by Anna Bright
I wet my lips. “Forgive me. The tsarytsya’s rules about music are still not quite intuitive.”
Fritz raised his eyebrows, working the end of a hose around the chimney of the lantern. “Indeed.”
“I’m sorry if I pushed you too far last night at dinner,” I blurted out suddenly. “I’m out of place here and didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable asking too many questions.”
Fritz leaned back again, propping his ankle on his knee, brow furrowed. “I accept your apology, but that’s not all that’s happening,” he said. “You want something. You pretend not to see things, but you see them. I want to know what you’re searching for.”
Fritz studied me, and, taken aback, I studied him in return.
Twenty-seven wasn’t old. But taking Fritz in where he sat now, I could see the full twenty-seven years he’d lived. Subtle lines had begun to insinuate their way across his pale brow, and his light brown hair was shot with early gray.
Fritz was tired. And Fritz was wise—wiser than Torden, and more perceptive by far than Bear.
Most important, perhaps, he was not enamored with me. He would not be so easily deceived.
I laced my fingers together, nodding at the lamp sitting before him. “Is that working yet?”
He brightened. “It did, a little. I tested it in my suite earlier. The carpet seems much drier than before. The plaster, too.”
“That’s wonderful!”
Fritz nodded, raising an eyebrow. “It is. But you’re also avoiding my question.”
I ran my mental calculations as quickly as I could.
Fritz liked me well enough, but he did not trust me. Not when it came to his sources, and not, I suspected, when it came to his sisters.
But if I confided in him, perhaps he might do the same with me. I lifted my chin.
“I want a favor,” I said.
“A radio.” Fritz’s voice was even, but his eyes were incredulous. “You want to borrow a radio.” I nodded. He laughed as he blew out a breath, shaking his head. “What makes you think the tsarytsya permits us to keep such things? What makes you think I have one?”
There had to be a tower nearby. Hansel and Gretel must have used it to communicate. I’d told Fritz about the radio I’d had to leave aboard ship, hoping the expression of trust would inspire the same in him.
I waved a hand around the studio. “You’re an inventor,” I said, putting all my feeling into the word. “I know this isn’t romantic, between us. But I’ve come to think of you as a friend, and I need help.”
“A friend,” Fritz repeated.
I nodded. “And I’m counting on you not to tell anyone the truth about this.” Ordinarily I would have fought the tremor in my voice. I didn’t hide it now. I bit my lip, letting all my fears and feelings show.
Perrault would have been delighted to see the show I was putting on. To see how well I’d learned from his expertise. Until, of course, he learned why.
“Why?” Fritz asked, squinting up at me from his chair. “Why would you tell me this?”
Because I want you to tell me your secrets, too, I wanted to say. I want you to trust me, so I can help the people I came here to help, and get out. But that wouldn’t do.
So I told a different truth.
“Because my radio is how I’ve been speaking to my godmother,” I said. “She and my father are the only real family I have; my mother is deceased. But my godmother and I have been using the radio to speak since I left, and it gives me comfort. But Lang said it was too dangerous to bring ashore.” I looked up at Fritz, letting my heart show in my eyes. “My family matters more to me than anything.”
Fritz paused. He passed a hand over his forehead, sitting back. “My grandfather was the first hertsoh of Shvartsval’d. Did you know? The tsarytsya appointed him herself after she deposed the ruling family.” He swallowed, gaze growing troubled. “Sometimes I can’t believe what this place has become. What my family has done to this place in barely two generations, when we shouldn’t have been—” Fritz broke off, discontented. “I don’t know what will be left for the future.” He nodded unhappily at the wall opposite us, its plaster crumbling, its wallpaper peeling away.
“That’s what all this is about for you, isn’t it?” I asked suddenly. “You aren’t just an inventor. This is about your family.”
“Yes,” Fritz said quietly. “The future of Shvartsval’d, and my family. What’s left of us.”
“Left of you?” I asked, drawing back a little. “Did you have more sisters?” I winced as soon as I heard my own words. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive.”
But Fritz laughed. “No, no more sisters.”
“Leirauh’s the last of you, isn’t she?” I asked. “That’s why your father babies her.”
Fritz sobered and shook his head. “Leirauh is seventeen. Hannelore and Ingrid are younger. Both fourteen. And besides,” he continued, “Leirauh isn’t technically my sister.”
My gaze snapped up to his. “She’s not?”
“No. My—” His eyes softened, a little sad. “My sisters’ and my mother was an actress. She was famous—one of the most sought after in Europe. When I was little, she worked a good deal in Italy.” Fritz paused. “She used to write to us about the theaters there, about the brilliant machines that brought the stages to life.”
“I’m sure you miss her,” I said. “I miss mine, too.”
Fritz gave me a pinched smile. In this, we understood each other.
“The tsarytsya was lenient for a time, permitting travel outside the Imperiya for certain elite. But she eventually demanded all expatriates return home. When my mother returned, she brought Leirauh home with her. Her mother, another actress, had died en route. My mother died only a few years later.”
“I see,” I said quietly.
She looked so different from the rest of them—I’d said as much to Cobie. Leirauh, with her thick black hair and anxious blue eyes, soft-hipped and pink-cheeked. When I pictured her in my mind’s eye, beside Margarethe and Hannelore and Ursula and the rest of them, all honey-brown hair and high cheekbones, I knew Fritz was telling the truth.
Leirauh’s circumstances reminded me of Anya. She had lost her country and her family and had been adopted into a new home. And she had been charged a high price for her good fortune.
Despite my frustration with Anya, all at once I missed her terribly.
Fritz rubbed at the lines in his forehead. “I worry for them. My father’s treatment of my sisters is archaic. It does not bode well for my family, or for the future of our court and terytoriya.”
I feared for my country’s future, as well. But I couldn’t imagine fearing the actions of my own father.
Daddy might have failed me. But he was tired, and sad, and sick, and his only sin had been to trust his wife. Duke Maximilian had fallen far, far short of what he owed his children.
My stomach quaked at the prospect of returning to the ball and facing Margarethe. But Fritz’s tale made me want, more than ever, to find the Waldleute. It made me believe as much as ever that I’d done the right thing to leave Torden behind, to defer returning to my father, in hopes that we could help old Deutschland shake off the Imperiya and its shadow.
Fritz studied me. “I’m sorry if I’ve been cold. Distant. Unkind, at times. I assure you, it’s not any fault of yours. I’m overwhelmed with the foulness spreading through this castle, and the corruption I fear it will spread.”
“I misunderstood you,” I said quietly. “I thought you were cruel, when we first met.”
“No.” Fritz smiled faintly. “Just a bit inept, and entirely preoccupied.”
“And far more comfortable in your laboratory than you are at court.” I paused. “Also, my clothes were wet, and no one was expecting me.”
“It was not an auspicious beginning,” Fritz agreed. We sat in silence for a long while after that. He fiddled idly with a screwdriver.
“So,” I asked. “A radio?”
Fritz hesitated, as if con
sidering, then stood. “A confidence for a confidence, I suppose.”
20
He walked to a corner and pulled the sheet off one of his secrets. It was a radio, a little larger than mine. My breath flew out of my chest.
It had been right here, all this time.
“You built this?” I asked.
Fritz nodded. “For the same reason I built everything in here.”
For his home. For his sisters.
“The parts are from all over—there are places in Masr and Bharat and Zhōng Guó where they make thousands of pieces at a time. Radios are not uncommon there.” A faint grin stretched across his anonymous, handsome face. “Do you want to try to reach out to her?”
I held Fritz’s eyes a long moment before turning on the radio and seeking out my godmother’s frequency.
It was empty, silent as a night on the sea.
“Godmother?” I asked softly of the quiet.
“Selah?”
It wasn’t my godmother’s voice. Still, I knew it. I frowned, racking my memory. “Sister—Elisabeth?”
“Yes, it’s me.” Sister Elisabeth had been my math teacher, and a strict one. “When your godmother has to be away, she has a few of us keeping watch here.” She paused, her tone growing curious. “I was led to believe you and your betrothed were on your way home, Seneschal-elect?”
The words ached. For a long moment, I couldn’t reply.
I thumbed my engagement ring, shutting my eyes tight, as if refusing to look at the world could make our story any less true—Anya’s flight from Asgard. Alfödr’s negation of Torden’s proposal. Our escape. The duty I had shouldered.
But I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth about Torden. About the boy I had loved and lost in barely a fortnight. And even if I could, it wasn’t safe to tell her the truth over the air. As Gretel had told Hansel, anyone could be listening.
“We were delayed,” I finally said. “I don’t have a fiancé anymore.”
“I will inform your godmother,” Sister Elisabeth answered quietly.
I asked a few other rapid questions after that—my father’s condition had improved, ever so slightly, and the baby hadn’t come yet. Alessandra was bound to her bed, waiting for her little one to arrive. By my calculations, she had about another month. I wondered if her confinement had anything to do with my father’s condition improving, but said nothing.
“We await your return eagerly,” said Sister Elisabeth.
I could admit to nothing in front of Fritz. “Take care,” I finally said, and switched the radio off. Fritz hid it again under its sheet with a glance toward the hallway.
He’d taken a risk for me. I wouldn’t forget it.
I left Fritz not long after. Lang was waiting for me in the corridor, looking like a ruin himself. Shadows circled his eyes, deeper still than the ones he’d worn in Asgard, and his hair was tousled, stiff and salty with the sweat of the night before.
He put his hands on his hips, jaw tight. “I have been looking for you everywhere.”
“Did you ask Perrault?” My tone was acerbic. “Our protocol officer? Because I’m exactly where I was supposed to be.”
“I assumed you were with the freinnen.”
“You assumed.” I spread my hands, struggling to contain my frustration. “In case you’d forgotten, my courtship is the reason we’re allowed to be here.”
“As if I could forget.” Lang scoffed. “With the way you flirt with him? Laughing at things that aren’t even funny and leaning across the table to stare into his eyes?” He turned away but I dogged him, my anger rising, making me forget to leave space between us, making me forget we were in a public corridor and anyone might find us.
“I’m flirting?” I hissed, striding after his back. “You’re nose-to-nose with Margarethe at dinner, and I’m the one who’s flirting?”
Lang whirled on me. “They all come around eventually. Those were your words!” he bit out. “Because you’re beautiful and you’re charming and you know they’re all going to fall for it. My congratulations to you.” He bowed sarcastically, one lean- fingered hand pressed to his chest. “But two can play that game.”
You aren’t the only one who can make friends.
A flush surged over my skin. “What happened after I left the ball last night, Lang? With Margarethe? Did she see Cobie and me?”
“Nothing happened.” Lang smirked. “I made inquiries.”
“What, as to how many buttons were on Margarethe’s dress?” I shot back.
I wanted to swallow the words as soon as I’d spoken them.
Lang’s grin spread slowly. He crossed his arms and stepped nearer to me. I backed away until I hit the corridor wall.
“You’re jealous.” Lang’s eyes were dark on mine. “You really are jealous.”
I was losing, and Lang was winning.
“You’re jealous.” My voice was faint.
“You know I am.” He wet his lips, swallowing. “But you’ve known that all along.”
The words felt like a shout in the silent corridor. I couldn’t speak.
“You let Torden take care of you. You let Bear fight for you,” Lang said. With every word, he drew nearer, until he was leaning over me, looking down at me through thick lashes. “Let me take care of this for us, Selah. Don’t go tonight.”
His eyes were dark in the shadowed corridor, and his tanned skin smelled like salt, and my mind suddenly began to race in circles around how strange and different it felt to kiss a new person and what it would be like to try with Lang.
He was so close, and I was tempted to give in to him, to remain in the castle. Margarethe was dogged, and cruel, and I didn’t doubt she’d do worse than drug Cobie and me if she thought we knew her secret.
But I couldn’t forget what Fritz had confided in me. I shook my head.
“I need to see this through, Lang,” I said. “This is larger than us.”
Lang ground out a sigh, shifting away. “I was afraid you’d say that. I wish you could just trust me, Selah.” He met my eyes. “Please don’t make me turn the request into an order.”
Warmth heated into anger and volatility in my chest. “An order?” I drew up slightly, closing the space he had created between us.
“I’m the captain of this mission,” Lang said, reluctant. “I will order you to stay inside if it will keep you safe and help us reach our goal more quickly.”
“And you know what will keep me safe?” I asked sharply. “When you didn’t even know your friend Margarethe was drugging me?” Frustrated, I bit my lip. Lang’s gaze shifted to my mouth. But I shook my head. “I think you’re forgetting something, Lang.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he reached out to touch a lock of my hair, wrapping its length around his fingers. “What’s that?” His voice was uneven.
I remembered Yasumaro’s eyes on mine, serious and sincere. What are my orders, Seneschal-elect?
I shifted forward, eyeing him fiercely. “I outrank you. We’re here at my word, and I don’t answer to you.”
Lang released my hair and put his palm to my cheek, his eyes confused, reflecting all my frustration. “Selah, if something happens to you out there, I can’t protect you.” He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek.
That’s our place. That’s where we belong. Between you and everyone else.
“The thing is, Lang?” I said. “Protecting me? I never asked you to.” I turned and made for the freinnen’s room to prepare for the night.
Lang had told me once he wanted all my anger, all my heat.
But I had other plans for the fire burning beneath my skin.
21
Lang’s words chafed at me all through dinner. Perrault watched me nervously as I sat across from Fritz, my teeth on edge, sawing at my flavorless supper.
Don’t make me turn the request into an order.
I wanted to laugh. As if Lang could tell me what to do. As if who was leading our mission was more important than the people
we’d come all this way to help.
An argument this sharp would once have paralyzed me—would have kept me safe in the freinnen’s room, out of trouble, out of range of all the mistakes I could make. But now, it only pushed me forward. Set me in motion.
It made me more reckless.
Cobie swam for the rowboat again as soon as the freinnen had left that night, and we shoved off with no hesitation after she’d returned and dressed.
“They’re lucky to have a place close by to play,” Cobie said as we scrambled up the hill toward the ruin. “Burg Rheinfels is perfect. Abandoned. Distant enough to hide the noise.”
I froze. “What?”
“Burg Rheinfels. That’s what the castle’s called. I heard the sisters say while they were getting dressed earlier.”
Burg Rheinfels. I’d heard the name before.
My mind raced.
The witch’s cottage, or the woodcutter’s? Tell me quickly.
The woodcutter’s cottage. My people won’t be going anywhere near your father.
In the conversation I’d overheard, a boy named Hansel had asked a girl named Gretel where they should meet. She’d cut him off, but not before he’d named two places—Katz Castle, and Burg Rhein . . . something. I’d analyzed the conversation, had heard their words over and over in my head.
My hands shook at my own foolishness. It had been so many days.
Hadn’t I noticed how familiar his voice was?
I knew the speaker. I’d used his radio.
Little Hansel in the woods had never been so inventive as Fürst Fritz of Terytoriya Shvartsval’d.
Back in England, I’d spent weeks watching Lang watch a room. It had irritated me, to see him so distant—always somewhere other than present, with me. He and Yu had hovered in doorways, lingered over their cups long after they were empty.
But though I’d questioned whether I’d know what I was looking for as I sought out the resistance, observing Lang had taught me. And now, I could do it better than him.
I kept watch over Burg Rheinfels. But I didn’t do it from a spot along the wall, looking obvious. I joined the party.
