by Chelsea Luna
“Don’t call her Duchess.” Marc’s eyes remained on Kristoff.
“That’s a sensitive subject for Marc,” Henrik mumbled.
Marc’s face was clear; he was weighing all his options. Could he get past his desire for revenge and see that every man deserved the right to a fair trial? Didn’t Marc understand that he couldn’t kill Kristoff? That he’d be no better than Urek if he murdered Kristoff in the name of revenge?
“Take the jewels and kill him!” Igor yelled.
“Marc?” Henrik frowned at his uncle. “What should we do with him?”
“Father?” Marc finally dragged his eyes from Kristoff and searched for Petr in the crowd. “What should we do?”
Petr stood on the edge of the circle. His red-rimmed eyes blinked. “This man was involved in the murder of my son, but his fate is not in my hands. You are the leader, Marc. It’s your decision to make and yours alone.” He nodded before walking away from the mob.
“Kill him!” Igor yelled. “He would do the same to you if the situation were reversed.”
I stepped between Marc and Kristoff. Maybe if Marc wasn’t staring at Kristoff’s face he could think rationally. “I understand that you’re angry, but you can’t kill him out of revenge.”
“Why not?” Stephan shrugged. “He’s a captured enemy. Marc can do as he pleases.”
“Marc?” I touched his arm again.
I had to pull him back from the precipice. He was about to jump, and if he did, there would be no turning back. “Please don’t kill him. Think about what you’re doing.”
Kristoff struggled behind his gag. His eyes met mine. Desperation claimed his face. His eyebrows kneaded together in a plea for mercy.
“Marc, you can’t kill him,” I whispered.
“Why do you care?” The words tumbled out of Marc’s mouth.
“Because he’s a human being! You have no right to kill him. We can’t start murdering one another!”
“This is war,” Igor replied. “The Crown murders Protestants every day without hesitation. Every single day. Why should we show mercy?”
“We’re replacing one murdering regime for another?” I addressed the rebels, but my words fell on deaf ears. “Is that your great plan? Be better than them, Marc. Turn Kristoff over to the Crown. He’s a wanted man. Let them punish him.”
“Give him to the Catholics?” Stephan shook his head. “They won’t punish him. Your father would probably reward him for the role he played in Jiri’s death. Besides, it’s too late to give him up. Kristoff would give the Crown information about our camp and tell them about our numbers. It’s too risky to let him go. He has to remain our prisoner or we need to kill him. There’s no other choice.”
“Marc, please, think about it,” I pleaded.
Marc’s gaze shifted behind me and settled on Kristoff. Mahogany eyes hardened to obsidian. “Tie him up in the barn. I want two men guarding him all day long. Do you understand? I’ll make my decision tomorrow.” He walked away from Kristoff without another word to the crowd.
Or to me.
* * *
“Are you angry?” I stood in the middle of the room. The space felt smaller than usual. I twisted my hands together and waited for the yelling to start. It was ironic that only this morning the mood had been so different between us.
Marc ate a bowl of stew at the table. “You voiced your opinion. I shouldn’t be angry.”
“But you are.”
He focused on the stew. “I may not have been important in Prague; I was only a blacksmith, but people here in Kladno—at this rebel camp—look to me for guidance and leadership. It’s different here, Mila. This is the center of the rebellion and I’m in charge. We’ve only been here six days and I already have a Catholic woman questioning my authority.... It doesn’t look well to the others.”
“Now I’m the Catholic woman?” I said icily.
He placed the spoon in the bowl. “That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s what you said.”
“It’s a delicate situation, Mila.”
“You don’t have to explain the situation to me. I understand what’s going on. But you shouldn’t let your thirst for revenge cloud your judgment.” I sat beside him on the bench. He still hadn’t met my eyes. “You’re not thinking clearly. You have no reason to hang Kristoff.”
Marc ran his hand over his face, dragging down his features. He sighed, causing his entire frame to shudder. “I’m the Protestant leader. He’s my prisoner. It’s my decision.”
“What is it between you and Kristoff? Why do you hate him so much?”
“For one, he was instrumental in my brother’s death.”
“There was tension between you two when I was kidnapped by Urek. Why do you hate Kristoff so much?” I repeated.
Marc puffed. “Must we discuss this? I don’t want to talk about Kristoff anymore. I want to eat dinner in peace.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Mila. Maybe I’ll have a clearer head in the morning.” He pushed his half-eaten stew across the table.
Steam rose from the bowl and my stomach growled in response.
He smiled. “Not accustomed to peasant rations, are you?”
“I’m starving.” I spooned the leftover stew into my mouth. “This is delicious.”
“Henrik made it.”
“He is a good cook.” I ate the rest of the food in the bowl in silence. Marc watched me, but I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to argue anymore. We’d deal with Kristoff in the morning. Maybe Marc was right; maybe taking the night to think would give everyone some much-needed perspective.
“You’re angry with me.” Marc leaned over the table. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why do you care so much about what happens to Kristoff?”
“Because I don’t want you to become like Václav.”
Marc blanched. “Why would you think that?”
“Václav uses his power to suit his own agenda. He doles out unjust punishment for the sole purpose of proving a point.” I moved around the table and sat beside him. I pulled back his collar. “Here’s my proof. Look at what he did to you.”
I carefully tugged the fabric until I maneuvered his shirt off. Marc tried to stop me, but I pushed his hand aside. His shirt fell to the ground and I inspected the lash wounds covering his back. The lacerations were healing, but the wounds were crusted with blood.
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.
Chapter Seven
I burst through the tavern door.
How could he?
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.