by Sarah Monzon
“Wait here,” Clare whispered as they paused in the great hall. Prince Ernst sat upon the dais, a league of brightly clad men about him. Clare thrust her chin into the air as she moved toward her intended with the grace of an empress.
Christyne could not hear the words exchanged, nor could she see the expression upon her sire’s face. Clare was placing her head inside the mouth of a lion. Would that great beast sink its teeth into her flesh, or would they be granted permission to leave the castle?
Of a sudden, Clare bowed as though the emperor himself stood in front of her. Over Clare’s lowered form, Christyne witnessed her father straighten in his chair, pride and self-import writ upon his face with the clarity of ink to paper. Clare had stroked the peacock’s feathers, and by the grin that graced her face, received all they’d wished to gather.
Fearing a summons that would impede their steps, they hied themselves from the castle’s belly and into the courtyard.
Christyne tucked her head close to Clare’s and whispered, “What did you say to him to persuade him thus?”
The woman’s cheeks colored, and she tucked her chin into her shoulder. “As he is your father, I would rather keep the words between him and myself. All import is weighed on the swiftness of our feet. We must needs hurry. He will not wait long to dispatch the landsknechte.”
One of her father’s men raised the portcullis, the chains rattling along with the pounding of her racing pulse as he heaved the latticed gate upward. Once it was secured, Clare linked arms with her, and they stepped through the open gate as one, Hette trailing a step behind.
Yards away, the ground darkened, the Black Forest offering either a canopy of refuge or, as the Psalmist said, the valley of the shadow of death.
Let no lives be lost this day, Lord. The prayer left her silent lips, and the rightness that the words should come from her heart and not rote memory made her chest clench. Between her and the risen Savior without the mediation of a saint. Was this blasphemy? Did heresy beckon her away from the arms of a mother church?
Sola gratia. Sola fide. The ideas of grace and faith alone wooed her like a lover. She leaned into their promises. Desired to wrap herself up in the strength and security of their assurances.
The form of a man stepped from behind a tree, blocking their path. Clare’s grip on her arm tightened, but Christyne patted her hand. She knew this man who had barely stepped past boyhood. Verily, his shoulders had broadened since last she’d laid eyes on him, hard work in the prince’s stables adding muscle to his lean body.
“For what purpose do you tread where you should not, Nikolaus?” She raised her chin in his direction.
Meeting her gaze instead of casting his eyes to the ground as his sister would have done, he straightened those thickened shoulders. “The same as you, I would wager, my princess.”
Christyne glanced back to Hette. Indeed, the girl quickly averted her gaze to the packed dirt beneath their feet. On a sigh, she returned her regard to the maid’s older brother. “You proclaim to know what we are about?”
“It is a game you play by speaking thus. We are each of us aware of my sister’s devotion to both you and the Church. In playing that devotion against itself, you have yoked her in two opposing directions.” He looked past her and laid his eyes upon Hette, his features softening. “She had need to speak to someone, especially when collecting my own garments for your purposes.”
Another player at the board. Did their growing numbers speak to strength or doom? Christyne knew not. Though chess was a game for both men and woman, no one had ever deigned to teach her its moves.
“In case you believe I speak false, I have already met Lorenz, the scholar whom you and my sister have secreted away in the undercroft.” His thin lips quirked. “A rather persuasive fellow.”
“Indeed,” Christyne breathed.
“It seems he is for us and not against us.” Clare loosened her grip on Christyne’s arm and gathered her skirts. “We have wasted much time. If we are to save these poor souls from death’s hand, we must make haste.”
Nikolaus retrieved the satchel from Hette’s shoulder and draped the bag across his own. He patted her hand in reassurance, and the group continued their trek into the forest.
“Dare we call out?” Clare asked a few minutes later.
Christyne scanned the area, but the view had not changed. Trees, boulders, spring flowers bursting through patches of crusty snow. No huddling forms. No makeshift shelters.
“Nay.” Nikolaus answered. “Our voices would attract those the prince sent behind you and alert them to your real purpose.”
“If we do not find them soon, I fear we never will.”
A slight movement in the periphery of her vision caused Christyne to pause. Had it simply been her imagination? The wind dancing with the leaves of the bushes or a wild hare frolicking amongst the budding crocuses?
There! A flash of muted color between finger-like branches. She slowed her steps. Raised her voice slightly above a whisper. “Fear not. We are friends of the Brethren and wish you no harm.”
The cry of a raptor soaring overhead slashed through to the forest floor. She edged closer to where she knew a person hid, leaving enough space to not cause them to flee. “We only wish to aid, but time is expiring. Landsknechte are close at our heels.” She paused. What could she say that would make them realize no harm would befall them if they showed themselves?
“Have you found someone, princess?” Nikolaus asked.
Christyne held up a hand. Would whoever hid in the brush flee if they knew more than she sought them? If only Lorenz had told her what to say when she found one of his fellow believers.
She nearly breathed a laugh. Why had she not thought to use his name before? “Lorenz Meier. You know the man. A believer such as yourself.” She extended her fingers toward the leafy brush. “I will take you to him. You will be safe, I assure you.”
“How do I know you speak true?” a feminine voice called from behind the green foliage.
How indeed? She pictured Lorenz, bringing his every feature to the forefront of her mind. “He has hair as black as ink, the same that stains his fingers. And a wide forehead that speaks of the depths of his intellect. Eyes the like of which I have never beheld. The color, aye, but also the depth. They are windows to a soul that sparks with life and vibrancy.”
The bush moved, branches scratching against themselves. “You have seen him?”
Christyne dared a step forward. “I dug out the arrow that was loosed into his leg.”
Slowly a crown of brown curls emerged from the top of the bush, followed by a dirt-streaked face and a tattered working dress. “Aye, I can see you now, though you were not dressed as fine that day as you are presently.” A woman emerged from behind her hiding place, a palm to her middle. “We prayed you were an angel sent by God.”
“Lorenz said the same, although I assure you, I am but human.”
“He lives then?”
“He does. And you will also, but as told, you must hurry.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “The heretic hunters?”
“Are nigh at hand.”
She nodded once, then whirled and followed a slight decline down a hill.
Christyne turned to see the other three had witnessed the exchanged and were close on her heels, then she plunged down the hill after the woman.
Three in total. The woman’s husband and her sister. They had built a small shelter by a stream, claiming they had felt close to the prophet Elijah when God had sent ravens to feed him by the brook Cherith.
Quickly they scrubbed away the layers of dirt and grime that forest living had caked into their skin. Behind trees and brush they changed out of their tattered garments and donned their disguises. When they emerged, they appeared as different people. Gone the fugitive heretics. Behold, the wedding guests of a prince and princess.
Chapter Seventeen
Germany, Present Day
Mila stood at the head of the confere
nce room, a projection screen behind her with different graphs as her backdrop. She looked crisp and in charge in her sleek black business suit and trendy hair. Every person sitting around the oval table and those perched on chairs lining the walls trained their gaze on her, tracking with her presentation on immigration trends and swaying emotions.
Amber glanced down at the PowerPoint print off in front of her. Mila had translated her presentation into English so Amber could follow along, but the language barrier made her feel a bit of an outsider. Not to mention the glances people cast her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. Immigration and asylum-seeking was a global issue, one that affected many of the leading countries. And one that divided opinions in each of those countries.
She wasn’t there to speak politics, though. All she wanted to do was help in any way she could. She tried to ignore the pointed glances. To not think of how they reminded her of the inscrutable attention she’d gotten before she’d left the States. These people around her now probably wondered about her motives because of her homeland, while those at home had wondered about her presence because of her gender.
When would people start looking past such things?
Her phone screen illuminated on the table in front of her, and she reached out and flipped it facedown. Whoever was trying to get ahold of her could wait until after Mila’s meeting. She wouldn’t be that person who snuck a text conversation under the conference room table when they were supposed to be paying attention to a presenter.
A gentleman across the table from her raised his hand and asked a question. Amber concentrated hard but only managed to make out a few words. Crime and fear.
Mila’s mouth tightened and she pressed a button on a clicker in her hand, changing the slide on the screen behind her. Amber pulled her print-offs closer, turning pages until she found the matching slide. Oh, yes. People’s concerns as immigration population increased and the media fed their fear. Yellow highlighted a word—Heimat—with Mila’s swirling script beside it. Emotional security. While analysists had reported a ten percent decrease in actual crime rates around the country, people were feeling an increase of fear because of a perceived loss of emotional security.
If only the fear that foreigners might be dangerous, passed down through the generations, could finally be laid to rest…
It was a cycle worth ceasing. A history not worthy of repeating. The world didn’t need any more Judeophobia, Hispanophobia, Islamophobia, Christophobia, or any other types of phobias. Make her sound like a peace and love hippie, but the world needed those things more than any other.
Peace and love.
“Pst.”
The back of a hand touched her forearm, and she glanced down. Seth’s long fingers held a folded piece of paper. The pads of his fingertips grazed down her arm, causing tingles to rise on the surface of her skin, until he pressed the paper into the palm of her hand.
She raised her gaze to meet his eyes. He winked and put a finger to his lips, redirecting his focus to the front of the room and acting like nothing had happened.
She flicked her gaze to Mila, then swept a look around the room. Everyone was still focused on the presentation. The note burned a hole in her palm. It felt wrong. Sneaky. Deliciously forbidden.
Should she open the paper? Read his message even though she was supposed to be paying attention to the meeting? One little peek wouldn’t hurt, would it? If she was quick, no one would even know.
A thrill shot through her middle as she stared forward and slowly unfolded the paper under the table so no one could see. She’d never passed notes before. Not in school or work. It had always seemed disrespectful to her. Why, then, did a hum of anticipation vibrate through her body? She should be flushed with shame for breaking such a social rule, but instead she felt unusually, acutely awake.
She leaned back slightly and glanced down, keeping the paper in her lap so no one could see what she was doing.
How are you?
Her brows drew together. That was it? She’d risked the embarrassment of getting caught doing something she knew she shouldn’t for a little question on how she was doing?
Something poked her in the leg. She moved the paper to see Seth handing over a pen. She firmed her mouth and looked back at Mila. This was a conversation they could have after the meeting ended.
He started tapping her leg with the pen. She shifted her weight and tried to ignore him. The tapping continued. She huffed and tore the pen from his grasp. Without looking down, she scribbled Fine on the paper and handed it back to him.
She tried not to look at him as he bent his head and jotted something on the paper. He grinned, and she tore her gaze away, flushed. The slide had changed, and she flipped the page on her printout to catch up.
His hand was back by her leg. She’d learned her lesson last time that he wouldn’t be ignored. If she didn’t retrieve the note, she’d have to endure the warmth emanating from fingers so close to her hip. She retrieved the paper and pulled it onto her lap.
She’d never had reason to be sneaky before, so she hoped she was doing a good job. She didn’t want to have to answer any of Mila’s or Yasmin’s curious looks or pointy questions later. Speaking of… She swept another glance around the room, pausing at Yasmin near the head of the table. She was bent over a notepad, scribbling with a fountain pen. No one seemed to be looking at Amber askance. No one seemed to notice anything amiss at all. She bent her head to quickly read whatever Seth thought was so important that it couldn’t wait until Mila wrapped up.
You look beautiful in that blue shirt. Brings out the stormy quality of your eyes.
She licked her lips. Blinked. Looked away but was instantly pulled back to read the sentences again. A fluttering made her insides quiver, like a soft breeze rifling through the pages of an open book on a summer’s day. Or a single drop of rain creating a ripple in a bird bath. Small, but with visible effects.
He thought she was beautiful? Her skin flushed, and she tried to remain in control of her reactions. Seemed that around him a physical response happened first, her brain lagging behind. Was this what it was like when her heart led? But her heart couldn’t really be involved, could it? Not so quickly.
Jacob kissed Rachel the first time he saw her.
Sure. Now her brain wanted in on the conversation.
She took a deep breath and put pen to paper.
I thought you were trying not to flirt anymore.
A few seconds later the paper was back in her grip.
Someone told me flirting wasn’t a sin and just a part of my God-given personality. Plus, I found some pick-up lines from this bloke named Solomon. If guys in the Bible can charm lovely ladies, why can’t I?
Beautiful and lovely. Her cheeks burned. She’d told him her rules against dating. Why was he still pursuing her? She chewed the inside of her lip. Was she a game to him? Was he playing with her? The image of him broken up over flirting with her the first time in the restaurant flashed back. He couldn’t have faked that remorse. So then…this…was he serious?
He reached over and snatched the paper from her hands. Wrote something and handed it back.
If you have a panic attack, you’re going to give yourself away and everyone will know you’ve been naughty and passed notes in class. *winky face*
She closed her lips around the laugh that wanted to burst out but couldn’t quite hold back the smile. She glanced over at him, but his face held a stoic expression, almost serious as he remained laser-focused on what Mila was saying. What was he thinking? She wished she could crawl up into his brain and dissect his every thought and motivation.
He leaned over slightly and whispered out of the side of his mouth. “You’re blowing your cover.”
She straightened and turned to the front of the room. Mila motioned someone to come up with her. Amber recognized the man. She’d seen him around the center since the very first day. He was usually hunched over his desk at one of the cubicles, either typing furiously at his keyboard o
r shuffling through stacks of papers. People around her clapped their hands and she joined in with her own applause. He pointed the clicker at the projector and changed the slide. A PDF of a form slid onto the screen. She couldn’t read the German words, but she figured it was one of the standard forms the center helped people file with the government.
She looked back down at her lap. Seth’s note lay there. Never before had a single piece of paper intimidated her. Taken on a persona of its own. What should she write back? Or maybe she shouldn’t write back at all. She could let the exchange stop with her. That would be the courteous thing. For Mila, and now paperwork-filing-guy. Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d be respectful and—
The note slid off her lap. Seth’s elbow bumped her as he jotted down more words.
Her chest clenched. What was he writing now? If it was along the same vein as before, she’d have to answer somehow. Witty? Serious? Encouraging? Deflective? Problem was, she felt like she’d come to a crossroads. Up until now, the path she’d been journeying had been fairly straight. It hadn’t veered off in any crazy directions. She hadn’t chased after little rabbit trails. But now she stood at a fork in the road. Her path no longer went in a nice straight line. Instead, the path split into two. Parallel to each other, but she’d still have to make a decision about which to travel. One seemed wider. Space for two people to traverse together. The other required a single-file hike. Besides God and her family, she’d never invited people along on her journey. There had never been room.
She held her body straight but studied Seth out of the corner of her eye. Should she make room for him? He wasn’t at all how she’d pictured her future husband. Not that she was saying she was going to marry him, but one of her rules was that she wouldn’t date a guy if she couldn’t see herself walking down the aisle toward him.
She’d always thought she’d end up with someone quiet. Studious. Maybe someone who wore glasses. A professor type. Seth wasn’t any of those things. He was an athlete with a big personality who had the eyes of the world trained on him. But he did have a good heart, and he did seek the better things in life and, logical or not, he seemed to be the true north that the compass of her heart pointed to.
