A Sojourn in Bohemia Page 16

  “Let me see you to your coach, Franz,” Julius added, walking with Von Steiersberg to the door. “And, of course, my thanks for your hospitality. If there is ever anything I can do for you.…”

  “Oh, there will be, Julius,” Von Steiersberg said. “There will be.” He gave Varanus a parting nod. “Make yourself comfortable, Princess Shashavani. You are a welcome guest in my house.”

  Varanus gave him a smile. “Good luck to you in your search, Count von Steiersberg.”

  She waited until Julius and Von Steiersberg had departed before slowly exhaling. She had not expected him to be there when she called upon Julius, and while his presence had proven enlightening, it was trying as well. But as Varanus sank into the soft cushions of a nearby sofa, collecting her thoughts, she felt Korbinian’s presence looming above her. Slowly, Varanus tilted her head back and looked up at him as blood dripped from his pale face.

  “He knows that you are lying, Liebchen,” Korbinian said. “I wonder what he will do about it.”

  * * * *

  After Von Steiersberg’s departure, Varanus enjoyed a pleasant lunch with Julius on an upstairs terrace, overlooking the house’s garden and shielded by an overhanging canopy suspended on wooden posts. It was likely to protect against the risk of rain, but it also provided Varanus with a much needed shelter from the sun. She had become accustomed to wearing a veil when out of doors, but she did not like it, and she relished any opportunity to escape its haze.

  Though spring remained elusive, the day was warm enough for comfort—well, for Julius’s comfort; as one of the Living, Varanus hardly even noticed the slight chill in the air. And from the vantage of the terrace, Varanus enjoyed a magnificent view of the city.

  As she dined, she looked off toward the town of Zizkov, on the far side of Prague, and wondered after her son. Was Friedrich safe? Why ever had he allowed himself to become embroiled in such nonsense?

  She was startled from her thoughts as Julius reached across the table and put his hand on hers. Varanus looked at him and smiled.

  “A charming day for a picnic,” she said.

  “A charming day for charming company,” Julius replied. He grinned and then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I must thank you for your offer of help to Franz. Our troubles are not your troubles, but they matter greatly to us.”

  “Of course,” Varanus assured him, taking his hand between both of hers. “The disappearance of a child or a fiancée is equally distressing. I can only imagine how the Countess Erdelyi feels.”

  Julius coughed softly rather than replying, and his expression told Varanus much: Erzsebet’s mother was not overly worried about her daughter’s disappearance. But was it because mother and daughter shared no love for one another, or because Countess Erdelyi considered it better for the girl to be missing but safely away from her own family? It was interesting, if only from a purely analytical standpoint.

  “Do you believe the girl was kidnapped?” she asked.

  Julius sighed and glanced away. “Ehh.… Istvan and Franz are both my dear friends,” he said as an explanation.

  “That is not quite an answer.”

  “Franz is my age,” Julius said. “Young Erzsebet is not yet as old as my daughter Mechtilde. And while I know that the union of a young woman with an older man is both respectable and desirable, still there is a part of me that balks at the knowledge that the number of years between them is greater even than Erzsebet’s own age.”

  “Indeed,” Varanus murmured. “There is a point where respectability becomes something else entirely.”

  Julius smiled and summarized his thoughts on the matter as politely as he could manage:

  “Let me simply say that there is a reason why, between my and Istvan’s daughters, it was Erzsebet who became engaged to Franz, and not Mechtilde. There are certain things a father will not accept, even for a good match.”

  “I think that sounds very sensible of you, Julius,” Varanus said. “Had I a daughter, I would certainly not want her entwined with a man twice her age or more.” She quickly added, “However good his family.”

  “We are agreed on this point,” Julius said. There was suddenly a twinkle in his eye. “And speaking of sons and daughters.…”

  “Oh yes?”

  “I have a daughter, you have a son.” Julius grinned. “And both of them unmarried, as far as I know.”

  “As far as you know?” Varanus asked teasingly. “Might Mechtilde have become affianced while you were away?”

  “It would not surprise me in the least,” Julius answered, his expression as utterly serious as he could manage despite the grin that grew even wider. “Young people these days, they are always doing just what you least expect.”

  “How true.”

  “And your son—”

  “I have two,” Varanus reminded him. Even though Iosef’s alleged son and heir was entirely fictitious, it was important to keep up the charade.

  “If one of them is not old enough to travel, he is certainly not old enough to marry,” Julius reminded her.

  “Friedrich, then,” Varanus said.

  “Yes, your mysterious German son who is in Prague and yet missed his invitation to my beautiful soiree.” Julius gave Varanus a hurt look at having been made a poor host through the error of omission. “I should very much like to meet him.”

  “Possibly,” Varanus answered, keeping her tone playfully aloof.

  “And I should very much like him to meet Mechtilde,” Julius added, “provided that you found her to be acceptable company for the introduction.”

  Varanus rested her chin on one hand and studied Julius. “Count von Raabe, did you invite me here to discuss the matter of a marriage alliance?” she asked.

  Julius paused and laughed. “Forgive me. I certainly did not.”

  “Then why am I here, Count von Raabe?” Varanus asked innocently. “In this very charming villa with this very charming company?”

  Julius stood and took Varanus’s hand, leading her to the edge of the terrace. As they stood there, he placed his arm about Varanus’s waist and motioned to the city below them.

  “Why, to enjoy this magnificent view, of course,” Julius replied. He smiled and ran his fingertip along Varanus’s lip. “And to enjoy the company.”

  “The charming company,” Varanus reminded him, smiling softly.

  “The very charming company,” Julius agreed.

  He pulled Varanus into his arms and kissed her. Varanus pressed herself against him and smiled, sliding her hands beneath his coat and running her fingers along his back. At her touch, Julius held her tighter, his lips pressing against hers with a fervor that made Varanus heady with delight. The wind blew against them, its fingers tossing Varanus’s hair. She smiled and drew away from Julius, who gazed into her eyes. He brushed her hair and Varanus shook her head, letting her auburn tresses fall about her shoulders.

  “You are radiant like the sun,” Julius murmured, tracing the line of her ear with his fingertip, then gently running his palm along her cheek.

  Varanus sighed softly and pressed her lips against Julius’s throat, feeling his warmth, inhaling the headiness of his scent.

  Tasting the heat of his sweet blood as it pounded beneath his soft skin.

  “Tell me more,” Varanus whispered.

  Julius lifted her into his arms and kissed her again.

  “Glorious like the dawn,” he said, carrying her from the terrace and into the adjoining bedroom. “Mysterious as the shadows of twilight. I would have you light my darkness from dusk until dawn, my flame-haired goddess.”

  Varanus laughed aloud with delight, throwing back her head and letting her hair cascade toward the floor.

  She and Julius fell together onto the bed, lips pressing together, fingers struggling to undo every button they could find. Varanus stripped Julius of his coat and vest a
nd tore open his shirt. Julius pulled away her jacket, and together they freed her of her blouse. Varanus breathed heavily, feeling her corset tight against her as Julius ran kisses from her bosom to her collarbone.

  Varanus loomed over Julius, gazing at him hungrily. She saw him smile at her, his eyes burning with desire. She felt the strong muscles of his chest, undiminished with age, firm beneath her hands, flexing at her touch.

  “My goddess of the dawn,” Julius whispered, as he took her face in his gentle hands and pulled her down to him. “Come here and let me worship you.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After spending so much time in seclusion, Friedrich was delighted to be out and about again. As he sat at dinner the following evening, he reflected on how nice it was to spend time with family. It was something that he had sorely missed for the past several years. Of course, he had taken Varanus to his favorite restaurant near the Wenzelsplatz in New Town. He suspected that one of the taverns or coffee houses he frequented with Stanislav and the revolutionaries would not have been well received.

  He was pleased to see his mother in high spirits, and at first they simply chatted about trivialities as they began the meal. Ten years was a very long time to fill. They had corresponded during that time, but the letters had been infrequent and slow to arrive from either direction. Much of that was Friedrich’s own fault: the result first of his extensive travels and then of his scientific obsession.

  “You say you traveled in Asia?” Varanus finally asked, as their initial conversation lulled.

  “Yes!” Friedrich exclaimed, a little louder than he intended. He quickly leveled his tone as some of the other guests looked at him with distain. “I did. A few years ago.”

  “It must have been very exciting,” Varanus said. “I fear I have not yet ventured beyond Persia. Well, barring.…” She quickly stopped herself and smiled. “Forgive me. Tell me about your travels.”

  Friedrich took a long drink of his wine and considered how to compose his tale. He certainly could not begin with the most important revelation he had discovered: Mother would never believe it, and her incredulity would complicate the questions he had for her.

  “It was after Aunt Ilse’s death that Christmas Eve,” he explained. “As you remember, I was—”

  “Conflicted?” Varanus asked.

  Her tone was sympathetic, but surely it could only be sarcasm. Who could possibly be conflicted about the death of a beloved aunt? Granted, Friedrich was still deeply unsure about how he felt after his aunt’s death, but he could hardly confess as much. It was horrible to think the he could both feel sorrow and relief at the death of the woman who raised him.

  “Troubled,” Friedrich replied. “At first I tried to distract myself with work, but I found the castle a little too.…” He paused, searching for the word. “Disquieting.”

  “So you traveled?”

  “Around Europe, first,” Friedrich said. “Doing my duty as Baron of Fuchsburg. Being in the right places, being known to the right people.”

  “Courtly intrigue,” Varanus summarized.

  Friedrich smiled at this. “Hardly intrigue. I was never very good at that. I ended up spending more time at universities and taverns than at court. And eventually I just grew tired of it all.”

  “So you went to Asia.”

  “As one does.” Friedrich paused long enough to eat another piece of his meat before he continued. It gave him time to consider how to approach the story. “Did…did my father ever tell you about my grandmother?”

  “You mean the story about her conquering some province in Sogdiana and becoming a great khan among the Ozbeks?” Varanus asked. Her tone made clear her incredulity at the story. It amused her, surely, but she did not consider it seriously.

  “That is the one,” Friedrich said, keeping his smile lively while his heart sank. She would not believe him, whatever he told her. And that was to be expected. Of course his mother, a woman of reason, would not accept fanciful tales. He should have known better.

  Varanus smiled slightly at some distant memory. “Your father told me the story many times,” she said. “I found it most entertaining.”

  She studied Friedrich for a little while, her smile playing about her lips. Then she looked past him as something behind him caught her attention and she frowned. Friedrich glanced over his shoulder to see what so interested her, but he saw nothing other than a few other diners. When he looked back, Varanus had returned her attention to him and was smiling, a little too confidently. Something had upset her, and Friedrich had no idea what it was.

  He took another look to be sure that nothing was amiss before he resumed his story: “Well, I suppose I got it into my head that I would see if there was any truth to the tale. I went to India first, to Malabar, and then I went north. Eventually I found myself in Lahore doing God knows what, and I managed to buy passage with a trade caravan bound for Samarkand. I suppose I fancied I would chase down the story and find out the truth, even it if was nothing more than my grandmother’s bones.”

  “And what did you discover?” Varanus asked. “It sounds terribly dangerous and…exciting?”

  Even if she held no faith in the family legend, she did seem genuinely interested in Friedrich’s tale. It made Friedrich happy, though at the same time his delight was tinged with the knowledge that too much of the story would render the whole thing dismissible as absurd. Better to tread lightly and tell the breadth of his tale rather than the substance. After all, it was the first time he had enjoyed dinner with his mother in ten years. Surely that alone was more important than the truth.

  “Well, it was not exactly easy,” Friedrich admitted. “The merchants were not happy at the prospect of traveling with an infidel, but gold is gold. In the end, I think they accepted the likelihood that I would either die along the way or cease to be their problem once they reached their destination.”

  Varanus chuckled. “That sounds like merchants, truly. They are the same sort of men I am forced to entrust with managing my properties in France. If only I too had the opportunity of fleeing their company at the first sight of Samarkand.”

  “If only businessmen were so easy to avoid,” Friedrich agreed, laughing aloud. He sipped his wine and smiled at his mother. Ah, but there was still more of the story to tell. But how much more? He wished to tell her all, but he would have to stop before she thought him mad. Eccentric was agreeable; insane was not.

  “You went via Afghanistan, I presume.”

  “Naturally.”

  “It must have been very hard on you,” Varanus noted. “That is rough country, even in the company of a well-stocked caravan.” She paused and quickly amended, “Or so I have been told.”

  “It was very hard going,” Friedrich agreed. “And to be honest, I fear.… I fear I may have caught a touch of fever along the way. I had a most peculiar dream somewhere along the road.”

  He was not entirely sure why he had thought to mention it, but it was true enough. The memory of it, however vague, still haunted him.

  “Truly?” Varanus asked, reaching for her son’s hand. She sounded concerned, almost distressed at the thought of him taking ill, even so long ago.

  “I am much recovered, of course,” Friedrich assured her. “But while I was sick, I had the most fantastical dream. It seemed almost real, I swear to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I dreamed that in Kabul the caravan took on another traveler,” Friedrich said, weaving the fantasy of the tale with his tone and the waving of his hands. “A flaxen-haired maiden dressed in blue silk, if you can believe that.”

  “I can believe that you have a fruitful imagination,” Varanus replied.

  Friedrich smiled. “Well, in my dream, we traveled out of the highlands of Afghanistan, and we were followed by a pack of bandits who stalked us for several days.”

  “It must have been terrifying,” Varan
us said, not sounding particularly frightened. The benefit of hindsight, surely. After all, it had only been a dream and Friedrich was still alive, so what cause was there for concern?

  “I must have been quite feverish,” Friedrich admitted. “I recall distinctly that I dreamed I had arisen from bed one night, found my new friend strangely missing, and actually wandered out of camp to find her.”

  “Your noble impulse, no doubt.”

  “Well, yes,” Friedrich admitted. “Even in a dream, I could hardly allow her to go wandering off on her own, could I?”

  For some reason, his mother chuckled at this. She looked at him and seemed genuinely pleased.

  “At the end of the dream, I found my strange new friend—Olga I think she called herself—in the camp of the bands I fancied were following us.” Friedrich took another drink of wine. He very much enjoyed wine. It was a constant comfort to him. He had learned that much while Aunt Ilse was still alive. “And, if you can believe it, I imagined that I saw her fighting the bandits, killing them to a man to protect us.”

  Varanus laughed, but it was a happy laugh, filled with good humor. “In the grips of a fever you imagined a woman slaughtering men who would do you harm?”

  “Well…yes,” Friedrich said. He suddenly felt embarrassed. It was hardly a dignified thing for a man to dream about, being saved from death by the interventions of a woman.

  “And…?” Varanus asked.

  “And? Well, after she had killed the bandits, she saw me and.…” Friedrich paused and laughed softly. The rest of the story was the most absurd. “Well, she looked into my eyes and told me to sleep, and I awoke.” He snapped his fingers. “Fever broken, my senses restored to me.”

  “What did your companions say?” Varanus asked.

  “It was they who confirmed that I was ill,” Friedrich explained. “They had no recollection of the woman. They said I was feverish, and I had simply imagined her.”

  “That must have been quite the conversation,” Varanus noted.

  “Well, after I stopped insisting that they were wrong,” Friedrich said, “and they insisted that if I carried on they’d leave my behind, we resolved the whole matter quite well.”