What's that?” Marc bit into a chicken leg.

“Your father said the pastor of this town knew my mother.”

Henrik leaned in. “That's not strange. Vledrá was the cornerstone of the rebellion ten years ago; kind of like Kladno is now. If your mother was involved in the revolution, it would make sense that people here would know her.”

I viewed the town with new eyes. People were staring and smiling. I exhaled. These people knew my mother. She helped them from behind enemy lines and now here I was...

“You all right?” Marc touched my cheek. His fingertip was wet.

I touched my face.
I was crying
. “I'm fine. I wasn't expecting...”

“I know.” Marc pushed a plate of chicken and rice across the table. “Here, eat some. It's delicious.”

“Ludmila,” Petr called.

I twisted in my seat. Petr stood behind me next to a bald man with thick, dark eyebrows. He was only about forty years old, but he had the aura of someone much older and wiser. His eyes were kind and, at the moment, sparkling.

“Ludmila Nováková?” the man said.

I stood.

“My name is Tomas Dvo
ák. I am so pleased to meet you. You look just like your mother, if you don't mind me saying so.” The man smiled and extended his hand.

I eagerly shook it. “It's nice to meet you. Please call me Mila.”

Marc and Henrik stood. “Tomas!”

“Boys! You've grown taller than trees.” Tomas hugged each of them. “I am sorry for Jiri's loss. I will pray for his soul.” He turned to me. “Would you like to speak in private? We can talk in my church if you'd like. I was extremely close to your mother and I'm sure you have many questions.”

“Please.” I turned to Marc. “Is it all right if I go?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “The church is down there. Tomas has been a friend of our family since I was a baby. We'll be right here if you need us.” Marc kissed me on the cheek. “I hope you find what you're looking for.”

I hoped so, too.

I walked beside Tomas through the crowded tables. We were headed toward a whitewashed church at the end of the road. It was a crudely constructed building, but beautiful in its simplicity.

Inside, a handful of people sat in the pews with their heads lowered. Tomas led me down the aisle to a room in the back of the church. We passed an area that resembled an altar; an altar was a Catholic term, but this was the first time I'd ever been inside a non-Roman Catholic Church.

The Protestant church was much more conservative in its decoration. There was no gold or stained-glass windows. No twenty-foot arches or domed ceilings. No massive, elaborate crypts. No crucifix—only a plain wooden cross on the wall.

The church was essentially four walls with pews and a table at the front for the pastor to deliver his sermon.

Simple.

The back room of the church was Tomas's office. It was a small space with a table, two chairs, and bookshelves crammed with books. He invited me to sit. I did and couldn't help but imagine my mother sitting in the same exact spot.

“I'm honored to meet you,” Tomas said.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” I crossed my hands in front of me.

“You're nervous.”

“I only recently discovered things about my mother that I never knew. This is all new to me.”

“I can imagine. Your mother led a double life, but she did so to protect the people of Bohemia. She was a fearless woman, and to this day, I stand by my belief that she was murdered for the help she provided to us.”

“Václav killed her.”

Tomas poured two cups of ale and lit the small candle on the table. The room had no windows. He sighed. “I suspected so.”

“She knew she was going to die,” I offered.

“I'm sure she did. She lived a dangerous life, but an extremely important one.”

Zora had foretold similar things when she read my palm. Was this my path, too? An important, dangerous existence. But a short one?

“How did you meet?” I asked.

“I met your mother in 1597. You were a young child at the time.”

“Did she come here?”

“A few times, but it was hard for her to venture this far from the castle. We had a secret meeting place in Prague where I would visit with her quite regularly. Your mother was in charge of obtaining assets to fund the rebellion. In addition, she physically helped the peasants when she could. She cared for the sick. She cooked for them. Sewed clothing.”

“She converted to Protestantism?” I asked.

Tomas smiled. “She did. Right here in this church. I was the one who performed the act.”

I scratched my fingernail against the table's rough surface. I had so much to say and nothing to say, all at the same time.

“You are troubled,” Tomas said.

I glanced up. “I
am
troubled.” Saying the words was freeing. It was funny how one statement could change everything.

“It's all right.”

“No, I'm seriously troubled,” I said.

“Go on.”

“I'm here with you, listening to all these great deeds my mother did for the greater good of humanity. She made such an impact and was so important that she was killed for her efforts. Look at me—I'm useless. I have no clear plan. No concrete belief. I'm here because I came with Marc. I'm following his beliefs.”

He placed his hand over mine. “You will know.”

“Know what?”

“Where you stand. What you believe in. When the time is right, Ludmila, you will know.”

“But there are bigger implications here. We're on the verge of war. And what I just found out about...” I trailed off. I'd almost said too much.

Tomas waited, but I didn't say any more.

I didn't know how well Tomas knew my mother. Did he know her secret? Did he know I was Rudolf's heir? I couldn't risk making that assumption. Too much was at stake. I lowered my eyes.

“Don't worry, Ludmila,” Tomas said. “I have a deep suspicion that you will be the central piece to this entire revolution.”