to take Cosmina as her own, to raise her in the castle where I could see her often. Eugenia agreed so long as I promised never to reveal myself as Cosmina’s father, for she wanted no interference. She has cared for her as tenderly as any mother, seen to her education and accomplishments. Did you know every penny has come from Eugenia’s own pocket? She vowed to keep Cosmina’s inheritance intact for her when she marries or reaches majority. She has done more for her than propriety and the law demand. She could not have loved her more wholly if she had borne her herself, and I could not grieve the woman who has reared my child by giving trouble. And so I promised, and it was a pact with the Devil, I think, for it has been the sharpest torment, to be so close to one’s own flesh and blood and never to be allowed to reveal the connection. Never to take her hand and tell her the truth, never to look after her and protect her as a father should.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “But I can protect her now. From you. I would never have moved against you had you not become her enemy. You have left me no choice, child.”
“She is a murderess. I believe it and I know it can be proven,” I said stoutly. “You must do what is right and let justice take its course.”
“Justice? How is it just for that child to suffer for the sins of her fathers? If she is not wholesome in the mind, it is not her fault. She must be cared for and watched, which I can do. But I will not let her be taken to the sort of place where her mother yet lingers, not yet dead but neither wholly alive. That is no just fate for anyone,” he returned, his face flushing with anger.
I made to rise, but suddenly the room began to spin and pitch. “I have drunk too much,” I murmured.
But even as I said the words, I realised that strong drink was not the trouble.
“You have poisoned me,” I said, gripping the arms of my chair.
“It is only a sedative,” he corrected. He reached down and gathered me up, and I was astonished at the strength in him. I had thought him old and a little feeble, but he lifted me as easily as a dried leaf upon the wind. I wanted to protest, but I could not summon the energy.
“You will fall gently asleep and I will take you into the forest. The wolves will do the rest,” he said softly. “Sleep now.”
And then all was blackness.
I was cold, desperately cold, but apart from that I was not uncomfortable. I floated, neither here nor there, and waited for what must come. I did not want to die, but I had not the strength to resist it, and I lay upon the ground, my cheek pressed to the earth, the sharp scents of pine and leaf-mould filling my head. It was not a difficult way to die, I thought slowly. If only I could manage it before the wolves came. I imagined them, catching my scent upon the wind, creeping closer, ever closer, slavering jaws snapping down upon my bones and grinding them to dust.
I heard the howling then. They were calling to each other and to me. I could hear them, almost upon me, so near that I could smell the rough, animal scent of them. I wanted to scream, but the sound would not come. Something crept near to me, pressing a muzzle to my face, sniffing. I felt the snap of teeth upon my skirts and the slow, relentless pull as the animal began to drag me along the ground. And then nothing more.
I awoke to find myself in my room at the castle. I was restored to my prison then, I thought with resignation, but I could not be anything other than fervently grateful that I had escaped death. I opened my eyes to find Charles slumbering in a chair at my bedside. The curtains had been drawn, but I could see from the warm golden light at the edges that dawn had broken.
“Charles,” I said, and my voice sounded like a rusted and unused thing.
He sprang to his feet, bending over me. “My God, you gave me a fright. How do you feel?”
“Bruised,” I said, forming the word slowly.
He nodded. “Yes, well, you can blame Tycho for that.”
“Tycho?”
At the mention of his name, the dog sprang up, placing his large head upon my bed. With a tremendous effort, I managed to put my hand upon his head.
“He found you before the wolves did. He would have dragged you entirely up the mountain, I think, had we not trailed him.”
I moved my hand a little to stroke him behind the ear, but the effort was tiring and he seemed to sense it, for he licked my hand once and settled back on his haunches, watching me closely.
“You came to find me?” I asked. Talking was proving rather difficult as well, and my eyelids began to droop.
“Florian and I, at the count’s insistence,” Charles told me.
My eyelids flew upward and I winced against the light. “He is awake?”
Charles gave me a small, regretful smile. “Yes. And suffered no ill effects from his accident, it seems. He rages rather impressively, so I think he will be as he ever was. Aside from the scars, of course.” A lesser man might have savoured the thought, but Charles was a stranger to smugness, and he had no pettiness within him.
“Where is he?” I asked, and Charles knew that I did not mean the count.
He hesitated. “You ought to sleep now. You are quite safe. He is not to be found. He fled as soon as he left you in the forest. Oh, Theodora, why did you run away?” he asked, his voice anguished.
I wanted to tell him, but my eyelids drooped again, and as I succumbed to sleep, I could not dismiss the notion that Charles was glad of it.
19
When next I woke it was evening, and Tereza brought water for me to wash and a tray of good, plain food. She helped me to dress, and when I had eaten all of the food and wiped my plate with the bread and eaten that, too, Charles came again.
“They are in the count’s room. The entire household. Things must be discussed and you are summoned,” he added apologetically.
The food that I had eaten sat like lead in my stomach, but I rose and smoothed my hair and followed him to the door. They were assembled as Charles had said, and to my astonishment, the count was dressed and seated in a chair by the fire. The countess and Frau Amsel had taken the sofa while Florian stood sentinel behind them. Cosmina huddled on the hassock at their feet and a pair of chairs had been brought for Charles and for me, completing the circle by the fire. Tycho raised his head when he saw me and thumped his tail by way of greeting, but he remained at his master’s feet, guarding him, it seemed. When we had seated ourselves, I saw that Tereza and Frau Graben stood in the shadows, neither included in the circle nor apart from it.
I folded my hands together to keep them still. The count spoke first.
“I am glad to see you have suffered no ill effects from your experience, Miss Lestrange,” he said formally. The same could not be said of him. He held a walking stick in his free hand, a heavy affair of ebony more suited to country pursuits than city idleness. He wore a sling at his neck, cradling his arm, and the wound upon his face slashed from brow to temple to cheek. The stitches were even and black, and rather than spoiling his looks, the effect was piratical and dashing. I had little doubt the Parisiennes would find him even more attractive with the addition.
“Thank you,” I replied, and my voice sounded hollow to my ears. “It is good to see you as well,” I added impulsively.
He inclined his head, but there was no warmth in him, only cool appraisal. “I have been apprised of the events that have passed, and I must apologise on behalf of our family that a connection of ours has attempted to harm you so grievously. The fault is entirely ours and we are abject in our sorrow.”
The words were of the flowery sort the Eastern Europeans loved so much, a relic of their days of attachment to the Ottoman Empire, I thought. It was my turn to incline my head to acknowledge the sentiment and I did, gathering in the countess with my gesture to show I did not bear them ill will.
“Would you mind explaining to us why you sought the company of Dr. Frankopan last night?” he asked
