by Chelsea Luna
Igor smirked.
“I agree with Stephan.” Marc cracked his knuckles. “We need more men. We should go to nearby towns to see how many recruits we can convince to join our cause. It’s necessary, especially if the rest of the Habsburgs are on their way to Prague. We’ll go tomorrow.”
The men cheered.
Marc raised his glass to them. He sat down beside me and squeezed my knee.
“Marc?” I whispered.
“Yes?”
“If you do gather enough men and go to war with the Crown and you win... then what? You’ll place a Protestant ruler on the throne?”
“That’s the plan,” he said.
“Who? You?”
“Me?” Marc laughed. “I’m no king.”
“Then who?”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead, but anyone will be better than the current ruler in Prague.”
My eyes drifted to the fire.
The Protestants had no clear plan—only to oust the Catholics. Two powerful sides were fighting simply to fight.
But I could rule.
How would I run a kingdom? What would I decide? Would I grant religious freedom or rule with an iron fist? Could either side truly be happy? Or would they always be at war?
“What are you thinking about?” Marc asked.
I forced a smile. “Nothing.”
* * *
“Small groups cover more ground.” Marc secured his bag on the saddle. “We need to be efficient. This will be a quick trip. We’ll visit towns within a few hours’ distance.”
“I’ll take a group,” Stephan said. “Three men. That’s all I’ll need.”
“And me,” Igor added. “We’ll head west.”
I inched farther away from Igor. I certainly wasn’t going with Igor’s group. It was becoming a habit to flee from him as if he had the plague. It had been over a week and the old man still hated me. I couldn’t change his opinion of me. I’d always be a spy in his eyes.
“Henrik, Dad, and I will go east,” Marc said. “Everyone meet back here tomorrow at sunset. If someone doesn’t appear, we’ll assume the worst, so be on time. Tell potential recruits they are welcome to take up residence in Kladno if they’re willing to join the cause.”
“Where will they stay?” Igor asked.
“We’ll make room,” Marc said. “We can’t ask men to fight and die for us if we aren’t willing to house and feed them.”
Petr clapped his son’s shoulder. “Marc’s right. We need to make room for all the men who want to join the rebellion. Tell the ones staying behind to make arrangements to accommodate the influx of people they should be expecting.”
The men hadn’t noticed me standing on the edge of their circle, or if they had, they’d ignored me. I kept quiet. I didn’t want to embarrass Marc, but there was no way I wasn’t going with them. I would not be left behind.
Stephan led a group of three men. Igor had four. They rode off into the forest and I stood quietly next to Marc as he readied himself to leave.
“I’ll be back tomorrow before sunset,” Marc said. “I want you to stay in the house. You’ll be safe here. Everyone knows how important you are to me.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Henrik covered his laugh with a cough.
“No, Mila.” Marc pressed his forehead against mine. “The road isn’t safe. You need to stay here. It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety.”
“Staying alone in a rebel camp isn’t safe,” I said. “Thanks to your uncle, half of the men here think I’m a Catholic spy. What if they want to slit my throat in the middle of the night and you aren’t here to protect me?” I hated having to resort to saying such things, but there was no other way Marc would agree to let me go with them.
Guilt washed over his features. He rubbed his face, pulling his skin down as he did so. Finally, he groaned. “If I let you come, you have to stay by my side and listen to me. No arguing with what I say. Do you understand? You have to follow my orders, Mila. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” Marc squeezed my chin and pulled me in for a kiss.
Petr led a light coffee-colored mare to us. “Here, Ludmila. This one is for you. ”
Marc scratched his head. “How did you know she was coming with us? You weren’t here when she asked me if she could come along.”
“I could see it in her eyes.” Half of Petr’s mouth drew up into a crooked smile. “You have a determined woman on your hands.”
“Stubborn may be a better word,” Henrik mumbled.
I raised my eyebrow at Henrik.
“She is definitely strong-willed, like her mother,” Petr said.
I froze. “What did you say? You knew my mother?”
“Not personally. I knew of her. She was courageous.” Petr mounted his horse. It was clear he was done talking, but I wasn’t.
Why hadn’t he mentioned that he knew of my mother? I’ve been in Kladno for over a week; why would Petr only mention her now? What did he know about her? Was Petr aware that she had been helping the Protestant rebellion ten years ago? He must have; in what other capacity could he have known my mother? And what did he mean that she was strong-willed?
So many questions...
But I wouldn’t be receiving any answers right now. Marc lifted me onto the mare and we set off into the woods—Marc, Henrik, Petr, and me.
I had to push thoughts of my mother aside or I’d go crazy. Instead, I focused on the gorgeous scenery and the fresh air. It was enjoyable to finally be out of the house. It felt good to be doing something.
My mare had a kind disposition. She was easy to navigate through the forest, but she was attracted to Henrik’s horse. She kept nuzzling his stallion’s hindquarters as we followed him through the trail.
“I’ve never seen you ride your own horse,” Marc said to me. “You’re doing well. I’m impressed.”
“She grew up in the castle,” Henrik said. “Of course she knows how to ride a horse. You probably had royal lessons, right?”
I tugged the reins to stop my mare from nibbling Henrik’s stallion. “Yes, I had lessons from the stable master. I don’t know what you mean by royal lessons.”
“You know, where they teach you how to ride in the castle. You drink tea and eat suckling pig and slaves fan you with giant feathers as you ride your horse.” Henrik laughed.
Petr shook his head. “Don’t mind my eldest son, Ludmila.”
“I do,” Marc said, but he was grinning, too.
Henrik smirked.
“However,” Petr said, “now that the subject has been brought up, I must admit I’m curious. Was it strange growing up in King Rudolf’s castle? Some of the stories I’ve heard are outrageous; he keeps a pet lion in his garden and has séances in the middle of the night?”
An immediate sense of defensiveness washed over me, despite Petr having no way of knowing that the king was my real father.
Mr. Sýkora was simply being curious.
I swallowed down my initial reaction—Marc watched me carefully. He, too, was unaware that King Rudolf was my father; I still hadn’t shown him my mother’s letter. Only Henrik knew the truth.
Henrik shot me a look.
I plastered a smile on my face. “Living in Rudolf’s court was incredibly entertaining. And, yes, he does have a pet lion in the garden. He keeps him in a cage. It was gift from the sultan.”
“Did you see the king much? Your father was close to him, correct?”
I tugged the mare again. She was still sniffing Henrik’s stallion. “King Rudolf was around more when I was younger. Now, he spends most of his time in his chambers.”
Petr bit into an apple. “They say it was his son’s death that made the king reclusive.”
I’d heard that allegation, too. However, now I was more inclined to believe it was my mother’s murder. That seemed to be the more likely scenario. My heart squeezed. My mother’s murder had driv
en the poor king mad.
“I forgot about the king’s son,” Henrik said. “What was his name?”
“Don Giulio,” I replied. Queasiness filled my stomach at the realization: Don Giulio was my half brother.
“That’s right.” Henrik snapped his fingers. “I remember hearing about Don Giulio now. He was crazy. He killed that woman, and then the king sent him to Daliborka Tower.”
“He did more than kill that poor woman,” Petr said. “He tortured her for days, raped her, killed her, and dismembered her body. He deserved to be imprisoned in Daliborka Tower.”
Marc sighed. “I’d say no one deserves Daliborka Tower after what I saw when I was there, but if anyone does, it was Don Giulio.”
“How did he die?” Henrik asked. “Did he starve to death? Or was he eaten by rats?”
“Rats?” I asked.
Henrik mouthed the word rats to me.
“No one knows,” Marc said. “He died mysteriously in his cell a few months after his confinement.”
Petr snorted. “Don’t tell me you believe that, Son. The king had him killed because it was a scandal. His only heir was a complete embarrassment—a sadistic murderer. Rudolf couldn’t allow him to live. It would have caused an uproar or mutiny if Don Giulio had become king. Did you know him, Mila?”
“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.”
Chapter Nine
We 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:
When the time comes, and this great kingdom needs your leadership, you will be there to bring guidance and integrity to this beautiful land.
Fight for your beliefs.
Fight for what is right.
Fight for the people of Bohemia.
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 hor
ses 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.