A Sojourn in Bohemia Page 17

  “Compromise is so often the best resolution for disputes,” Varanus agreed, though again she revealed a moment’s look of distress at the mention of Friedrich being threatened with abandonment. She quickly concealed it behind her otherwise undisturbed expression, but it had been there for a moment. “And what happened then?”

  Friedrich almost told her the truth, fantastical though it was. But as he opened his mouth to speak, he thought better of it. She would not believe him, and she would think he was insane. He almost believed himself insane.

  “Then we continued on to Samarkand,” he lied. “A magnificent city.”

  Well, he had gotten there eventually. And he had found it to be magnificent when he finally arrived.

  “I shall have to visit sometime,” Varanus said. She paused. “Speaking of maidens.…”

  Friedrich quickly took another drink, expecting what was to follow. “Yes?”

  “Have you considered marrying, Alis…Friedrich?” Varanus asked.

  There it was again. “Alistair.” The name Varanus had given him before he could even recall being someone. The name he did not remember, yet it still echoed to him whenever she said it. But at least she was trying to use his proper name. His Von Fuchsburg name. The name Aunt Ilse had given him.

  “I have,” he replied, his tone ambiguous. “But I haven’t found anyone suitable yet.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but he suspected that Mother would be angry if he mentioned Aunt Ekaterine. And that was probably for the best. It was never a good idea to entangle two houses too closely together, unless one was a Habsburg. Although Aunt Ekaterine was more than a little magnificent, and the way she smiled was.…

  “That is a pity,” Varanus said, interrupting his thoughts. “Of course, I would never want to pry, but as your mother.…” She smiled. “I may have a few possible suggestions, when you decide to begin looking for an attachment. After all, every man wants to be married eventually.”

  “I’m not entirely certain that’s true,” Friedrich said. When his mother frowned, he added, “Not speaking of me, of course. I simply cannot wait for…um…nuptials.”

  Varanus sighed but she smiled at him. “I do not ask that you marry, Alis…Friedrich,” she said. “I only ask that you give me some grandchildren. And surely, that is but a little thing to ask.”

  “Of course, Mother,” Friedrich said. “I promise you that I will. Eventually.”

  And with the realization that his formula had worked, “eventually” might prove to be a very long time indeed.

  * * * *

  It was after sundown when they departed the restaurant. There was little enough light that Varanus did not wear her veil—part of a hereditary condition, she explained to Friedrich, but one that he had no fear of inheriting. It was curious, but Friedrich knew better than to pry.

  They left by way of the Wenzelsplatz, where there were still some people taking in the pleasant, if crisp, evening air. There was an old man outside the restaurant drawing pictures in charcoal, and Friedrich, feeling charitable, gave him a few coins as they passed by.

  “This was…well, quite fun, Mother,” he said, as he helped her into a cab.

  “Quite fun,” Varanus agreed with a smile.

  “Would you care to take breakfast tomorrow?” Friedrich asked hopefully. “I believe Aunt Ekaterine is having another sitting with Zoya. You could join her.”

  Varanus considered this and sighed. “I fear I am likely to be staying in tomorrow morning. Perhaps a late lunch?”

  “I would like that,” Friedrich said.

  “Lunch it is,” Varanus agreed. “Come by at around two.”

  After seeing his mother off, Friedrich returned home by a circuitous route, more from habit than concern for secrecy. All points indicated that Stanislav’s misinformation had already done the trick. According to reliable circles, all of the talk about Stanislav and Erzsebet had it that they had already quit Prague in favor of some more distant place.

  Upon returning to his house in Zizkov, Friedrich found a party in full swing, no doubt celebrating that very same liberation from outside scrutiny that so relieved his nerves. Zoya was irritated, of course, and he found her sitting by the window trying in vain to paint Erzsebet as the young woman lounged in Stanislav’s arms. The revolutionaries were in good spirits, drinking and laughing their concerns away. They were used to hiding from the authorities, but hiding from some aristocrat with a vendetta was ignominious.

  Friedrich quickly joined the party, sharing drinks with Stanislav and the others. He even joined Karel in an impromptu poetry recital, though he only half understood what they were saying. Through it all, he saw that Zoya remained at the parlor window, painting the scene of their revelry and every so often looking out through the glass. Presently, Friedrich joined her, bearing two glasses of the stiff spirits that Wilhelm had provided the company.

  “Thirsty?” he asked.

  “Parched,” Zoya said, taking the glass with a smile and sipping it.

  “And what has you so enthralled over here?”

  Friedrich looked at the painting and saw that it was more a conceptual study than a rendition of fact. It showed all of them in a state of revelry, but the focal point was Erzsebet seated before the fire, surrounded by an aura of light.

  “Radiance,” Zoya replied.

  “You and your light,” Friedrich said, taking a drink. He grinned. “And I thought that Aunt Ekaterine was your muse.”

  Zoya sighed, taking the comment far more seriously than it had been intended. “Erzsebet is fire. Your aunt is light. If I could have the two of them together, it would be marvelous.” She shrugged. “Alas, the best I can manage is a few hours with either.”

  “I could be your muse,” Friedrich joked.

  “You lack the necessary qualities,” Zoya replied, though she smiled.

  “Ah.”

  Zoya glanced toward the window again and frowned. “Friedrich.…”

  “Yes?”

  “There are a couple of men at the end of the street,” Zoya said. “They have been there at least an hour. I think they’re watching us.”

  “What?” Friedrich asked.

  He leaned against the window and peered through the glass. Being dark, there was only a little that he could make out, but the stars were bright, and they showed enough for him to see. There were two men at the end of the block, a little distance from the house. They had settled in beneath an overhanging room, and Friedrich almost dismissed them as vagrants seeking shelter from the elements. But as Friedrich watched for a few minutes, he saw one of the men strike a match and light a pipe. His blood chilled as he recognized the artist who had been situated in the Wenzelsplatz only a few hours earlier.

  “My God…” he murmured.

  “So I haven’t lost my mind?” Zoya asked. “They are watching us?”

  “I think so,” Friedrich said.

  Who could it be? Von Steiersberg’s men, surely. Or possibly some in league with Count Erdelyi. But it was simply mad to think that such men were there watching them. Hadn’t Stanislav’s friends done their job already and misled anyone on his trail? And how had these men found the house? Had they been following him all day? Was that it?

  “What do we do?” Zoya asked softly.

  “I…am not sure,” Friedrich said.

  “I don’t want to cause a panic.”

  The calm in Zoya’s tone had surprised Friedrich, but as he looked into her eyes, he saw the very real fear there. She was simply keeping cool under pressure, but she was terrified. Terrified like any sensible person would be.

  Friedrich finished his glass in a single gulp. “It could just be a coincidence,” he said. “Best not to jump to conclusions.”

  “Is it a coincidence?” Zoya asked skeptically.

  Friedrich hesitated. “No. No, it’s not.” He q
uickly stood as an idea came to him. “We are going to leave. What we should have done after the incident in the cafe.”

  “Where are we supposed to go?”

  “Um.” Friedrich considered his options. “We will stay with my mother. I am certain she would…well…tolerate the company. And Aunt Ekaterine would enjoy having guests, I think.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “We can’t leave on foot,” Friedrich said. “They will follow us if we do. Keep everyone here and get the lads armed. Well, anyone who’s close to sober at least. I’ll sneak out the back and get help. We will need at least two carriages to transport everyone. I am certain there is at least one at Mother’s house, and even if we must hire a cab, I don’t think I would trust one lurking around the corner just now.”

  “Agreed.”

  Friedrich bit his lip. Perhaps he was panicking unnecessarily. Perhaps it was all absurd. But surely Mother wouldn’t say no. She might even like the company.

  He glanced at his reflection in the window and shook his head. No, Mother would not like the company. But she would tolerate it for his sake. Hopefully this was only paranoia, and tomorrow morning he would wake up and feel an absolute fool.

  Again his reflection shook its head at him.

  It was not paranoia, and he was not being foolish. They were all still in danger, and he needed to get them out of it before something terrible happened.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Varanus lay against Julius, held tightly in his arms, her lips pressing against his. She smiled softly as Julius caressed the back of her neck with his fingertips. Julius was a delightful distraction, and Varanus enjoyed being distracted by him.

  “What is it, Fräulein?” Julius murmured, smiling back at her. He looked into her eyes, his own lit with admiration and desire.

  Varanus grinned and ran her fingernails along Julius’s cheek. “I am simply admiring a particular objet d’art,” she said.

  “Mmm.”

  Julius sat up and kissed Varanus again. Varanus held him tightly and pressed against him, breathing deeply as the intoxicating sound of Julius’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. It was a delicious sound that tickled some slumbering part of her mind, making her warm with excitement, warm with hunger. But she could not allow herself to partake of him, and the longing for him, the longing for his blood, made the hunger all the stronger.

  It made the hunger almost pleasurable.

  Julius rolled sideways and pushed Varanus onto the bed. Startled, Varanus laughed in delight. Torn away from her pleasant thoughts of blood and indulgence, she ran her fingers through Julius’s blond hair and kissed him again.

  She was broken from the pleasure of the moment by a sudden, sharp knock. She jerked away from Julius and snapped her head around to look at the door, her hands immediately clenching into fists, ready for whatever threat had intruded upon them.

  Sudden noises always meant danger. She had learned that five years ago, and that understanding had never left her. It had burrowed down into her very bones and lurked there still.

  Beneath her, Julius gasped and then exhaled. He fell back against the pillows and muttered, “Damn them all, what is it?”

  “What?” Varanus asked, looking back at him.

  Julius stroked her cheek and let his fingertips trace the soft skin beneath her chin.

  “I instructed the servants to leave us in peace,” he said, sounding irritated. He was breathing heavily, just as she was. “It must be some emergency to have disobeyed my orders.”

  Varanus sighed and rolled sideways, flopping onto the bed. Damn the servants indeed, she thought, as the knock sounded again. She quickly brushed her hair with her fingers to make herself more presentable. Not that it much mattered. She was still more or less clothed—neither she nor Julius had had the patience to fully disrobe—but being caught in a gentleman’s bedroom was scandalous, no matter how pronounced her state of undress.

  Nor, of course, did Varanus much care. That was the great advantage of being Shashavani sojourning in the mortal world: if things became too problematic, one could always leave.

  Julius stood and put on the dressing gown that hung near the door. He was too shirtless to be seen, even by the servants. The knock sounded a third time.

  “Your Lordship?” called a very intrusive voice from the adjoining chamber.

  “What is it?” Julius demanded, pulling open the door.

  Varanus saw one of the footmen standing beyond the threshold, carrying a small parcel in one hand. As he began to speak, he caught sight of Varanus and turned slightly pale.

  Julius cleared his throat and repeated, “What is it?”

  “My apologies, My Lord,” the footman said softly, regaining some measure of his composure, “but there are some gentlemen who must speak with you on a matter of importance.”

  Julius’s mouth tightened in annoyance, and he glanced at Varanus. She smiled at him, but she suspected that her expression still managed to convey more than a measure of irritation.

  “Can it wait until the morning?” Julius asked.

  “I am told that it cannot.”

  The footman handed Julius the parcel. Julius sighed again and examined the papers inside. After a few pages, he nodded to the footman.

  “Yes, very well,” he said. “Tell them I will be with them momentarily.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “And offer the men a drink,” Julius added. “In deference to the hour.”

  “I was already instructed to do so, My Lord.”

  “Oh,” Julius said. “Well, carry on.” As the footman withdrew, Julius turned back to Varanus and gave her an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Fräulein. I shall be but ten minutes. Twenty at most.”

  Varanus flashed him an amused grin. “I am not known for my patience.”

  Julius coughed and rubbed his chin, unable to hide a smile. “Five minutes.”

  “I shall be counting,” Varanus told him. She arched an eyebrow and pointed toward the clock on the mantle.

  Julius exhaled and repeated, “Five minutes.”

  He backed into the adjoining office and closed the door behind him. The door did not quite catch, and it remained ajar just enough for Varanus to hear Julius searching through the desk in the office.

  Varanus lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She slowly closed her eyes and listened to the ticking of the clock.

  Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick.…

  “Enjoying yourself, Liebchen?”

  Varanus’s eyes opened to see Korbinian’s pale, beautiful, blood-stained face gazing back at her from above. She gasped in fright and covered her mouth with both hands to keep from crying out. Korbinian merely smiled, and a few droplets of blood fell from his eyes, fading into smoke before they touched Varanus’s face.

  Regaining her composure, Varanus sat up and glared at Korbinian.

  “As a matter of fact, I was,” she said angrily. It was the first time she had actually responded to Korbinian’s oft-repeated question, and she was curious whether he had a reply.

  “How strange that your new friend has deserted you at this hour,” Korbinian said. He walked around the end of the bed, never looking away from Varanus. “Were it me sharing your company on a cold evening, I could not be dragged from your embrace by armed men and wild dogs.”

  “You have become very dramatic of late,” Varanus noted.

  “I have always been dramatic, Liebchen. I am from Fuchsburg. We are a passionate people.”

  “I know this to be true,” Varanus murmured, tinged with the memory of Korbinian in life.

  Korbinian walked to the door and gently eased it open. Varanus could just barely hear voices speaking in the suite of rooms beyond the office.

  “What I wonder, Liebchen, is what business can be so pressing that it could possibly lure a man away fro
m you for as long as.…” Korbinian looked at the clock. “Four minutes and thirty seconds.”

  “I do not know,” Varanus replied, “nor do I care. Business, politics, war? It is none of our concern.”

  Korbinian paused in the doorway and smiled at her. The flickering firelight twisted the shadows about his face, transforming his mirth into something hideous and unsettling.

  “Oh, but Liebchen, I am such an inquisitive creature. How could I not intrude into another man’s affairs?”

  He turned and stepped into the office. Varanus was on her feet in an instant, following him with a hurried pace. He was up to some mischief, and she had to stop him. Why, she could not imagine: no one else could see or hear him. But she could not allow him to go wandering about the house doing God knew what in Julius’s absence.

  And besides, even if others could not see him, it did not mean he could not touch them. She had seen him kill before. What if he planned to kill again?

  There was a ringing in Varanus’s ears as she crossed the bedroom and entered the office. The blood sang in her temples and her mouth felt dry. The shadows followed in her footsteps and clung to her skirt like the grasping hands of children afraid of losing their mother.

  She saw Korbinian at Julius’s desk, idly searching through its contents. The desk was in impeccable order, but almost maliciously Korbinian poked at its contents with his fingertips, knocking over the neatly stacked papers and rummaging through the drawers.

  “What are you doing?” Varanus demanded, though she kept her voice very low so that she would not be heard by Julius and his guests in the adjoining room.

  “Being inquisitive,” Korbinian replied, as he picked up one of Julius’s pens and dropped it onto the floor.

  “Stop it!” Varanus hissed.

  She felt that she should charge across the room, grab Korbinian by the arms, and drag him away. How dare he behave in such a manner! But she could not. The grasping shadows were too heavy as they clung to her, dragging her back toward the bedroom. It was all she could manage to cross the office with slow and deliberate steps until she stood on the far side of the desk, watching Korbinian angrily as he continued his impetuous display.