Varanus nodded and rested her head on Korbinian’s shoulder. She let Ekaterine’s cloak fall to the floor and held Korbinian to her, savoring the touch, the sense, the smell of him, as if he were still alive and with her.
“Thank God our son lives,” she murmured. “I feared so.…”
“I also feared,” Korbinian said. “But he is well. He lives.”
“He lives,” Varanus agreed.
“But how to keep him alive,” Korbinian said. “Ja? That is the question.” He rested his cheek against Varanus’s head, stroking her hair gently. “Our son seems prone to danger, to being harmed. Of course, I was just the same at his age, was I not?”
“That is different,” Varanus said.
“It is hardly so,” Korbinian replied. “Still, how will you protect him, when he is so given to rushing headlong into danger?”
Varanus sighed.
“I will take him home to Fuchsburg,” she said. “I will take him home and leave him there, and God willing he will live to a ripe old age and give us many grandchildren.”
Korbinian smiled and held her close.
“I should like some grandchildren,” he said.
“I thought you might.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fuchsburg, Germany
Late December, 1888
It was bitter cold the day that Varanus arrived in Fuchsburg. She had traveled by boat along the Rhine, accompanied by Ekaterine and Friedrich, and together they had enjoyed a wonderful view of the snow-touched German landscape. Fuchsburg itself was a small and quiet place, little more than a country village nestled in among hills and deep forests like something from a fairytale. The houses were of half-timber and red brick construction, which shone out against the snowy white.
They had sent word ahead regarding their arrival—or rather, Friedrich had sent word, having insisted upon doing so himself—and there was a carriage painted black and blue and scarlet and bearing the arms of Fuchsburg waiting for them at the riverside. The driver was a big, meaty man bundled up in a woolen coat and a fur hat for warmth. Varanus saw Friedrich’s face light up at the sight of the fellow, and after helping her and Ekaterine depart from the boat, he bounded across the pier to meet him.
Varanus and Ekaterine exchanged looks as they followed at a more leisurely pace.
“Herschel!” Friedrich exclaimed, as the man alighted. Varanus saw him grab the coachman’s hand as if encountering a friend rather than a servant.
The coachman, Herschel, bowed in proper deference to Friedrich’s station, but he smiled all the same.
“Welcome back, my lord,” he said. “You have been much missed in Fuchsburg.”
“Have I?” Friedrich asked. He sounded a little surprised and very pleased to hear it.
Herschel nodded slowly and said, “Don’t mean to speak out of turn, my lord, but Fuchsburg isn’t Fuchsburg without the baron.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Friedrich exclaimed. “After all, you’ve got Auntie watching over things, haven’t you?”
Herschel cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable, though Friedrich did not seem to notice it.
“As you say, my lord.”
By then Varanus and Ekaterine had arrived at the carriage. Herschel bowed to them, no doubt identifying them as women of station and means, though he did not seem to recognize that they were in Friedrich’s company. It was odd, Varanus thought, though Friedrich quickly stretched out his arm to indicate them and made a proper introduction.
“Herschel,” he said, excitedly taking Varanus and Ekaterine each by the hand and leading them forward, “allow me to introduce my mother, the Princess Shashavani, and her sister-in-law, Lady Ekaterine Shashavani.”
“I’m a princess as well,” Ekaterine announced proudly. Then she looked at Varanus and asked in Svan, “Aren’t I?”
Varanus blinked and looked at her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Well, why not? We can all be princesses for all I care.”
Ekaterine pouted a little and said, “Now you’ve made me feel less special.”
Varanus smiled and patted her arm.
“Oh, hush.”
Friedrich seemed a little surprised at the exchange—which he certainly could not understand—but he rallied immediately, his smile never wavering. When they had finished conversing, he said:
“Mother, Auntie, this is Herschel, our coachman. And a damn fine coachman at that, aren’t you Herschel?”
Herschel smiled and bowed his head, saying, “I do my best, my lord. My very best.”
But as he spoke, Herschel stared a little at Varanus, his eyebrows raised in bewilderment. He said nothing—to his credit as a servant—but something surprised him.
Could it be her height, Varanus wondered. Most people were surprised by that.
“Why is he staring at me?” she asked Ekaterine in Svan.
Ekaterine looked at her a few times before almost jumping in surprise.
“You’re not wearing your hat,” she said.
Varanus blinked. But of course, Ekaterine was right. She had removed her hat during the journey and forgotten to put it on again. She had her veil, of course, and an embroidered hood to secure it, though neither provided any real warmth. And being living Shashavani, she scarcely noticed the cold.
“What of it?”
“You have snow on your head,” Ekaterine said.
Startled by this, Varanus quickly ran her hand over her hood a few times and looked at it. Indeed, there was snow. She quickly brushed at her head to remove whatever of it remained.
Of course there was snow on her. It was snowing! She felt an absolute fool, but she suddenly understood another of the peculiarities of the Shashavani that she had observed before her induction: Iosef’s inability to tell temperature and the resulting failure to comprehend the cold of mortals.
Being Shashavani was so strange a condition upon reflection, but at any given moment it seemed normal not to eat or sleep or feel cold.
“Wear mine,” Ekaterine said, like that would help anything.
She removed her hat and set it on Varanus’s head, pulling the tall mass of ermine fur down over Varanus’s ears.
“Isn’t that better?” she asked in German, for the benefit of Friedrich and Herschel. “You were far too kind in letting me borrow it on the boat, but you must have it back.”
“Yes…” Varanus replied, hesitantly. “Yes, thank you, sister dear.”
She looked at her son and saw him staring a little at Ekaterine’s dark brown curls.
“Alis…” she began, then caught herself. “Friedrich, perhaps we should be off before Aunt Ekaterine catches cold.”
“Yes, of course,” Friedrich said. “Herschel, shall I give you a hand with the bags?”
The casual attitude with which Friedrich addressed Herschel took Varanus by surprise, and Herschel himself seemed a little uncomfortable with it.
“No, no, my lord,” he said quickly. “I am here for you…that is, for the three of you, my lord. They’ll send the luggage separately.”
“Marvelous!” Friedrich exclaimed, clapping his hands. He offered his arm to Varanus and motioned to the carriage. “Shall we?”
Varanus looked at her son. Then she looked at Ekaterine, and the two of them exchanged a nod. She looked back at Friedrich and said:
“We shall.”
* * * *
The ride to Fuchsburg Castle was a smooth one. However rustic the town, the roadways at least were well maintained. The carriage only jostled slightly, which was far better than what Varanus had experienced in many parts of London. The man called Herschel drove them through the village along the first leg of their journey, and Varanus found herself staring out of the window at the town that was to have been her home in another life. It saddened her a little, in part because of Fuchsburg itself—which she found to be exceedingly charming, with all manner of winding streets that wove in and out through the old buildings—but mostly because it brought back memories
of the life she had lived before Korbinian’s death. Of the life the two of them would have had together if only he had not been murdered.
She saw him sitting across from her, next to Friedrich.
“Do not be sad, liebchen,” he said. “The past is the past. But you are here now, and I am with you. And together we are with our son. Our little family all assembled at home in Fuchsburg. And in time for Christmas, no less.”
Varanus smiled a little and returned to her gazing. The carriage left the village and wove its way up the forested hill that overlooked it. “Hill” might not have been quite fair, for in contrast to the rolling forest around it, the hill was almost like a mountain. Certainly it had a commanding view of the village and of the Rhine, and Varanus suspected that it was something of a climb if one left the road.
They came around a bend and into full view of the castle. Varanus had seen a little of it from the riverside, but all but the towers had been concealed by forest. Seen properly, the sight of it took her breath away. It was beautiful to behold, as much the product of a fairytale as the picturesque village below it.
The castle was built in a curious blending of Gothic and Baroque, and though bizarre to see, it was not displeasing. The very strangeness of the style—with tiered balconies and arched windows, towering spires and jagged curtain walls—only made it seem the more ethereal. This was not a castle: it was the fantasy of a castle. The towers that rose here and there were elegant and slender, and even those that were reinforced for defense seemed graceful in their own way. The roofs were tiled in shimmering black, and the buildings were a vibrant crimson, as if painted by the sunset—though whether the color came from paint, brick, or red sandstone, Varanus could not say.
The gates and portcullis stood open for them as they arrived, and Herschel drove them into the courtyard and up to the steps of the palatial keep. Friedrich bounded out of the carriage and offered his hand to help first Varanus and then Ekaterine alight, grinning and poised all the while as if some gallant from a storybook. Varanus almost laughed at her son’s enthusiasm, and at the same time it made her smile.
But then the sight of him acting so chivalrously made her think of Korbinian and his death, and suddenly she was sad again.
Don’t be such a bloody fool, she told herself, and quickly put the thoughts out of her mind.
Looking up at the walls and windows and towers that loomed above them, she said to Friedrich:
“My goodness, what a remarkable place.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Friedrich asked, grinning. “Designed by one of my ancestors, you know. She traveled all around Europe and laid out the plans for the renovation of the old keep based on what she thought to be the best parts of contemporary and classical design.”
It took Varanus but a moment to detect what was out of place in the statement.
“She designed it? She?” Varanus shook her head in astonishment.
“You mean that a woman was allowed to lay out plans for the rebuilding of a castle?” Ekaterine asked.
Certainly, Varanus approved of such a thing, but it sounded utterly impossible given the circumstances.
“Of course,” Friedrich said. There was a slight pause in which he seemed to realize that it was a strange thing to have done and quickly added, “We von Fuchsburgs are a very peculiar people. And besides that, it was the Middle Ages. What else was she to do with her time?”
Ekaterine looked at Varanus and said, “I like this family more and more!”
Varanus laughed and nodded in agreement. She might have said something, but Korbinian appeared beside her and smiled.
“I am pleased to finally show you my home, liebchen,” he said. “It has been too many years since first I spoke of it to you, but now I can fulfill my promise.”
He offered her his arm and she took it, though with subtle movements lest her behavior seem odd to Ekaterine or Friedrich.
Ekaterine shivered a little and rubbed her arms. Though dressed in sable furs like Varanus, she still seemed rather cold. And the lack of a hat no doubt caused her some small discomfort. Whatever appearances might be, she really shouldn’t have given it to Varanus.
“Come,” Friedrich said, “let us go inside where it is warm.” He smiled at the coachman and said, “Thank you, Herschel, for the smooth journey.”
Herschel bowed his head.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said. Then he bowed to Varanus and Ekaterine. “My ladies. By your leave, my lord, I shall just see the horses stabled.”
“Good, good, Herschel,” Friedrich said. “And after that, go see the cook and make her give you a nice warm glass of cider, yes? You certainly deserve it.”
“Yes, my lord,” Herschel replied.
“And if she gives you any trouble about it,” Friedrich added, “tell her I said to give you two.”
Herschel smiled a little and said, “Well, my lord, she is my wife. So she is always giving me trouble.”
“Two glasses it is!” Friedrich said, laughing.
Herschel’s smile grew a little wider and he nodded. “Yes, my lord. Two glasses.”
“One for you and one for her, yes?”
“Yes, my lord,” Herschel answered, his smile becoming a grin. Then he bowed again to Friedrich and again to Varanus and Ekaterine. “It is good to have you returned, my lord. I shall take my leave.”
Friedrich turned to Varanus and Ekaterine and clapped his gloved hands together.
“A fine fellow, that man,” he said. “And his wife also. Her cider is marvelous. It contains nutmeg and cloves and all manner of things, like mulled wine made from apples. We shall have some after dinner.”
“Sounds delightful,” Varanus said.
Friedrich smiled again and quickly offered her his arm.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Varanus exchanged looks with Korbinian, who had been obliged to step back a pace to avoid colliding with his son. As proper as Friedrich’s offer, she much preferred to be escorted in by her late husband—or would-have-been husband at any rate.
“That is very good of you, Alis…Friedrich,” she said. “But why don’t you escort your Aunt Ekaterine? I shall follow along behind and admire the scenery. After all, I’m not quite so young as the two of you.”
This statement only made Friedrich’s eyebrow arch in confusion, for truly just as Varanus looked no older than Friedrich, she also looked no older than Ekaterine. But Friedrich quickly smiled and bowed his head.
“Of course, Mother,” he said. Turning in place, he quickly stepped around to Ekaterine and offered his arm to her. “May I escort you inside, Aunt Ekaterine?”
Ekaterine looked at Varanus curiously, but she smiled at Friedrich and took his arm.
“How very kind of you,” she said. “And just when I was beginning to turn into an icicle.”
Varanus followed them as Friedrich led Ekaterine up the steps and through the great doors that stood open for them. These quickly shut behind them with a slam and a rush of cold air, and Varanus looked back to see a pair of footmen securing the door against the wind. They were dressed rather more formally than the coachman had been, in scarlet coats and trousers of vibrant blue.
The entry hall was larger and more grandiose than anything Varanus had seen since the fortress of the Shashavani. It stretched away into the distance, the three-story vaulted ceiling supported by slender pillars of red marble. The floor was marble as well and recently polished. Doorways led off on either side and at the far end of the chamber into other parts of the house, and a grand staircase led to the second floor, with two smaller flights of steps leading still higher.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Korbinian asked, murmuring the question in Varanus’s ear.
“Beautiful beyond beautiful,” Varanus gasped.
Before she could say more, Varanus saw a woman in a rose-colored gown appear on the second floor landing. She looked down at them, her face lit up in delight. Clutching her skirts in one hand so that she might descend the quicker, th
e woman hurried down the staircase and across the hall, holding out her arms to Friedrich.
Varanus recognized her in an instant. It was Ilse von Fuchsburg, Korbinian’s twin sister.
Ilse had aged since last Varanus had seen her—the summer of Friedrich’s birth more than twenty-five years ago. But the years had been remarkably kind to the woman. Her blond hair held no gray, and her skin showed no wrinkles that could not be concealed with only a hint of cosmetic. The very sight of her gave Varanus a momentary turn. For an instant, Varanus almost believed that it was Korbinian risen from the grave, dressed up in a wig and a dress, alive and playing a terrible decades-long joke upon her.
But no, it was Ilse. And Korbinian was dead. Varanus turned her head to look at him where he stood at her side. He smiled at her, but his eyes were sad.
“If only she were me, liebchen,” he said. “But it is not so.”
Reaching Friedrich, Ilse threw her arms about him and embraced him tightly, forcing Ekaterine to drop Friedrich’s arm and withdraw a pace to avoid being pulled in herself. She and Varanus exchanged puzzled looks, and together they watched Ilse all but crush Friedrich to her. Embarrassed, Friedrich struggled to extricate himself from his aunt’s grasp, but when he succeeded, this only led Ilse to take his face in her hands and place a torrent of kisses upon his cheeks and forehead.
“Oh, Friedrich! Friedrich!” she exclaimed. “You are returned to me! I was so worried about you!”
After quite some effort, Friedrich finally managed to pull himself away. Holding Ilse at arm’s length—rather forcefully it seemed, to keep her back—he smiled with some discomfort and said:
“Yes, I have returned, Auntie. There is no need for extravagance, is there?”
Unable to move close again, Ilse gripped Friedrich’s arms with her hands and said, “Friedrich, you were gone for so long! Two years, almost! You dreadful boy, how could you do such a thing to me? I was worried to distraction!”
A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires Page 41
