Chapter Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Eight

They arrived in Ruhigburg not to fanfare but to soldiers.

It was as though the wind carried the news of their arrival, for a battalion in scarlet livery lined up in neat, perfect rows along the docks with their muskets drawn and ready. This, Lorelei supposed, was their welcoming committee. Not that she was expecting festivals in the plaza, but it seemed to her a bit discourteous.

She stood on the observation deck of the Prinzessin, the wind dancing along the hem of her greatcoat. Sylvia pressed close to her side, with her arms folded neatly over the railing. Even Heike and Ludwig had emerged from the cabin to watch the city fold in around them. The last week had been fraught, but the four of them had come to a tentative understanding.

Whatever happened, they would vouch for one another.

When Lorelei had envisioned this moment, she’d thought it would be triumphant, in all the ways it mattered and all the ways it didn’t. But staring down the gray sprawl of Ruhigburg, she felt only grim resignation.

“I see Wilhelm is feeling as hospitable as ever.” Heike sniffed. “Should we be worried? I’m worried.”

“Why should we be?” Lorelei gestured vaguely at Sylvia. “We’re bringing him what he wanted.”

“I don’t think this is exactly what he wanted,” Ludwig said. His voice was still raspy from his brush with death—one of his last lingering symptoms. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Sylvia said wanly.

The two of them made a strange pair: Sylvia with her glowing eyes, and Ludwig with…well, there was the bark scaling his neck, of course, which had of late sprouted a branch and a few tentative leaves. But his eyes had taken on a green cast, and when you peered into them, you could just make out an ash grove reflected in his pupils. If he was upset by the transformation, he did not share his feelings with Lorelei. But sometimes, she caught him standing on the deck with such stillness, it was as though he’d taken root there. In those moments, he seemed so unknowably lonely, she left him to his brooding.

When they’d told him what had befallen Adelheid and Johann on the Vanishing Isle, he’d said only, God. What a nightmare.

He did not care to discuss what happened on the night he vanished. He and Johann had not exactly been close, but the betrayal clearly unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Lorelei did not push him, partly out of consideration—mostly because Heike radiated sheer malice any time Lorelei so much as looked at him askance. They’d become inseparable since they boarded the Prinzessin again.

“At any rate,” Sylvia said with forced cheer, “Wilhelm is not an entirely unreasonable man. I am sure he will be pleased.”

Lorelei hoped she was right.

One week ago, they had left the Vanishing Isle behind. Once they’d oriented themselves and found the nearest town, Lorelei had hired a courier to deliver her report on the expedition, a dossier sealed in navy wax and stamped with Ziegler’s signet ring. Inside, she’d enclosed a description of what exactly had unfolded on the Ruhigburg Expedition, as well as Ziegler’s journal entries and legal documents: evidence of her and Anja von Wolff’s betrayal.

Somehow, that was easier than composing a letter to her family.

Once again, she found herself ill-suited to the task of expressing her sentiments in words. How much of the truth could they handle? How willing was she to pick at her wounds before they’d even had a chance to mend? She’d drafted and shredded no fewer than five iterations before she settled on pragmatism. She would return to them—hale and mostly whole—in a week’s time. She could not resist adding, as a postscript:

I love you. I am sorry.

Now, the Prinzessin ground to a halt in the harbor, and the dockworkers hauled them in with thick, fraying ropes. The pitch-dark waters of the Vereist lapped eagerly at the hull. After everything, Lorelei had almost missed the bland, marshy climes of Ruhigburg.

Almost.

The four of them made their way down the gangplank and toward the company of soldiers. Behind them, carriages waited like snow globes placed on a shelf, all of them sparkling with wide glass windows. Four, she noted. So Wilhelm was separating them, as if they hadn’t had ample time to agree on their story already.

“Lorelei Kaskel, leader of the Ruhigburg Expedition,” Lorelei said. “What is the meaning of this?”

One of the soldiers—the highest-ranking of them, if the stars jangling on his shoulders were anything to go by—stepped forward. “We’ve been sent by His Imperial Majesty to escort the four of you to the palace.”

Heike extended an impatient hand. Her bag dangled from her elegant fingertips. She shook it, and all of her instruments clattered menacingly. “Well, what are all of you standing around for, then? If you’re going to be so rude, at least make yourselves useful.”

As the wheels clattered on the cobblestones, the carriage lurched nauseatingly. Lorelei could hardly form a coherent thought with this godforsaken contraption rattling her skull like a can full of coins. Outside her window, the palace rose up like a leviathan from the black band of the river. It looked even more imposing in the daylight, a cold and precise work of architecture seemingly chiseled from ice. The sun glistered on its spires, bright enough that she had to look away. Unlike the night of the ball, there were no flowers, no laughter, no sweet anticipation to soften its edges. There was only the solid rock of her own dread in her gut and the grim reality of those gaudy black doors.

They had done everything he asked. So why did she feel as though she were about to be punished? The longer she dwelled on it, the hotter her anger sparked. After everything they’d sacrificed for him, how dare he treat them like strangers—like prisoners? She sorely regretted not having Sylvia here to vent her spleen on. Or perhaps she’d make Lorelei feel better. No, unlikely. Sylvia’s unrelenting cheer—or insulted pride—would do nothing but wind her up tighter.

When her driver opened the carriage door for her, she ignored his hand and thundered up the staircase, the fall of her coat like a skein of shadow behind her. The doors opened for her as if enchanted, but it was only the work of two very startled footmen. Clearly, she was not what either of them had expected.

“Where is Wilhelm?”

One of them silently pointed down a corridor.

The royal palace made the Prinzessin look like a cheap toy. The marble was lunar-pale beneath her feet and threaded with gold, and the walls were coated in a layer of water so delicate, it looked like glass. It fell eternally from the ceiling by some work of magic or engineering Lorelei did not have the time or patience to puzzle over.

A second set of footsteps echoed urgently off the walls. Whoever it was breathed in a way Lorelei could describe only as deliberate, as if they wanted to let her know they were not at all pleased about having to hurry after her. “Miss Kaskel—”

Lorelei shoved open the doors to the throne room.

“His Majesty will see you in there,” the servant pursuing her said limply. The sound of her voice was swallowed when the doors fell shut with an ominous bang .

The rest of the expedition already stood before the dais. The first thing Lorelei noticed was Anja von Wolff, perched beside Wilhelm with all the stiff elegance of a statue upon its plinth. She looked like she belonged there, with her regal profile and her practiced look of courtly disdain. But her wrists were shackled, and a set of guards lingered near the door closest to her.

Wilhelm regarded Lorelei with a bone-deep exhaustion. He slouched in his throne as though he were a schoolboy drowsing in his lessons. His cloak was deep indigo, finely woven, and pinned in place with a fat sapphire brooch. His crown, beaten thin in the shape of a wave, was nestled into his dark hair.

“Is that the last of you, then?” he asked. “I see we’ve had a bit of a retention problem.”

Sylvia’s temper flared, and she looked for all the world like she was about to fly across the dais and strangle him. “Is that all you have to say to us? Don’t you dare make light of this!”

“Forgive me,” Wilhelm said thinly. “I’ve found myself at something of a loss for words since I received your briefing. What the hell happened out there? How could you fuck this up so spectacularly?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Lorelei had detailed what the hell happened quite extensively.

“Have we?” she snapped. “You knew the dangers from the outset. This project was doomed from the start.”

“Of course I did! But I didn’t expect it would be her.” His voice faltered. “Goddamn it. I never should have—”

“Regret isn’t going to bring her back,” Heike said. “Adelheid made her decision—one that you made her think was necessary. You’ll have to live with it, just like the rest of us.”

Color rose in his cheeks. Before he could speak, Heike held up a hand. It was such a quintessentially Adelheid gesture, Wilhelm looked stunned. “No. You do not possibly have anything to say to that.”

“Heike is right,” Lorelei said. “Adelheid fought valiantly, with every limited resource at her command. She did what she thought was best for her people, in spite of you.”

Wilhelm sat slumped in his throne, unmoving. He buried his face in his hands. The seconds ticked by agonizingly. “And what about you, Lud? Would you like to blame me, as well?”

“Me?” He startled. Ludwig was not the first person Lorelei would have chosen to assuage her guilt. His voice sounded like the whisper of dead leaves in the wind—and one could not easily overlook the branch jutting from the base of his neck. “Well…Of course not. I wouldn’t say it was entirely —”

“That’s enough.” When the king lifted his head again, Lorelei could see the ruin behind his stare. “No, you’re right. I’m grateful I can count on my old friends to be honest with me—and new ones as well.”

There was something disingenuous and petulant in his words, but they would have to do.

Wilhelm rubbed his temples. “Now, what news of the Ursprung?”

The four survivors of the expedition exchanged glances. Lorelei had written that they’d found it—but decided the news would be best delivered in person. Heike, mercifully, seemed eager to play messenger. With a malicious smile, she said, “I’m afraid you can’t have it. It didn’t want you.”

“And what,” he said thinly, “does that mean?”

By now, Wilhelm knew the legends as well as Lorelei did. He knew exactly what it meant; he only wanted to know which one of them had betrayed him.

“It chose von Wolff.”

“I see.” Wilhelm laughed bitterly. “Seize her.”

His guards advanced a step—then froze mid-stride, their eyes flung wide with terror. With a clench of her fists, Sylvia held them fast by their blood. Wilhelm stared at them with a mixture of horror and fascination. Anja looked practically exultant.

“Will you wait a moment?” Sylvia asked impatiently. She relaxed her hands—and her hold on the guards, who flinched back from her. “I am no threat to you. My loyalty remains unchanged. Anyone who opposes you will have to go through me.”

“No!” Anja snarled.

“A generous offer. One we will discuss shortly.” Wilhelm pursed his lips, clearly displeased. “Well, then. Lorelei?”

She snapped to attention. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“You’re every bit the bastard Ziegler said you were.” It had the air of a compliment. “You remind me of her, actually.”

“Thank you.” The memory of her still stung, but it was a thorny sort of pain, one that made her feel both bitter and tender. “Some people say so.”

“Effective immediately, you are granted the status of shutzyeva. You may leave the Yevanverte and live where you please. And tomorrow, if you accept the position, you will report to me as my new chamberlain.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I’ve heard they call you a viper. I’d say the title fits. You’ve certainly proven adept at flushing out rats, and I’d venture there are a few more in my court.”

Lorelei hardly knew what to feel. She nearly keeled over from the shock of it, the thrill of getting what she wanted after five long years. It wasn’t exactly happiness. Ziegler had served as Wilhelm’s chamberlain and resented every moment of it. It had trapped her, a gilded chain wound tight around her throat. But with this position, Lorelei would have the ear of the most powerful man in Brunnestaad, a man who needed something from her. She could make herself indispensable to him. And with that salary, she would never want for research funds again.

She would be a fool to decline.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She bowed. “I will serve you as best I can.”

Anja laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Good luck to you, Wilhelm. Rats have a way of multiplying, especially now that you’ve invited another one in.”

Hatred sparked hot within her. Oh, how satisfying it would be to see Anja’s face warp when Lorelei told her she loved her daughter—how she intended to ruin her and how she already had. But before she could say anything regrettable, Wilhelm rescued her. Affably, he said, “I suppose we’ll begin with you, Anja. This has been a long time coming.”

“Shouldn’t I have a say in what happens to her?” Sylvia’s voice sliced through the tension like the fall of an axe. The sight of her stole Lorelei’s breath away. A sliver of light cut across her face, casting her features in stark shadows. Her eyes burned like cold fire.

Anja stared down at her daughter with her lips pressed into a bloodless line. “Silence, Sylvia.”

“I’m listening.” Wilhelm hooked an ankle over his knee in the very picture of indolence. “What would you have me do?”

“If you want the support of Albe, it would be wise to leave her alive.” Sylvia drew in a steadying breath and met her mother’s dispassionate gaze. “I would have you exile her.”

The cold detachment slid off Anja’s face like a dropped plate. She lurched forward in her chair, straining against her bonds. “What?”

“She has shown utter disregard to Albe and the well-being of its people. She is unfit to rule.” Sylvia canted her chin with a touch of that old, haughty defiance Lorelei had once despised. “I will assume the title of duchess, and I will pledge my armies, in addition to the power of the Ursprung, to you.”

“You stupid girl, you will ruin us!” Anja snarled. “Everything I’ve worked for, everything that makes Albe what it is, will be taken from us.”

Wilhelm gave a vague wave to one of the guards stationed at the doors. “Remove her.”

As the guards dragged Anja from the throne room, Sylvia lowered her gaze to the floor, the muscle in her jaw tick, tick, ticking. “I will quell any sedition in my region. In exchange,” she continued, “you will let me go.”

Wilhelm hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know if you intend to uphold your original promise. If you do, know that I will serve you, but I will not marry you. I don’t think we are a good match for a number of reasons.” She brightened. “Heike, on the other hand—”

“Sylvia,” Heike hissed.

Wilhelm blinked, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or insulted. He glanced at the others with a sigh. “Leave us. It seems Sylvia and I have a lot to discuss.”

Lorelei bowed low—fortuitous timing, since her eyes were welling with tears, of all things. She could not believe it. When was the last time she had cried, especially for something as patently ridiculous as love ? This is what they’d planned—what Lorelei herself had suggested. And yet, she had not adequately prepared for what Sylvia’s new role would entail. Stabilizing Albe—as well as Herzin and Ebul, considering both their heirs had died—could very well take years. More likely than not, it would involve violence.

Sylvia had denied Wilhelm, perhaps, but war was a jealous lover. It could very well take her from Lorelei. When the worst of the spell passed, she straightened to her full height, adjusted the lapels of her greatcoat, and strode out of the throne room.

In the safety of the hallway, Lorelei collapsed against the doors.

“It’s going to be fine,” said Heike.

And with that, Lorelei found herself crushed into a hug alongside Ludwig. She struggled as if caught in a snare, but it was no use. The air was being squeezed out of her, and her neck was wrenched into an odd angle.

“Um, Heike,” Ludwig wheezed. “You’re kind of…”

Heike let them both go abruptly. She grimaced and dusted off her skirts as though she’d touched something foul. “You’re right. That was…strange. Never again.”

“Good,” Lorelei groused. “You nearly strangled me.”

Ludwig took stock of them. Hesitantly, he said, “Are things really going to be fine?”

“Of course.” Heike tweaked his nose as though he were a child. “Sylvia and Wilhelm can handle themselves. So. How about a drink? If he won’t throw us a party, we might as well have our own.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Sylvia?” Ludwig asked.

Heike shrugged. “She’ll find us.”

But Lorelei did not see Sylvia again that night. And when she got the news, days later, that Sylvia had returned to Albe, Lorelei began to suspect that she would never see her again.