Chapter Nineteen

Nineteen

Before the sun had risen, Lorelei pounded on Sylvia’s door. She hadn’t even lowered her fist when it swung open.

Sylvia stood there, ethereal in the moonlight, her quartz-silver eyes glowing softly through the gloam. She wore a gauzy nightgown knotted artlessly around her waist, as though she had gotten dressed in a rush. It was maddening, the casual intimacy of her dishevelment. Lorelei’s anger crashed hopelessly against it.

Without speaking, she pushed past Sylvia and shut the door behind her. She leaned against it, barring them both inside. Even so, she towered above Sylvia, who looked up at her with an expression caught halfway between indignation and dreamy disbelief.

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“I have to tell you something.”

Sylvia gave a perplexed little shake of her head, as though Lorelei had spoken Yevanisch. “What could possibly be so urgent?”

Lorelei turned the lock behind her. Its grim, decisive click echoed too loud in the silence. Sylvia’s throat bobbed in a swallow. Lorelei couldn’t help following it with her eyes before she dragged her gaze back to Sylvia’s. “Ziegler and your mother were colluding.”

Her words struck Sylvia like a bucket of cold water. The anticipation on her face dissolved into an alarming blankness. “What?”

Lorelei produced the journal entries from her pocket. Sylvia gingerly accepted them from her and began to read. For a long few moments, she was silent. When she finally met Lorelei’s gaze again, her expression was anguished. “Tell me you’ve written this yourself.”

At the plainness of her shock, Lorelei’s temper cooled to ashes. “I’m sorry.”

Sylvia clutched the parchment so tightly, it crumpled. “Why would Ziegler do such a thing?”

“She was ready to cut her losses and flee to Javenor at a moment’s notice. I found her passport and her savings—what was left of it, anyway.” Not to mention her entire wardrobe, packed to the brim with everything she’d need to stake out her new life. The horrible feeling of betrayal bubbled up within her again. Her mouth tasted like bile.

“She was in quite a bit of debt from her publications. Those expeditions and engravings certainly did not pay for themselves.” Lorelei grimaced. “Your mother agreed to pay her debts and fund her research going forward in exchange for placing the Ursprung—or a fake Ursprung—in Albe. The moment Wilhelm claims Albisch magic for himself, she plans to stage a coup.”

“That snake,” Sylvia muttered. “My mother must have been laying the groundwork for quite some time. I suppose that explains why those villagers were already so riled up against Wilhelm.”

Lorelei leaned her head back against the door. “I understand why Ziegler did it, but at the same time, I can’t understand it at all. She was willing to doom us all to whatever upheaval she left in her wake.”

“I’m sorry, Lorelei,” Sylvia said quietly. The candlelight flickering in the corner of the room painted her in achingly lovely hues. “I know it hurts when the people we love disappoint us. But I refuse to believe she would abandon you of all people.”

“How can you still insist on seeing the best in her? You read her note.”

“I did, yes.” Sylvia hesitated. “But she left us the key to finding the true Ursprung. Perhaps that was her last contingency plan: trusting you to know how to use it.”

It was a delusion—pure delusion. It might have been a comforting thought, if Lorelei were at all disposed toward forgiveness or optimism. Sylvia was far better than her. “How are you faring?”

“I don’t know. How is one supposed to feel when their entire life has been upended? My aspirations, my plans, any illusion I still had of my mother caring for me…All of it is shattered.” Sylvia’s expression turned desolate. “How could she keep me in the dark about this? Did she expect that I would comply—or that I wouldn’t? I do not know which is worse. I…”

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, and Lorelei struggled to keep the alarm off her face as Sylvia’s shoulders began to shake. God, she could not bear it when people cried. She never had been any good at this sort of thing.

“Would you like me to make you some tea?” she asked. “I’m afraid it’s the best I can offer, short of seeing her imprisoned when we return to Ruhigburg.”

Sylvia let out a startled laugh through her tears. “You’re awful.”

“I’m aware.” With a sigh, Lorelei pulled her handkerchief from her breast pocket and handed it to her. It was a rough scrap of linen, nothing so fine as the embroidered silk ones Sylvia carried, but still, she smiled at Lorelei as though she’d given her something precious.

“I suppose you have a point in that all we can do is move forward.” Sylvia held her gaze with a conviction that made Lorelei’s mouth go dry. “One way or another, when we return, I will see my mother pay for what she has done. I will claim my rightful title as the duchess of Albe and do what is best for my people.”

“Is independence not what’s best for them?”

“I meant what I said. I intend to stand with Wilhelm. He is not perfect, but he has not mistreated us. War would see so many lives lost.” Sylvia sighed. “For what? The Albisch fear our culture being taken from us. We are proud of it—understandably so. But the way that pride has manifested…It unsettles me.”

She was clearly thinking of the effigies.

“Beyond that, Wilhelm’s reign would not survive an Albisch coup, and God knows there are far worse people than him waiting in the wings. I have seen who Johann keeps company with.” Sylvia frowned. “I will have to do my best to maintain order. It will require meeting with my subjects, a thorough review of my mother’s correspondence—and, certainly, reconsidering the positions of those she has kept close in court.”

“A controversial vision for the new duchess of Albe,” Lorelei mused. “You’ll be stripped of your title within the year.”

Sylvia smiled fondly at her. “I so appreciate your vote of confidence.”

“I do have confidence in you.” She was surprised to find that she meant it. A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in her throat. “I shall look forward to seeing what you achieve from afar.”

“Afar?” Sylvia echoed. “I had hoped…”

“What, that I would come with you?”

“If you would like to.” She sounded uncharacteristically uncertain. It made Lorelei suspicious.

Lorelei blinked slowly. “Forgive me. I think I might’ve suffered lasting brain damage from my strangulation.”

Sylvia flushed a charming shade of red. “I should have known better than to express a single tender sentiment to the likes of you.”

“Don’t mistake me,” Lorelei said, more bristly than she had intended. Softening her voice, she added, “I appreciate the invitation. I…am only confused.”

“It is not a trap!” Sylvia protested. “Perhaps you could advise me instead of Wilhelm. Or perhaps you could spend your days skulking about, doing…whatever it is you wish to do. It does not matter to me.”

Lorelei felt suddenly light-headed. Of all things, it was anger coursing through her. She had not spent her entire life afraid and striving just for Sylvia von Wolff to offer her an escape rope as though it were nothing. “Why would you propose such a thing?”

For a long while, silence thickened around them, until Lorelei could scarcely breathe. She felt wild and out of sorts. It was only when she could no longer bear the weight of it that Sylvia laughed. It was a breathless sound, bewildered and exasperated and somehow wholly relieved. She raked her hands through her hair, pulling apart her waves. Errant strands rose around her like wisps of white fire. “Do you really want me to spell it out for you?”

“Spell out what ?”

Lorelei was beginning to feel hysterical. She did not know what exactly they were talking about anymore, but she sensed Sylvia working herself up to something. Sylvia stepped closer, and Lorelei’s focus narrowed to the precious little space between them. Lorelei could hear Sylvia’s shaky breaths. She could feel the press of her body against hers, Sylvia’s warmth seeping into the weave of her coat.

“How can you be so smart and so…so stupid !”

“I beg your pardon!”

“I’m trying to tell you that I care for you, you impossible woman!” Her face flushed. “Are you happy now? Surely you’ve known for years.”

Lorelei opened her mouth, and for the second time tonight, she was speechless. All that came out was a strangled sound, something between a croak and a muffled groan. When she finally recalled their shared language, all she could manage was a weak “I did not know that.”

“But you…You must have! It was so obvious. The way you would mock me when you caught me looking at you, or…the way you…” Sylvia trailed off helplessly as she realized she had shared far more than she’d ever planned to. She buried her face in her hands and made a sort of pained, dying sound. And when she dropped her arms and saw Lorelei still standing there, slack-jawed and wild-eyed, it apparently dawned on her that there was no going back from this. “How could you not know I wanted you?”

Never in her life had Lorelei been subjected to so many emotions at once. “How could I have possibly known? If you truly wanted me”—she stumbled over the words—“why have you been such a menace all this time?”

“Because you despise me! You think me beneath you. I could see it in your eyes, and I…God, I would have done anything to earn your respect, your attention. I just wanted you to look at me.” Sylvia floundered for a moment. “When you do, I…It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. You’re like something out of a nightmare.”

Lorelei stared at her as her entire life rearranged around this revelation. So much clicked into horrifying, sickening clarity. Every flush of Sylvia’s face she’d misinterpreted as indignation. Every tremor of her voice she’d read as barely leashed anger. The ways their eyes always found one another in a room. The way she always stood too close when they argued.

If she examined her own behavior, she would combust from humiliation. How had she been so stupid? To act on this now, when their lives hung in the balance, was madness. To care about anyone but herself was a weakness she couldn’t afford. And yet…

“I understand, of course, if you want nothing to do with me,” Sylvia said. “I won’t make a fuss if you deny me. However, I cannot go on this way. I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t—”

“Sylvia.”

The sound of her name drew her up short. It was the first time Lorelei had ever spoken it aloud, and now she feared she might never stop. Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia. It felt like the rhythm of her own heart. Like something she could not survive without.

Lorelei brushed her fingers against Sylvia’s throat, until she cradled her jaw in her palm. She tilted her chin upward until their eyes met. She could feel Sylvia’s pulse thundering frantically against her thumb. She applied the barest hint of pressure and felt the answering gasp tear through her like a drug. It pulled every coherent thought from her mind. Distantly, it occurred to her that a good person would not feel so exhilarated at holding a lover’s very life in their hands.

You’re like something out of a nightmare.

And you, Lorelei thought despairingly, are resplendent.

What did someone like Sylvia see in her, loathsome creature that she was? She could not possibly want her as she truly was: the tender, nerve-stricken parts of herself she did not let anyone see. But if she wanted her monstrous—a fantasy—then Lorelei could give her that.

In one motion, she spun Sylvia around and backed her against the door. It rattled in its frame. She bent down until their lips just barely touched, until the air felt as thin as it had on the Himmelstechen’s peak.

Sylvia’s breath frayed at the edges. She gazed up at her as though she were a thing stepped from her wildest imaginings. The cool, liquid silver of her hooded eyes was nearly consumed by her blown-wide pupils. Lorelei’s stomach dipped low at the sight of her so full of unbridled wanting. She’d never thought herself capable of inspiring this sort of desire. It was dizzying, addictive. She could no longer convince herself this wasn’t some lurid dream.

When Lorelei kissed her, well and truly, Sylvia let out a moan that nearly undid her. Her lips parted eagerly, and she molded her body against Lorelei’s and fisted her hands in her lapels. It felt like a collision—like burning alive. Sylvia kissed like a woman starved. Lorelei almost smiled despite herself. Why had she expected any different? Sylvia von Wolff had never once been able to temper her passions.

She scrabbled desperately at the knot of Lorelei’s cravat. At last, with a sound of triumph, she succeeded in unfastening it. Cool air sighed across Lorelei’s bared collarbone, and the scrap of silk went sailing into some dark, forgotten corner of the room.

Insatiable, she thought, with only mild disapproval . Of course Sylvia would rush headlong into this, as she did all things, but Lorelei had imagined this far too many times to let her ruin it with haste.

Lorelei tangled her fingers into Sylvia’s hair, and for one moment, she allowed herself to relish the heavy weight of it in her grasp. Then, she pulled hard enough to expose the pale column of her throat. God, Sylvia was so beautiful. Every inch of her begged to be touched. Lorelei could not resist bending down to trace the side of her neck with the barest touch of her lips. Sylvia’s skin pebbled, and her breath hitched again.

Sylvia made a soft, frustrated sound. “You impossible, infuriating—”

She cut herself off with a whine—half pleasure, half protest—when Lorelei sucked a bruise onto her skin. This time, Lorelei did smile. If only she’d known sooner how easy it was to silence her.

“Insults will get you nowhere,” she murmured against Sylvia’s ear. Her voice trembled, just barely.

And her mind went utterly blank when Sylvia shot back, with only a touch of wryness, “Please.”

Please. It set her entire body alight. She tightened her grip in Sylvia’s hair, anchoring her in place as she kissed her again with redoubled, demanding hunger. Sylvia could easily break free of her hold if she wanted. Instead, Sylvia melted pliantly against her, and Lorelei hooked her arm around her waist to support her weight. The illusion of control tonight—something she might very well never have again—sent a heady rush through her.

For so long, she had yearned to crush Sylvia underfoot, to have her entirely at her mercy. And now that she had her, she hardly knew what to do with this rush of power. She wanted Sylvia desperately, forever, in a thousand different ways. It frightened her, but she didn’t know how to stop this.

She didn’t want to stop.

Lorelei drew back to catch her breath. Sylvia’s lips were wet and parted, and her eyes were dreamy, like she hadn’t quite processed what was happening. There was nothing at all noble about her now. What a scandal they would cause should anyone find out.

A bolt of alarm shot through her. Lorelei stumbled a few wary steps back, determined to put some space between them. God, she couldn’t think straight with Sylvia looking at her like that. As evenly as she could manage, she said, “I can’t do this.”

“What?” Sylvia wheezed.

“ You can’t do this.”

It took a moment for Sylvia to catch up. Her expression landed somewhere between desperate and murderous. “Why not?”

She was alight with her typical determination. Her hair was a flash of lightning in the dark, and all the candlelight blooming out of the darkness gilded her. She was radiant, as bright as the sun itself. In that moment, it was all Lorelei needed to seal her decision.

She was a weed, drawn helplessly to light she did not deserve. And now she had knowledge she was never meant to have. The sound of her sighed-out name on Sylvia’s lips, the taste of her kiss. Now, she would never be able to stop wanting her. Like another fairy-tale curse inflicted upon her, she was struck with a hunger she could never satisfy.

“No one would accept this.” It hurt more than she expected to say aloud. No matter what happened, there was no escaping that reality.

The weight of it bloomed between them like ink dropped into water. Sylvia was a princess, and Lorelei was a cobbler’s daughter. Some gulfs were too wide to cross. What use would she be as an adviser on matters of governance or—hell—which plates to use when some foreign dignitary came to call on them? The two of them would be the laughingstock of the entire nation. Lorelei couldn’t bear to humiliate her.

Tentatively, Sylvia brushed her fingers against Lorelei’s face. Lorelei felt each of them like a brand against her skin. “They would have to.”

“Don’t delude yourself. People like me don’t win the princess’s heart.”

“They’re just stories, Lorelei.” Sylvia’s voice frayed. “You must stop taking them so seriously.”

“You and I know very well that they’re not.”

Their breath mingled. For the first time, Lorelei studied the bruise blossoming on the side of Sylvia’s neck. Pride and shame snared together within her.

Careless, she thought. Mine.

And yet, she would never truly be hers.

“I meant what I said,” Sylvia said. “I can’t go back to pretending I don’t care for you. Can’t we be happy?”

“Happy,” Lorelei repeated. The word felt foreign on her tongue. If Sylvia could not be convinced with sense, she would have to hurt her. “And what happiness would a life with you grant me? I would be entirely dependent on you for the rest of my days. I would never see my family or hear my language again. I can’t cut off any more pieces of myself. I’m nearly bled dry.”

She did not wait for an answer. She fled.

As she walked back to her room, her mind frantically worked. One way or another, Sylvia von Wolff would be the death of her. If she could not find decisive evidence, Wilhelm might very well punish Sylvia for Ziegler’s murder instead of Lorelei. It was a neat story. Anja von Wolff and Ziegler had schemed to plant a false Ursprung, and then Sylvia had gotten rid of the loose end.

Perhaps Lorelei could never have Sylvia, but she could still save her. That would have to be enough for this lifetime. One way or another, Lorelei would find proof.

All she needed was the right opportunity.