Chapter Fifteen:
As I reentered the ballroom, the sounds of lilting music and banal conversations filling my ears, I caught sight of the Lady Maria poised beside a heavy curtain that framed the doors to the balcony. She turned away when I passed by, but I detected a touch of annoyance on her face before she slipped into the crowd. An eavesdropper, just as I had suspected. I sighed in relief, glad that I had refused Prince Otto’s invitation to dance, for I did not wish Lady Maria to hold a grudge against me. As the Lady of Muniche, she could order me to leave the city if she could find a decent excuse, and flirting with her Keyholder would be reason enough.
I spent several more hours mingling among the nobility while the New Year dawned, praying in my heart that 1053 would treat my family more kindly than its predecessor. Once Freia and Heinrich had taken their leave, I drifted toward the front vestibule, intending to call for Jarvis and return home.
But when I passed through a lengthy hallway en route to the front entrance, I noticed a dark staircase winding downward, a single torch casting eerie shadows on the stone walls beyond. I remembered that I had descended that very staircase once before with Augustin, when he had taken me to his mother’s chapel. An overwhelming desire grabbed hold of me, and I glanced around to ensure that I was alone in the hallway. An instant later, I snatched the torch from its niche and headed downward, wanting to visit Marelda’s chapel again, assuming I could find it.
It took me some time to locate the correct door. I would not have found it at all, had I not run across one of the castle servants in the basement corridors. He carried a keg of beer on his shoulders and looked rather surprised to see me in the nether reaches of the cellar, but he directed me to the proper place without fuss when I told him what I sought. The Prince would probably hear about my underground escapades later once the servant tattled on me, but I shrugged it off and carefully opened the door to the chapel. Someone needed to grace the site of Marelda’s tomb now that her most faithful son was banished.
I used the natural flames of the torch to light six of the candles resting upon her altar, then placed the torch into a notch outside the door, shutting it reverently behind me. For a long moment, I stood still to the right of the altar, gazing around at the shadows and the light of the candles casting intriguing rays upon the stained glass window. The chamber still invoked an aura of serenity and holiness, a proper memorial to that gracious woman who loved God and her family with an undying faithfulness.
While I gazed at her painted likeness above the marble casket, a sad smile curled upon my lips. I wished, foolishly, that I could have met Marelda von Bayern, that somehow she could have survived and led her children down the path of righteousness. Without her guidance, all three of them had never realized their full potential: Augustin a bitter wraith . . . Paulus a coward who hid his weakness in religion . . . Otto a pompous hypocrite.
“Marelda,” I murmured softly, “this city would have triumphed much longer if you had lived.”
My eyes traveled downward from her image to her tomb, zeroing in on the aged candlestick still sitting atop it, bare of flame and appearing quite forlorn. It surprised me that none of the palace servants had thought to remove it, since they obviously kept the chapel clean. Maybe some of them still had sentiments for Augustin after all.
I concentrated on the elements inside my spirit, pushing my ice aside to delve into my master’s fire for the first time in ages. The flames began to pulse within my veins, the air around me prickling with unusual heat. I narrowed my eyes and gestured at the candle, willing Augustin’s blue fire to invigorate it once more. A cobalt flame appeared with startling suddenness upon its wick, its light casting an enchanting glow upon the image of Marelda. The candles on the altar began to flicker as my master’s fire sought to supplant their natural flames, so I smiled to myself and allowed my ice to reclaim my spirit, a tiny corner of my heart centered forever on that new fire, keeping Marelda’s memory alive.
Late that night, when I fell asleep beside my husband, Augustin came to me in my dreams. He greeted me at the banks of the Meldorf Stream, the cherry tree’s bare branches cleaving the starry sky apart like the hands of an apparition. He bowed gravely when I wished him a happy birthday, his shining robes dulled only by the gloom in his eyes.
“Technically, this is no longer my birthday, for I died some seven and a half years ago.” His mouth twisted into a sallow smirk, and he reached forward to brush my hair back from my face. “I came to wish you a happy New Year, my darling swan, nothing more.”
I closed my eyes as his fingers passed through my spirit, the sensations of his devotion enticing me all over again. When we met for our language studies, we kept each other at a distance until we parted ways at dawn, for Augustin insisted that neither of us should engage in fancies that could never come to pass. Although I knew every time he caressed my heart that his love for me had not faded, I could also sense his torment, for the darker part of him longed to leave me behind.
Since Joel had discovered the truth of my feelings two years prior, the reasonable part of me had actually begun to wish from time to time that I could find a way to stop loving Augustin, for my obsession for him was a constant strain on my marriage. But on this night, as my master set aside his own interests to give me his regards for the New Year, I determined to forget reality and love him freely once more.
“You are not dead to me, Augustin,” I reminded him, opening my eyes to gaze into his. “And I hope that you, too, will find this year better than the last.”
Augustin smiled ruefully at me and said, “Thirteen years until the deluge of 1066. I think that perhaps this year I shall return to Germanic lands to see if any lord or Prince would grant me sanctuary.” His spirit shuddered, and he glanced downstream toward the brook’s confluence with the River Isar, his countenance dismal.
“My heart longs for Muniche, though I can never enter her gates again,” he admitted softly. “I felt you desiring me last night, while you watched your people dance upon the Bayern gardens in the moonlight. I wanted to come to you then, to run with you there in the spirit, but this curse restrains me.” His gaze traveled downward to his right forearm, hidden beneath his clothing. “I cannot enter Muniche in the mortal world or in the spiritual realm, for she has cast me out. It is frustrating.”
His disappointment flowed into my heart through our bond, and I sat down upon the snowy grass, placing my icy feet upon the frozen stream. “The curse is a horrid thing,” I whispered as he came to sit beside me, “but it’ll never ostracize you from me. I still want you more than anything, and I still love you more than anyone, more than Joel, more than any of our children.” I placed my hand on top of his and watched our spirits merge, our hands appearing to be one.
Augustin sighed heavily, reaching his free hand into his robes to retrieve my beating heart. “When time severs this connection, your love for me shall fade,” he said, blinking his fiery eyes and closing his fingers around my heart.
I moaned quietly at his touch, so strong yet so gentle . . . and my mind went back to the confrontation I had with Prince Otto not long before. “I highly doubt that,” I informed Augustin, remembering that the Prince had not yet forgotten his true love. “Our love is too powerful to be broken by anything or anyone, because it’s real love, free love. I made a choice to love you in spite of your sins, Augustin, and I don’t intend to change my mind.” I winked at him.
A sad smile graced his lips as he drew his left hand out from beneath mine to cradle my heart more closely, more ardently. “I cannot imagine how you intend to keep this relationship alive when our bond finally breaks.” He stroked my heart one final time before placing it in its rightful place at his chest, beside the heart of his own sinful spirit. “You must not cling to a Black Priest who has been in hell for centuries when you return to your own era. Then you must find another man to take my place, a better man, a Teuton priest who would not abuse you.”
I chuckled at his words, thinking of Hans for the first time in a long time. I wondered whether I would love him like I once did, when I finally made it back to the twenty-first century. “So you’re suggesting that I forsake you for an old man?” I inquired of Augustin, tilting my head at him coyly.
He smirked at me and said, “You may do what you will once you have been loosed from my chains. If you can convince Hans to absolve your long insanity with a Cursed One, perhaps he could cause you to forget.”
“There will be no forgetting,” I insisted, “but maybe someday I’ll be able to honestly move on. These last seven years have been a sham for me, trying to love a man who isn’t a priest, bearing his children over and over.” I huffed in irritation, wrapping my arms around my knees. “I still pretend that we could be together one day, united in true matrimony, entering heaven side by side when death takes us both. No one else completes me the way you do. You’re still everything to me, in spite of the distance between us.”
“Castles in the air, my darling,” he murmured, his eyes on the frozen stream.
I frowned, aggravated by his refusal to acknowledge hope and grace. But I ordered myself to not give up, for I had thirteen years before Muniche’s fall would send me home. His casual mention of castles in the air turned my thoughts back to the party and my unmet desire for a Teutonic dance. A sudden inspiration took hold of me, and I jumped up from the snow and looked toward the Isar and Muniche’s turrets beyond.
“Augustin, you said that you cannot enter Muniche again . . . but I can, and I’ve gone there before in my dreams when you’re not with me.” I met his gaze, steeling myself to voice the impossible question. “Do you think . . . I could take you there . . . here in our dream?”
Augustin’s eyes widened, and he rose from the ground, his expression growing thoughtful. “I do not know. It may be possible if you carry me there on your own power, if we stand together as one, if I hold your heart tightly. But we should not attempt such a thing, Swanhilde,” he added, his forehead wrinkling. “It would prove an unnecessary torment, for each of us to grasp what we desire so greatly only to see it vanish with the dawn. We ought not to distress ourselves further. I should not have come to you until Tuesday, as usual.” He frowned.
I shook my head firmly, my whims conquering reason as always. I stepped forward, allowing the white robes of my spirit to meld with his flaming ones. “This world is a dream, Augustin, and I want it to be a good dream. I want to dance with you in the Bayern gardens now, when no one can sense us. Come with me!”
I moved my spirit even closer to his and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the scenery to change before his hesitation could alter my yearning. I heard him gasp, an almost painful sound. His fingers tightened upon my heart in a stone grip as I felt my spirit pass through an invisible screen that seemed to rip us asunder.
I blinked my eyes a moment later, my mouth falling open at the sight of one of the intricate fountains of the Bayern gardens to my right, its waters frozen in a glorious sheen of ice, sparkling in the starlight. I could see the tangled grapevines around me, coated with snow, and my icy feet just barely touched the snow-covered ground, leaving no detectable imprint. The winter wind breezed through my spirit as I turned my head to the left and saw Augustin. His fiery feet sizzled an imperceptible stain upon the snow, his cobalt eyes aglow with amazement. At length, his gaze locked with mine. “You did it,” he whispered, sounding awed.
I would have blushed if I had been in my mortal body, but instead I spent a brief moment looking down at my frosty feet, gathering my courage. Then I lifted my head and asked shyly, “Would you dance with me, master?” Part of me feared that he might refuse, or force me to wake from this wondrous fantasia.
But he smiled at me mischievously and proffered his right hand, his fire transforming his spirit into a radiant azure. “It would be my pleasure, my precious swan princess, my love who shall never allow me to forget beauty.”
So we danced an infinite elemental dance, our spirits racing with the freedom of a dream, crossing all mortal barriers as we leapt high into the air, floating like birds across the sky, tripping lightly through the grapevines and bushes. I kept my ice prominent during the majority of our dance, my spirit merging with the ice of the fountains, exploding from them like a queen of the frost as I endeavored to catch Augustin. I threw a myriad of snowballs at him during our romp, and he allowed some of them to stick to his gorgeous hair for the shortest of intervals before shaking them free and chucking several fireballs in my direction. I chortled as they passed through my spirit, finding no purchase upon me or the nature around us, and Augustin pouted at his lack of influence on the frigid landscape.
When we paused beside an architecturally elaborate gazebo that reminded me a bit of the one in my own backyard in München, Augustin jumped into the sky. His spirit rocketed up with a speed and glory that shocked me afresh. I stared after him, wondering if he wanted me to follow. My eyes opened wide when he grabbed what appeared to be one of the stars from the sky, transforming it into a fiery white orb in his hand as his spirit sank back to the earth.
A wicked smile broke across his face at the sight of my astonishment and he drifted to my side, holding the burning sphere out to me, a gift. “Come, my darling, you must relinquish your ice for me,” he cajoled, his eyes glittering with fun. “Your element gives you far too great an advantage in this winter. Be my fiery bride, and let us singe this tranquility in a devil’s dance.”
Anticipation washed over me, and I forced my ice back, drawing Augustin’s fire from my spirit for the second time that night. I felt the blue of my eyes change from solid ice into a boiling flame, sharpening my vision with a sapphire’s power. I snatched the fiery orb from my master’s hand and cast it into the sky with a laugh. Augustin leapt upward to catch it, and an instant later we were racing across the gardens once more.
Our blues combined into a sweltering inferno, searing the snow beneath us, melting the ice of the fountains, setting the trellises aflame. I would have grown breathless if I was not in spirit form, for I danced with a vigor I had never known. Augustin’s fire pervaded my spirit, almost making me believe I could actually touch him, even though our dream world did not permit physical contact. I laughed more than I had in years, ecstasy filling me as I strove to outdo my master, my feet leaving diminutive fires upon the snow.
We likely would have danced until the sun rose, for the sky had begun to turn gray when I finally halted, having scaled the stones of the castle to set myself upon the railing of a wide balcony near the turrets of the roof. I grinned and spun around on a single toe to look for Augustin, whom I assumed would follow me to my perch eventually.
But I saw him standing on the ground far below me, the look on his face telling me that he had no intention of joining me. I frowned, trying to discern the reason for his reticence, and in the next second I heard a door open behind me with a creak. Terror took hold of me, for I swung my head around and recognized Prince Otto. He stepped onto the balcony, his body clothed in an elegant sleeping robe, a nightcap adorning his head.
I cast myself off of the balcony without pause and darted to my master’s side with the words, “We’d better get out of here.”
Augustin shrugged, his expression caustic. “He cannot detect us here.” But he scowled when the Prince appeared at the railing, his gaze on the lightening sky.
I looked up at the Prince, then back at Augustin. “But what if he sees . . . the results of our dance?” I thought of the melted waters, the fires upon the snow.
My master snickered. “What we did does not exist, Swanhilde.” He gestured behind us at the gardens, and I saw, to my surprise, that the landscape did indeed appear untouched. I saw no trace of footprints upon the snow.
A moment later, Lady Maria approached the railing, at least a meter of space between her and the Prince as her sharp eyes scoured the snowy scene beneath her. I could tell, though they both stood far above me, that neither of them appeared content. They looked like they were about to have a rather dreadful discussion. “If they really can’t detect us here, maybe I should sneak up there and listen to their conversation,” I mused.
Augustin grimaced, his cerulean eyes riveted on the Prince and his Lady. “I suddenly have an incredible urge to kill,” he stated tonelessly.
I stared at Augustin in horror. “But you can’t,” I reminded him, afraid that he may decide to try using his death gift against the Prince, even though I doubted that he could accomplish murder in the Gæstelort Troumerae. “He won’t die until 1074. If you kill him, that would change history.”
My lover snorted, his expression extremely annoyed. “I realize that.” He glared at the Prince one final time, then looked at me. “You may climb up there to eavesdrop on them, but I cannot. I shall meet you by the cherry tree to bid you farewell at sunrise. See to it that you do not waste time here, Swanhilde.” He nodded at me significantly, then disappeared.
I scaled the castle walls a second time and positioned myself in the shadows of a pillar that reached upward to the awning. I balanced atop the stone railing and peered around to see Prince Otto leaning forward, a heavy sigh lifting his shoulders.
“I do not understand how you can be so melancholy on such a magnificent winter morning.” Lady Maria’s voice, her tone as distasteful as ever as she stood beside her Keyholder. “The frigid wind whispers to my blood, asking me to rejoice in the glory of nature and the success of our city.” I saw her blue eyes sparkling with zeal.
A rather rueful smile appeared on the Prince’s lips, but he did not meet his Lady’s triumphant gaze. “But how long will this success last?” It was a rhetorical question, but his expression appeared unhappy as he looked toward the horizon.
A short silence ensued, and I took the opportunity to observe Lady Maria more closely from my perch. She would be fifty-three this year, if Augustin had her age right, and she looked it. Her hair had turned almost completely gray with little trace of its natural brown, and quite a few wrinkles marred her pale face. She had probably been beautiful once, long ago when she had married Prince Ulrich, but now I doubted that even the madness of the keys could seduce Otto enough to make love to her. A twinge of sympathy struck me, for I realized that as much as I hated the Prince for cursing Augustin, I still pitied his fate.
“That foolish child from the future disturbed you last night,” Maria observed, her wintry eyes harsh as she looked at her Keyholder. I gasped quietly at her accusation and slipped further into the shadows of the pillar, though neither she nor the Prince could notice my presence.
Maria stepped toward the Prince and halted a handbreadth to his right. “You must not concern yourself with her, Otto,” she urged in an earnest tone. “She is a simple young woman who holds no sway over the fate of our city.”
The Prince’s dark blue eyes glinted with a touch of red as he nodded wearily at his Lady’s advice, but when he answered her his tone sounded grave. “You are right, of course, but I cannot help but worry when I contemplate her reasons for coming here.” He paused, shaking his head once before turning slightly to his right to face Lady Maria.
“She knows the future, and I fear that she did not brave the danger to travel here for the sole purpose of examining our success. Some terrible destiny looms on our horizon, and we shall not be able to counter it.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line, averting his gaze from his Lady’s face to the heavens, which had begun to grow crimson with the impending sunrise.
Maria sighed at the Prince and slumped forward onto the railing, her element toying with the strands of her gray hair that had escaped her nightcap. “Muniche shall prosper forever, as long as we are here to lead her,” she said confidently, her countenance a mask of cold assurance.
I watched the Prince cringe, a rather anxious expression crossing his face. When he spoke again, I had to strain my ears to catch his words. “But how can I lead this city properly if she continues to keep me at a distance?” My eyes widened as the Prince paused, his gaze now locked upon Maria, who had stiffened into a wintry sculpture at his side.
Prince Otto took one cautious step toward her. “I would not have spoken with the Lady Swanhilde at all, had she not stood upon that balcony watching our people dance,” he murmured, his bearded jaw quivering. “The glories of our elements summon my spirit to break free . . . and I wanted to dance with you in the night . . . but I knew that you would have refused me.” The tragedy in the Prince’s voice might have made me weep, had I not been a spirit.
Maria’s mouth twitched in displeasure at Prince Otto’s passion, and she moved away from him. “You know that we cannot do such things in public,” she reminded him quietly, “for we must maintain our poise before our people, so they may respect us. It is still difficult for some, even after ten years, to accept your place as their Prince in your father’s stead.”
“But we are Teutons, as they are, and our people know it,” the Prince pointed out, the fervor emanating from his form striking me where I hid in the shadows. He advanced toward Maria again, guardedly, reaching one hand out to her face.
“I wish you to open your heart to me, Muniche . . . my dear one . . . my beloved wind of winter . . . keeper of my soul.” My mouth dropped open, for he spoke his endearments in Ælte Teutonica—worshipful accolades reserved for the Keyholder of a Teuton city and his Lady.
The cloth of Maria’s nightdress rose and fell swiftly with her breath, and an oddly vulnerable expression appeared on her habitually hard face as she stared into the Prince’s eyes. When his hand stroked her cheek, the temperature of his fiery skin likely enticing her frigid spirit, I heard her moan a soft reply: “My . . . Keyholder . . . .”
A moment later they kissed, the Prince folding his Lady in his arms. His obvious devotion reminded me of what I shared with Augustin. Pain overtook my spirit, for I desperately wished that I could touch him again.
Lady Maria pulled away from Prince Otto soon afterward, pointing out that the day would soon break, so he must open the gates of their city. Once she had gone back inside, I heard the Prince sigh again, his gaze toward the rising sun. And I heard him say in Ælte Teutonica, right before I swept my spirit away to meet Augustin, “This forced love shall never satisfy . . . for I cannot forget her.”