I would not put any of it past her.
A few days later, the insistent rumble of carriage wheels from the road draws me to a window. We are visited by merchants whenever the keep’s supplies run low, but I’ve never heard such a sustained rattle, one carriage after another like a processional. I lean on my forearms and crane out the window, to see a young woman’s shining head catch the sun as she alights from her carriage with a footman’s help. As soon as it pulls away, a new carriage draws up, disgorging another girl.
They continue to arrive all day. The carriages each bear a different crest; these young women must be of noble birth, though from what I can gather from my perch, none of their gowns are so fine as Elizabeth’s. Which means all of them must hold some lesser status.
What is this new perfidy? I wonder to myself, my stomach assailed with misgiving. What does she want of them, when she cannot possibly need so many ladies-in-waiting?
I watch the parade anxiously, nibbling on my knuckles, until night falls and music strikes up in the great hall, wreathing faintly through the corridors. I make my way there with dragging, leaden feet, at odds with the lighthearted music emanating from within. Margareta and Judit are long dead, I think grimly. One of the new arrivals must be similarly gifted.
As I step over the threshold, my heart lifts reflexively at the bright chatter of conversation—it’s been so long since I heard anything like it here. The keep has been about as lively as a crypt, but now my gaze skims over a dozen gathered girls, ranging from young womanhood to twelve or thirteen. They sit on chairs or lounge on pillows, as Margareta and Judit used to do—with Elizabeth by the hearth, occupying the center of the room. She looks gorgeous, jubilant, more effervescent than I’ve seen her since we first met. Scrubbed clean and clad in one of her finest ruby-colored gowns, its snowy ruffles cascading beneath her chin.
One of the new girls stands behind her, painstakingly dressing her hair. She’s small, clearly much younger than the rest, her dress coarse and a bit tattered. At first my eyes nearly drift over her, distracted by the hubbub and the crowd.
Then I see the achingly familiar, buttery hue of her hair.
“Klara?!” I cry, despair wrenching my fist against my stomach. My heart feels like a battering ram inside my chest.
The girl’s head flicks up, and there can be no mistake.
My sister’s face breaks open like the sun bursting through clouds, and she abandons her post to dash across the room toward me, dancing nimbly between the gathered girls. In a moment she has flung her little arms around my waist, pressed her head into my chest. She is a great deal more solid than I remember, more robust girl and less will-o’-the-wisp.
At least I’ve managed that much for her, before failing her so utterly.
“Annacska,” she squeals into my bosom, nestling so tightly against me I can feel the hammering of her own heart, though I know hers beats with joy. “Surprise!”
“What,” I manage, the edges of my sight blackening like something being burned. “What is my sister doing here, Elizabeth?”
I am so distraught, so far beyond my own grasp, that I do not even remember to call her “my lady.” She doesn’t seem to mind, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. A smile slinks across her face, her eyes gleaming bright with spite above it.
“Welcome to my new finishing school, Anna,” she says, the smile widening into a toothy grin. “The silence was becoming so stifling, wouldn’t you agree? And of late, we’ve had such undue difficulty procuring good help.” She shrugs, as though bewildered, though I can see that she nearly overflows with self-satisfaction. “One would almost think the poor have no true desire to uplift themselves by seeking good, honest work under my roof.”
Because you killed most of your household, I want to scream. And no one in their right mind will come work for you any longer.
“So, a while ago, I thought to myself,” she continues, laying a pensive finger against her cheek. “What better time than now to fulfill a long-held dream? You see, I’ve always wished to mentor the daughters of noble families less fortunate than my own. Give them the opportunity to grow, open their minds to new things.”
New things like flogs and whips and blades, no doubt.
“But . . .” My voice emerges as an airless rasp, as if I am already entombed. “But my sister, she’s no noble, just a commoner . . .”
“I thought I would extend the invitation to her, regardless, as a very special favor.” She draws her lower lip between her teeth, releasing it with excruciating slowness. Savoring this victory over me like a cat licking blood off its whiskers. “Given that I hold you, her elder sister, in such high esteem. Your mother was only too happy to hand her over, I’m told.”
“The lady’s man left her such a large bag of coin, Anna!” Klara pipes up happily, grinning at me. “And Mama said I would be even better here, with so much more to eat. She said I would be with you!”
Of course she did, I think bleakly. What choice did she have, when faced with the countess’s men?
“What was it that you told me about Klara, Anna? That she was like your mirror?” Elizabeth continues. “But sweeter, even more obliging, more tractable than you?”
Great wings of panic beat inside me, overwhelming me with their buffeting force. How could I have ever trusted this slouching monster with the knowledge of my sister? Because all this is my fault, the punishment for my faithlessness, for betraying Elizabeth by attempting to rescue those girls from her. Now they are dead, and my dandelion clutched in the palm of her ruthless hand, soon to be crushed between her fingers along with all the rest.
I should have known she would never stop finding ways to make me sorry.
My next mad thought is to simply spirit Klara away, but I can see Elizabeth’s men in every corner of the room.
There is no escape, not unless I wish to cost both of us our heads.
“Please,” I manage, clutching Klara so tightly against me she gives a surprised yelp, squirming in my grip. “Elizabeth—my lady—do not do this. She, she has done nothing to you!”
“Nothing besides being born of the same blood as you, my dearest dove,” she rejoins with a sarcastic twist to the last words, her voice winking with a vicious edge. “Which renders her exquisitely suited to serve as my chambermaid, just as you once did.”
“Send her back, please,” I wail, clutching her against me. “You do not need her, not when you have me. I will do anything, I swear it, whatever you require . . .”
Frightened by my terror and the desperate force of my grip, Klara tugs away from me, peering up with huge, unsettled eyes.
“Nővér?” she whispers uncertainly, her pale lashes fluttering with confusion. “Why are you yelling at the lady?”
“Come, pet,” Elizabeth calls, snapping her fingers as if my sister is a dog. Klara breaks away from me before I can snatch her back, pelting straight into the murderess’s arms. “That’s right, come to me! Very good! Yes, Anna, she is rather younger than is ideal—but perhaps that’s for the best. She will take so quickly to service, with fewer bad habits to unlearn.”
She winds a hand around Klara’s thin neck and draws her close, stroking my sister’s collarbone. Klara allows herself to be enfolded, lets the countess press their cheeks together. “We shall have a very lovely time, shan’t we?” the wicked bitch murmurs into my sister’s hair. “I will feed you cherry bonbons and stuffed partridges, and barely watered wine. Would you like that, pet?”