The archduke’s troops tore into the courtyard, leaped from their horses, and stormed the entrance hall. Angela heard a torrent of noise below—her parents’ cries, the servants’ prayers, and a clang of armor bounding up the stairs. She ran to Nurse for protection as four soldiers burst in. One tossed Nurse to the ground. Another, the size of a house, hoisted Angela over his shoulder.
“Put me down,” she shrieked. “I’m Countess Angela Gabriela von Schwanenberg.”
The soldier laughed and whisked her to the staircase. Angela pounded his back, bruising her hands on his heavy chain mail. “My father will have you in irons.”
The soldier knocked her against the wall like a sack of potatoes. Angela tried to bite his ear, but got only a mouthful of helmet and hair. Descending into a blur of confusion, she saw maids and valets herded into a circle by six of the archduke’s men.
Next thing she knew, she was being carried across the courtyard to a carriage with bars on the windows. The soldier swung open the door and tossed her inside. She landed hard on a wooden bench. Her parents were seated opposite. Angela wanted to throw herself in their arms, but she was afraid to shame the family.
“Chin up,” her father said tightly.
“All will be well,” her mother echoed.
The driver cracked his whip. The archduke’s horses reared with a fierce bray and flew down Castle Hill. Angela peered between the bars and watched her home disappear in a whirlwind of colors and dust.
“What’s going on?” she asked, struggling to control her voice. “Where’s the archduke?”
“He’s with the archduchess at his palace,” her father replied, as if everything was normal. “We’ve been summoned for an audience. The soldiers are escorting us.”
“Has Nurse been taken too?”
“I believe we’re His Highness’ only guests,” her mother said.
“Guests?”
“Yes,” her mother said discreetly. She fanned herself. “An invitation to the palace is a great honor. Don’t fret. Nurse will attend to things while we’re away.”
Angela looked from one to the other as if they’d gone crazy. That’s when she saw her father’s knuckles pressing up through his silk gloves and the lines on her mother’s face breaking through her powder, and realized her parents were as frightened as she was. They had no idea what was happening either and, whatever it was, no power to stop it. It was the first time she’d ever seen them helpless, and it scared her to death.
There followed a hard, three-day ride to the archduke’s palace in the capital. The carriage followed the coast. It stormed up rugged cliffs, hurtled along craggy beaches, and rattled over perilous bridges spanning rivers and steep ravines. Between the window bars on the left, Angela glimpsed the brilliant blues and whitecaps of the sea. To the right, she saw fields and woods sweeping north to the far mountains.
The soldiers paused to change horses at various of the archduke’s country stables, stationed at intervals along the way. During these stops, they poked a little dry bread and cheese through the bars for food.
The count and countess wilted faster than cut flowers. By first nightfall, they’d loosened the heavy satin ruffles at their throats. By dawn, they were using the ruffles to wipe their sweat. And then, dear Lord, they took off their wigs. Angela had never seen her mother’s hair before—a close-cropped gray—or known that her father was bald. It was a shocking sight, like seeing them naked.
She looked away. When she looked back, she caught them staring at her with longing and regret. Her mother inched her fingers forward, and instantly pulled them back.
“Mother?”
“I was just wondering . . . ,” her mother said awkwardly. “That is, I wasn’t sure . . . but if it would please you . . . would you like me to hold you?”
Angela hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’m almost thirteen. Would it be all right?”
“I think so. Yes,” her mother said. In a heartbeat, Angela was pressed to her chest. She was glad there was no one to see. Especially Nurse.
Her father cleared his throat. “We could tell stories. That would pass the time.” He stroked a damp ringlet from Angela’s forehead. “You’d planned a puppet play for us, I think. Tell us about it. Your stories are always so good.”
“Do you mean it?” Angela asked. “You like them?”
“Of course,” her mother said in wonder. “Didn’t you know?”
Angela shook her head.
“Oh, my darling.”
In no time, Angela was acting out her entire play. Her forefinger shrouded in a handkerchief became the Necromancer. Her little finger, the Boy. The role of Herself was played by a thumb. She thrilled as her parents cheered and applauded and praised her more than they ever had at the castle.
Angela closed her eyes and for a moment the carriage prison disappeared. She’d always wondered if her parents loved her. Now, she not only knew it, she felt it. And she knew that she loved them back, and always would, more than anything in the world.