Page 30 of Veil of Winter

“Please allow it, since for now everything is different.”

Ysabeau gave her a half frown. “You know you do not have to ask my permission—for anything. You are the princess.”

Did Ysabeau only love her as a princess and mistress?

Her chest squeezed painfully. Elyce had always considered Ysabeau more of a friend than a servant. Elyce had no siblings or other close family besides her father and had lived all her life in the castle; she had no other friends either, though she desperately wanted friends, family, people who would love her and with whom she could exchange deep thoughts and true feelings. Elyce often wondered if she was even capable of inspiring love and friendship in others. Would anyone love her when they realized how her emotions sometimes overtook her? If they knew all of her thoughts, even the morbid, angry, and contrary ones?

These heavy thoughts weighed her down, as they often did, and sent her pondering her own unworthiness. But just because she had no friends, had no one to love her for herself alone, did not necessarily mean that no one everwouldlove her. And perhaps that was the biggest reason she could not marry Rodrigo. He would never love her, and then she might go her whole life without ever being loved. She simply could not bear that. She would risk torture or pain of death rather than face a life without love.

Was she more selfish than she realized? Was she lying to herself, creating a noble motive for going to King Wenceslaus in search of freedom from oppression for her people? Was her true motive to save herself from a loveless marriage?

Tears stung her eyes at the self-accusation. These thoughts sounded like her aunt, who often attributed motives to Elyce that were not her own, making her question and doubt herself. It was as if her aunt’s voice were still in her head, accusing.

No. No, it wasn’t true. She did care for her people. She couldn’t bear to see them mistreated and enslaved. She was not selfish. She loved them and would never forgive herself if she didn’t do everything she could to save them from King Claude’s schemes.

She sniffed back the tears that had dammed in her eyes. She was not her aunt. Her aunt had never understood her, and she never understood her aunt. She could never accept that Elyce couldn’t turn off her emotions and be cold and proper all the time. Perhaps what she had needed from her aunt was grace, not condemnation, but grace was something her aunt couldn’t give her.

At the same time, it would be wrong to let her feelings control her; she must suppress them. But she also must not condemn herself. God had placed a love for her people inside her, given her a responsibility to protect and care for them, and she did not take that responsibility lightly. She truly wanted what was best for them. Why could her aunt never comprehend that passion or feel the same way?

She was not who her aunt said she was. And now her aunt was gone, and it was time she got her aunt’s voice of disapproval and accusation out of her head. Easier said than done.

Elyce draped over her shoulders a bearskin that they had brought with them. She half expected Bertold to accuse her of stealing one of his furs. But this one was hers, a souvenir of her grandfather’s hunting skills.

Bertold was still sitting in the same position, and the wind had died down so much, it hardly sounded like a storm anymore.

Sir Gerard opened the door and looked out. The snow had stopped, and the daylight was much brighter than she had expected, though the sun was partially obscured by the clouds.

“Once we saddle the horses, we can be off.”

At that moment Bertold lifted his head.

“You are welcome to accompany us,” Sir Gerard said.

Bertold stood and stared at Sir Gerard. “I will go first to see my Astrid. If she confirms what you have said, that my brother drove her to a cliff’s edge with sword in hand, intending to harm her, then I shall go to Valkenfeld and kill him.”

“What if you fail?” Sir Gerard asked. “The king’s guards will most likely kill you before you can get near him.”

“Yes, Prince Bertold,” Elyce said. “Please don’t go alone. Come with us. We can help each other bring about justice, and we will get the help we need from King Wenceslaus.”

Bertold was breathing hard. Did her calling him “Prince Bertold” awaken strange feelings inside him? No doubt he had not been called that for many years.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I will accompany you first, and I shall find Astrid after we’ve secured the help of King Wenceslaus.”

“Good. And if we cannot get help from King Wenceslaus, then we can beseech the Archbishop of Prague, or perhaps King Wenceslaus’s brother John, the Duke of Görlitz.”

“Neither of those men has an army the size of the one that King Wenceslaus commands.”

“Which is why we are going to King Wenceslaus first.”

“As I said, I shall accompany you. But I will not let mybrother get away with what he has done, if God is willing. I will get justice for myself and for Astrid.”

The men saddled the horses and led them out. Bertold set out a large piece of raw meat for his dog and gave him a gruff command and a pat on the head. “He is capable of surviving and hunting for his own food if I don’t return.”

They were soon back on the trail that led through the mountains eastward to Prague. The snow was not as deep as she might have thought, probably because the wind had blown it into drifts against the trees. But it was deep enough that the horses had to go slowly, high-stepping to keep from breaking a leg.

As they rode, a foggy, snowy mist ascended slowly from the uneven mountains to the sky, even as the sunshine lifted Elyce’s spirits with its hopeful brightness.

Elyce was certain—God willing, and she believed He was—the five of them would reach Prague, and they would find help there from King Wenceslaus.