Betrayals

The Graf’s Letter:

The written word, like blood, maintains my life.

Thus I, who have consumed so much of both

And in a world with sustenance so rife,

Think meet I should the former aid in growth,

And writing use to tender you an oath.

That such a course in honesty ensue,

I wish a certain question to address.

You asked me once if I remembered you,

The book of tales I gave you. I said yes.

But this was less than truthful, I confess.

With ease, in fact, once you and I had met,

I put you from my thoughts immediately.

Though just a child, you were Luzia’s get.

I’d see you soon enough, when you would be

A weapon honed and trained to target me.

Suspicious, then, when I your note received,

I feared a brand-new chapter in our war.

Were you Luzia’s pawn, and I deceived?

Or brave Maria, come to warn once more

Of deadly Heller treachery in store?

A kindred spirit, one so young in years,

Seemed too absurd a thought to entertain.

Instead I trapped you, challenged you, to tears,

Subjecting you to coarse, unearned disdain.

I shudder that I caused you so much pain.

You bared your heart to me that night, and proved

Yourself the stronger, one who more would dare.

And how could I by this be aught but moved,

I whom you captured in the Opera square

With lovely, soulful eyes and plaited hair?

I’ve found with you in but a dozen nights

Such joy as I had not to celebrate

For many years. Yet there remain delights

We have not tasted and (though you may hate

The word) for which we must in patience wait.

In time you will live on your own, and when

You do, will we be far less vuln’rable.

It’s safer that I not see you ’til then.

Though not to think of you quite sensible

Would be, it’s also quite impossible.

I pray that you, who hold my heart and know

My nature, in my promise here will trust.

Though none sees by which path our futures go,

I’ll wait as long as Fate decrees I must,
And love you ’til the stars above are dust.

1. Luzia tries to read the missive,
   With steady voice, but it’s a fight.
   “Perfection,” she says, curt, dismissive.
   “I’ll hand him this: the fiend can write.”
   Her words of grudging admiration
   Belie the utter consternation
   Which all her soul like wildfire girds
   And leaves her struggling for words.
   First Galen at St. Paul’s that morning
   To spy on them, which made no sense.
   That Kinge to the Graf’s defense
   So suddenly arrived, was warning
   Enough that something was amiss.
   Yet she could not imagine this.
2. Or could she? Kunigunde clearly
   Is restless and too much alone,
   Which he, the Graf, has cavalierly
   Exploited. That’s a heart of stone
   He has. Luzia should have brought her
   To Kisilova this year, taught her
   Out in the field, and kept her safe.
   But no. The girl would only chafe
   At that. She wants her independence,
   Some friends her age, a chance to court.
   She is a woman grown. In short,
   She wants the normal life descendants
   Of Heller line may not attain.
   Luzia knows too well the pain.
3. Does she embrace her grandchild, saying,
   “I love you, and I understand,”
   Forgiving her for disobeying,
   Forgoing wrath and reprimand?
   By no means. She has not forgotten
   Her fam’ly, nor her duty, not in
   A thousand years. She must redress
   The danger this girl’s recklessness
   May now have brought upon them. Scowling,
   She puts compassion on the shelf.
   “Will you say nothing for yourself?”
   She asks, her words pitched low, like growling.
   But Kinge weathers this attack
   And says, “Give me my letter back.”
4. The girl’s eyes, stormy and accusing,
   Stir something in Luzia’s mind,
   Who turns and stalks away, refusing
   To answer. Kinge’s right behind
   Her as she hunts the kitchen, seeking
   A favorite cut-glass tumbler. Peeking
   Through cabinets reveals the flask
   Of kirsch. Thank God. Luzia asks,
   “Just tell me: what on Earth possessed you
   To write to him? His elegance?
   His beauty, his intelligence?
   Or was it pow’r and wealth impressed you?”
   Says Kunigund’, indignantly,
   “I asked to see his library.”
5. Luzia scoffs at this and squeezes
   The glass rim tight, as if to test
   Its strength. Then from the flask she eases
   The cork. “Did he show you the rest?
   His dungeons, say?” Her hand is shaking.
   The bottle slips her fingers, breaking
   Her glass. She rashly disregards
   The danger in the spiky shards
   And pulls back, fingers cut and bloody.
   The wound—now splashed with brandy—stings,
   Reminding of unwelcome things.
   “You met the Graf first in his study,
   The gentleman he feigns to be.
   But I met him quite differently.”
6. She finds a cloth to stanch the bleeding.
   “I know this story,” Kinge sighs,
   “This fairy tale that you’ve been feeding
   Me all these years. I know it’s lies.
   The Graf, before I had to leave him,
   Explained what happened. I believe him.
   He didn’t kill your Opa, nor
   Did any of his kind. He swore.”
   Luzia says, “Of course, he’d sell you
   A tale that puts him in the right.
   It’s even true, in certain light.
   But think, granddaughter. Did he tell you,
   In winning you to take his side,
   Exactly how the old man died?”
7. The girl’s face pales at this idea,
   Her angry features brushed with doubt.
   “You want this letter back?” Luzia
   Displays it. “Then you hear me out.”
   The girl, reluctant, acquiesces.
   Luzia on her bandage presses
   And says, “There is, in his great hall,
   A door. It’s hidden in the wall,
   And only vampires know to find it.
   When I was seven, Timoch and
   My mother, with me by the hand,
   First led me through this door. Behind it
   Are stairs that lead you only down,
   In darkness and despair to drown.
8. “He waited at the bottom level:
   The Graf, below us, seemed to loom,
   Emerging like a ghost or devil
   And silent in that horrid gloom.
   When his attention shifted to me
   I felt his cold eyes boring through me
   And shuddered. He just shook his head.
   ‘I don’t approve of this,’ he said.
   For once, my mother’s will asserted
   Itself. ‘So you made clear to me.
   She is his blood, Your Exc’llency,’
   She said. ‘I will not be diverted.’
   We finished our descent to Hell,
   To find her father in his cell.”
9. “His cell?” breathes Kunigund’. “He put him
   In prison?” There’s a hint of fright
   Luzia savors. “Yes, and shut him
   Away from us, the world, and light.
   That dungeon cell was pestilential.
   The vampires covered his essential
   Requirements, let him have a bed.
   But he was cold and sparely fed.”
   She won’t say how he terrified her,
   His haunted, thin, unshaven face
   Before her in that awful place.
   She stuffs the mem’ry down inside her
   And finds herself a brand-new glass.
   A sip of kirsch; the feelings pass.
10. She drinks again and says, “I’m grateful
    I got to know him, and that he
    Had time with me, despite the hateful
    Conditions. Ev’ry Sunday, we
    Would visit him. He told me stories
    About his long-lost hunting glories,
    Or tales of fam’ly, this and that,
    Ignoring Mother where she sat.
    Though Timoch did accompany us
    The first few years, to overhear
    Our talk, the Graf did not appear.
    He did see fit, in time, to free us
    From supervision. Absent strings,
    My Opa told me diff’rent things.
11. “He knew which weapons were efficient
    And worth the effort to obtain.
    He told me I’d become proficient
    With them, if I could get to train
    In Serbia with hunters. Telling
    Me secrets, and the thought of felling
    The Graf, spurred some recovery
    Of strength in him. He trusted me.
    I fantasized about how, one day,
    When I was fully trained and grown,
    I’d rescue him all on my own.
    I went to him, that final Sunday,
    To share my childish plans. Instead,
    I found that he’d gone on ahead.”
12. Luzia’s kirsch glass rattles dully
    Against the counter. Kinge stares.
    It’s obvious she doesn’t fully
    Believe the story. If she cares.
    Luzia says, “There, in the ragged
    And flick’ring light, I saw the jagged
    Dark glass he’d used to make his end,
    Still in his hand. I saw distend
    A pool of blood, its odor seeming
    So thick you’d taste it in the air.
    That smell soon brought the vampires there.
    While Timoch calmed my mother’s screaming,
    The Graf his monst’rous nature proved
    And watched, unmoving and unmoved.”
13. She grits her teeth, her heartbeat quickened
    By shame and fear that still won’t fade.
    The Graf did this to them. She’s sickened
    That he has yet to be repaid.
    The girl toys with her pendant idly
    A moment. Then she answers, snidely,
    “If truly that’s what you observed,
    Sounds like he got what he deserved.”
    Luzia fights the urge to hit her,
    And tear that diamond from its chain.
    Instead, she says with deep disdain,
    “I see he’s given you some glitter.
    My mother also let him buy
    Her off with gold, and she’d comply.”
14. “What’s wrong with you?” asks Kinge, letting
    The pendant fall, as if it burns.
    She finds unvarnished truth upsetting?
    Well, good. It’s long past time she learns.
    Luzia says, “I was eleven
    When all this happened. It was seven
    Years more ’til I joined Stepan’s crew.
    He taught me hunting, working through
    The finest weapons then invented,
    The classics. I learned ev’ry one:
    The sword, the axe, my Opa’s gun.
    But I was never quite contented.
    To kill the Graf, I knew, would take
    Far more than training and a stake.
15. “No blade or gun goes undetected
    By Timoch past the castle doors.
    So I need something unexpected.
    With Stepan, I’ve concocted scores
    Of plans, designs, and I’ve discarded
    Them all. The Graf is too well-guarded.”
    She waves the letter, says “It’s clear
    The answer’s what he’s written here.
    Because the Graf is right about you:
    You are a weapon, whose design
    Is his invention, dear, not mine.
    I cannot take him down without you.
    Help me, and you can free us all.”
    Luzia lets the letter fall,
16. But Kinge neatly bends to stop it.
    From somewhere she pulls out a wad
    Of papers, puts this one atop it,
    And stands back up. “I swear to God,”
    She says, “I will not help you hurt him.
    Not ever. Why would I desert him
    When he loves me?” “My girl, wake up!”
    Luzia barks, and slams her cup.
    It stays intact, but Kinge flinches.
    “Does anything I’ve told you of
    That creature show that he can love?
    He’s happy killing us by inches.
    My mother, son, whatever spell
    Had caught them, now has you as well.”
17. She stops then, hearing something muffled
    Behind her, and she turns around.
    The sound was Eva, who has shuffled
    Downstairs, clad in her dressing gown.
    “What’s going on?” asks Eva, gravely,
    Arms crossed before Luzia bravely.
    So focused and awake, she shows
    A fire despite her sleep-pressed clothes
    And hair. Luzia, irritated,
    Tries shooing her toward the door.
    “It’s fam’ly business. Nothing more.”
    Says Eva, unintimidated:
    “I’m fam’ly too. You made me so
    When you gave me my pistol, no?”
18. Then Eva moves to Kinge, brushes
    A stray hair from her daughter’s brow.
    Her finger to her lips, she shushes
    Luzia’s protest. “I’ll speak now.
    My daughter isn’t yours to order
    Around. She’s my child. I support her.”
    The other snaps, “I’m sure you’re right.
    She tell you where she was tonight?”
    While Kinge gasps, Luzia snatches
    With blinding speed the billet-doux
    And hands it off to Eva, who
    Starts reading while her daughter watches.
    A silence thick as tar descends
    While Eva with the note contends.
19. First Eva takes a breath and holds it,
    Then, hissing through her teeth, exhales.
    She sets the letter down, re-folds it,
    And scores the creases with her nails.
    Another breath. Her finger grazes
    The paper one more time. She raises
    Her dark eyes. Something in them, raw,
    Shoots venom at her moth’r-in-law.
    “Please tell me why you came back early,”
    She says. “To make us mis’rable?
    If so, your plan was masterful.
    Or were you just so terse and surly
    That Stepan and his retinue
    Had finally had enough of you?”
20. She’s fishing with that accusation,
    Luzia knows, but still is bruised.
    And Eva’s face, in her vexation,
    Is like the one Maria used
    Against her daughter, when they feuded.
    But Eva isn’t finished. “You did
    The same thing when my husband pried
    Himself away from you. He tried
    To reason, but you wouldn’t listen.
    My God! How you would carry on,
    The two of you. And now he’s gone.
    You somehow blame the Graf for this, in
    That way that everything’s his fault.
    But really, you’re as coarse as salt.”
21. The battle’s joined. The girl’s eyes widen.
    The older women stare and seethe,
    No old politeness left to hide in.
    And Kunigund’, the first to breathe,
    Says, “I found Papa’s medal. Oma
    Has hid it in her office. Mama,
    I meant to tell, eventually…”
    “Oh, Kinge, please. Don’t talk to me.”
    Then Eva shuts her eyes and, sliding
    The letter ’cross the counter to
    Her daughter’s hand, she speaks anew.
    “The Graf is not the one dividing
    Our family, Luzia. Thus
    You’ll get no fighting help from us.”
22. Luzia snorts. The hell with Eva.
    Why waste her time with one so weak?
    This fight has made her come to crave a
    More sating outlet for her pique.
    “It’s mutiny?” She smiles. It’s mirthless.
    She says to Kinge, “Words are worthless.
    Decisions—actions—open doors.
    You want him all that much? He’s yours.”
    She pulls her weapon from its holster:
    Her Opa’s gun, which he bestowed
    On her. She pauses to unload
    This relic she has used to bolster
    Her courage and authority,
    Then lays it down decisively.
23. “I hereby forfeit my position
    As liaison to you, my heir.
    You lead us, if you have ambition,
    And we will see if you can bear
    That weighty burden any better
    Than I.” Says Eva, “I won’t let her.”
    “It’s not your choice. It never was,”
    Luzia says. “See what she does
    When her beloved Graf betrays her—
    For his inhumanness will tell—
    And she must carry that as well.”
    The girl says nothing. Did this faze her?
    Luzia smiles to think she’s won.
    Then Kunigund’ picks up the gun.
24. It’s old and heavy, but she’ll manage.
    She checks the chamber, cylinder.
    This weapon will do no more damage
    Now its command belongs to her.
    She tells her Oma, “Yes, I’ll do it.
    I’ll lead our side, instead of you. It
    Looks like you’ve done it much too long.”
    “And do you really think you’re strong
    Enough for that?” Luzia fences,
    And Kinge finds it bittersweet
    To watch her wrestle with defeat
    But, like her Oma, she dispenses
    No pity; she can’t give a damn.
    “You’ve no idea how strong I am.”
25. Her grandmother and mother tussle
    Some more. They hiss, they snap, they shout.
    It fades to but a distant rustle
    As Kunigunde tunes them out.
    The letters from the Graf she seizes
    And holds them to her heart. It pleases
    Her not to think of Oma’s mess,
    But revel in the night’s success—
    One hour, all her prospects brightened,
    Like Fate has given her a gift.
    Her thoughts despite this fortune shift
    To Galen, last seen lost and frightened.
    What kind of solace will he find
    When he leaves Sternendach behind?
26. He meant to drive to Poland. Honest.
    With Kunigunde safely dropped
    At home he started off, and promised
    Himself he would, before he stopped,
    At least have gotten to the border.
    He has his papers all in order
    And, from a secret, private stash
    He’s gathered quite a chunk of cash.
    There’s nothing else he needs to save him.
    The weather’s clear, the car is gassed
    And ready, and he’s long since passed
    The hour’s grace his master gave him.
    The open road should lie ahead.
    So why’s the castle there instead?
27. A subject to the force of habit,
    He drove here in a blurry trance.
    He freezes like a startled rabbit.
    He’s lived here twenty years. Perchance
    The castle has him on a tether,
    Invisible, but tough as leather,
    Which will not let him go astray.
    He should have run by light of day!
    To try at night compounds the error
    Of thinking anyone could hide
    From Timoch, who may stalk outside,
    In shadows dark. The simple terror
    That he will be discovered grips
    His heart, which sev’ral pulses skips.
28. But nothing happens. Galen gnashes
    His teeth, and then his nerves dissolve
    In fresh adrenaline, which splashes
    A fatal chill on his resolve.
    He presses the accelerator,
    And checks the… Christ, it’s even later
    Than he imagined. How’d he waste
    So many hours in his haste
    Tonight to bite the hand that feeds him?
    The brakes again. So will he just
    Desert the Graf, whose cautious trust
    He worked so long to earn? He needs him.
    The man knows, too, he won’t get far
    In this, his master’s stolen car.
29. In much this manner Galen dithers,
    Until the east glows pink and blue
    And all the heavens’ starlight withers.
    He parks the car and heads in through
    The castle doors. The halls are quiet
    With morning calm. He can’t deny it:
    He loves this time of day, this peace.
    It feels like home. Such musings cease
    When he detects the blend of honey
    And cloves come wafting from his rooms.
    No matter how he swears and fumes
    He knows, deep down, no threat nor money
    Could stop him following that scent.
    This, too, is home. Perhaps it’s meant.
30. He does not greet her when he enters,
    Though lamps he switches on reveal
    Her in his chair. Instead he centers
    His focus on the curtains’ seal.
    He chokes off strands of daylight straying
    Through any cracks, then turns round, saying,
    “It’s day. You should be in your bed!”
    She smiles at him. “So Timoch said.
    But I don’t take his orders, darling.
    Nor yours.” At once her smile goes flat,
    And when the man recoils from that
    Her pretty features turn to snarling.
    “Your presence here was missed tonight.
    I almost thought you’d taken flight.”
31. “I’m here, aren’t I?” It’s not convincing,
    This truth that quavers like a lie.
    Indeed, the Gräfin frowns, evincing
    No confidence in his reply.
    She says, “The girl was here.” “I know that.
    He had me drive her home. Although that
    Was my idea.” “Yes, no doubt,”
    She purrs. “What did you talk about
    While on this drive?” He shifts, uneasy.
    “We talked of life, my lady. Dreams.
    How love costs more than first it seems.”
    The Gräfin’s stare makes Galen queasy.
    “So now you’re a philosopher,”
    She says. “Are you in love with her?”
32. And there it is, her eyes perceiving
    What he had not the nerve to say:
    The reason he’s resisted leaving.
    The reason why he cannot stay.
    “I’m not,” he says, and isn’t lying.
    “You’re perfect, beautiful, undying,
    And I have only ever been
    In love with you. But I feel kin
    To Kunigund’, and my affection
    For her comes from a diff’rent place.
    I know the heartaches she may face,
    And all the wonders. That connection…
    To tell the truth, it thrills me, and
    It’s nothing you can understand.
33. “The girl is young. I’ve no illusion
    She cares for me, and that’s as well.
    But staying here, in this seclusion
    From my own kind, will not dispel
    My need for one to know and love me.
    My lady, you’re so far above me
    You cannot give me that, and so
    I beg you, Amy. Let me go.”
    A tear slips down her cheek. Amazing.
    He didn’t think her kind could cry.
    He pulls her in his arms, to try
    To comfort her, her fang teeth grazing
    His throat. Amata holds him tight.
    He’ll give her this: just one more bite.
34. Familiar pain, those needles pricking
    His flesh, but then she twists her head
    And pushes Galen from her, licking
    From off her lips a splash of red.
    He looks at her, in shock, refusing
    At first to note the warmth diffusing
    Down ’cross his chest. A chilling damp
    Comes next. He brings his hand to clamp
    Against the wound. Lightheaded, falling,
    He cries out as he hits the floor,
    Which only causes blood to pour
    More quickly. With no strength for crawling,
    He prays for help, receiving none.
    A cold voice gasps, “What have you done?”
35. The Graf observes, transfixed with horror,
    The Gräfin’s bloodied mouth, and worse,
    The human’s fallen form before her.
    He distantly hears Timoch curse
    Before his vassal kneels, inspecting
    The victim. But the Graf, expecting
    No hope, dares not wish otherwise.
    And now he comes to recognize
    How badly he miscalculated.
    He knew the Gräfin’s jealousy,
    Directed all his energy
    To shielding Kunigund’. He rated
    No threat to Galen from his wife,
    And this has cost the man his life.
36. One cannot fathom why she killed him.
    She asked to turn him, did she not?
    Or has she permanently stilled him
    To hide his role in some dark plot?
    Where’s Kunigund’? The Graf’s heart lurches.
    Did she reach home? By day, a search is
    Impossible; no way to know.
    She’s safe. He must believe her so.
    What will she think of what’s transpired?
    And more, what will Luzia do
    To him, the Graf, who’s now seen two
    Poor humans in his care expired?
    The Gräfin, Devil take her gall,
    May well tonight have ruined all.
37. “What have you done?” he bellows, baring
    His teeth. He takes her by the wrists
    And sharply tugs her close, not caring
    A jot how feebly she resists.
    Against the chest of drawers he slams her,
    While with his eyes and words he damns her.
    Then, cutting through the air like blades,
    Comes Timoch’s whisper, “Sire, he fades.”
    Alive? Yes. Timoch’s stopped the bleeding.
    The Graf can hear the dismal thud
    Of Galen’s heart. Too little blood.
    The signs of life are fast receding
    And when they’re gone? Catastrophe.
    What other option can there be?
38. “Hold her,” he says to Timoch, taking
    His place by Galen on the ground.
    He checks his pulse and lifts him, making
    One last attempt to bring him ’round.
    But Galen’s breath, in tatters coming,
    Soon stops completely. He’s succumbing.
    Like lead the man’s head sinks to rest
    Against the vampire’s arm and chest.
    The Graf feels wrath and sorrow rending
    His heart; he last held her like this,
    His Kunigund’, in love and bliss.
    “Forgive me, please,” he whispers. Sending
    His fangs into his palm, he drips
    Dark lifeblood over Galen’s lips.
39. The man’s mouth twitches faintly, catches
    The ichor. At a thimbleful
    His eyes snap open. Galen latches
    Upon the wound and starts to pull
    More blood. And more. And each pull stronger.
    The Graf can’t let him drink much longer.
    Already cold creeps from the bite
    Along his arm. He fears what might
    The outcome be if that chill reaches
    His heart. But Galen soon falls free
    And starts to writhe. It’s agony
    The Graf remembers, change that leaches
    Humanity from flesh and bone.
    What might remain, remains unknown.
40. That’s if it works, the new blood flooding
    His veins. The Graf leans in to look
    In Galen’s mouth, where fangs are budding.
    The Graf sighs in relief. It took.
    To Galen’s rising cries he deafens
    Himself, and also to the Gräfin’s
    More muted protest. Rising straight,
    He fears his legs won’t bear his weight,
    And Timoch quickly steps to lend him
    His arm. The two exchange a glance.
    The Graf resumes his lordly stance
    And says: “Release her. Let her tend him.”
    His hand gives tiny, throbbing pains.
    The wound has healed. The cold remains.
41. Now Galen’s screams have dimmed to choking
    And heaving sobs. Beside him, stained
    With tears and blood, the Gräfin’s stroking
    His hair, her visage pale and pained.
    This image fills the Graf with loathing,
    As does his clammy, gore-soaked clothing
    And white skin. He must look the beast.
    But Galen’s life is saved, at least.
    No more can he read Timoch’s thinking
    Than see the sun through stone; no less
    He feels them both, as if they press
    Upon his skull. He takes unblinking
    Assessment of the day’s events.
    It’s time to ready their defense.
42. “It happened this way. She presented
    To me her wish to turn this man.”
    He falters briefly. “I consented.
    At dawn this morning she began
    To drain his life from him, unaided.
    I was her witness when she traded
    Her blood for his. I have endowed
    Him with a fief, and he has vowed
    To me in turn his faithful service.”
    At this announcement, Timoch nods
    Serene acceptance, quite at odds
    With how the Gräfin looks more nervous
    With ev’ry word she hears him speak.
    He ponders punishments to wreak.
43. He spits at her, “Congratulations.
    You’ve gotten what you asked of me,
    My lady. And as your creation,
    He’s your responsibility.
    Teach Galen what he needs to know to
    Survive in Sternendach and so, too,
    Will you improve your flagging skill
    At taking blood without the kill.
    Once he’s learned to my satisfaction,
    Then you, Amata…you are out.
    Leave Sternendach by any route
    You like.” Such payment for her action
    Sounds easy, but he sees she gleans
    His point. She knows what exile means.
44. “You’d cut me off from your protection?”
    She says. “The hunters will pursue
    Me then! You promised me…” “Correction:
    I bargained, Madam, as did you.
    You broke the rule you swore to follow.
    Our bargain thus is void.” She swallows.
    “I’ll tell the Hellers that you lie,”
    She says. “Do that. I’ll tell them why,”
    He answers, “Please, if you prefer it,
    We’ll tell Luzia ev’rything
    And she, the Heller Wolf, can bring
    Your doom tonight. Shall we defer it?”
    She cradles Galen on her knees,
    And nods to show that she agrees.
45. The lateness and the blood loss weighing,
    The Graf’s limbs feel like so much sand.
    He must leave ere the room starts swaying,
    And while he has the strength to stand.
    “Sleep here with him today, Amata,”
    He orders, “When night falls, allot a
    Short leash to him, for all our sakes.
    He will be hungry when he wakes.
    And then the mess in here wants cleaning.”
    With one last look, he steps outside
    And stumbles. Timoch, close beside
    Him, stays his fall. The Graf knows, leaning
    On him, he need no more pretend.
    “What have I done?” he asks his friend.
46. Says Timoch then, “You must preserve this
    Frail peace for which you’ve so long fought.”
    “But Galen. He did not deserve this.”
    “No, Sire,” says Timoch, “He did not.”
    “And I must write Luzia, later,”
    The Graf says, “Pray my lie will sate her.”
    He hangs his head. “Must I begin
    Deception now?” “It’s no great sin
    To lie,” says Timoch, “if your cause is
    Your own defense. And such as she
    Has not earned perfect honesty.”
    “It’s not just her.” Here Timoch pauses,
    And says, “It’s not a thing you planned.
    But Kunigund’ would understand.”
47. The Graf says nothing to this facile
    Response, but lets himself be led
    Through hidden pathways of the castle.
    “I love her, Timoch.” “As you’ve said.
    But if the truth should give Luzia
    A pretext for revenge, I see a
    Disaster on our heads may break.
    What difference would your feelings make?”
    “Enough,” the Graf says, as they enter
    Within the secret bedroom, where
    He brought the girl and, he would swear
    These hours later, still can scent her.
    He sorrows as he gains his bed
    And sleeps like any restless dead.