“You should not have come here,” he said, ignoring my introduction.
To your camp? Or to Hungary? I swallowed a ridiculous urge to laugh. Of course I should not have come.
“Did no one tell you what night this is? It is not safe to be abroad alone.”
Noémi had. I had not believed her.
“Might I know your name?”
A long pause. Then, “Kovács Gábor.” He gave his name in the Hungarian way, surname first.
The faint fall of the horse’s hooves and the slow breaths of my reluctant rescuer boomed in the silence between us. His arm was secure around my waist, his chest warm against my back. He smelled nice, of green things and sunlight. From the rigid way he held himself, I gathered he was no more comfortable with our proximity than I was.
Our route took us within hailing distance of a copse of trees. I turned my head toward the fields, so I would not see the shadows that were not shadows. A faint breeze stirred the moonlit plants around us. Everything looked peaceful.
Then I heard it again, the faintest suggestion of words. Almost, I could pretend it was only the sighing of the wind, but the words were too distinct. Free us. I released the coarse hair of the mane and clapped my hands over my ears.
Gábor stilled. The horse beneath us kept moving, but I could tell the rider’s attention was elsewhere. Could he hear it too?
His breath was warm on my neck as he bent forward. “Hold on.” The muscles in his thighs flexed alongside mine as he spurred the horse forward. His arm tightened around my waist.
I turned my head so my cheek lay against his chest and tried not to see the blackness streaming across the field, shadows against the moon-pale earth where nothing existed to cast a shadow. Our heartbeats hammered counterpoints to one another.
Free us.
A shadow snaked across the horse’s coat, sending the poor beast sidestepping wildly for a moment. A second shadow curled up my arm and slid across my cheek before withdrawing. Fear tasted sharp and bitter in my mouth.
And then we were past the field, riding onto the rutted road to the village, and the shadows, whatever they were, dissipated into the midnight air. The streets were quiet, but Eszterháza, when we approached, was ablaze with light. My heart contracted. I had not considered how my absence would distress Grandmama.
Gábor stopped just beyond the ring of light cast by the Lumen lanterns at the front door. He swung himself down and helped me dismount.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
I tested my ankle. It hurt, but held. “Yes.”
He swung back into the saddle.
“Won’t you come in?” I asked.
“No.” The monosyllable was like a slap. His hauteur, forgotten during our shared run of terror, was back.
I fought an unladylike glare. “I’m sure my grandmother would wish to thank you.”
“No. I’ll take no thanks for a duty that brings no pleasure. Next time you choose to go slumming, my lady, pick a time and place less likely to get you killed.”
While I struggled to form a coherent response, he whistled sharply and was off, the horse’s hooves clattering against the cobblestones.
Grandmama pressed her hands against her heart when I entered the parlor, where she waited with the others. “Thank all the Saints that Bind! What happened? Are you all right?” She frowned at my dirty and torn dress.
“I’m fine. I got lost and I fell.”
Noémi’s eyes bored into me, but I would not give her the satisfaction of knowing her stories had any effect on me.
A maid came into the room with tea, and under the cover of the clatter, I buried my face in Grandmama’s shoulder. The shock and pain and exhaustion of the evening came crashing down on me. Grandmama stroked my hair with gentle fingers. “Are you sure you are all right, szívem?”
I was quiet for a very long time, trying to swallow the childish plea bubbling up inside me. I failed. “Please, can we go home?”
The gentle fingers stilled. Grandmama sighed. “Not yet. Your mama does not wish us to return until Catherine is safely betrothed.”
That might be ages yet. I stood, wobbling a little on my ankle. “If you’ll excuse me, I should like to retire.”
“Noémi, can’t you do something for her?” Mátyás asked.
“I am afraid I have exhausted myself dancing.” Noémi looked up from the cup of tea she nursed near the fire. “But I will bid you good night, cousin. Sweet dreams. Be sure you do not count the corners of your room.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Grandmama hushed Noémi, a fine line of irritation drawn on her forehead. “Only a silly folk custom: if you count the corners of your room, you will remember your dreams.”
Grandmama followed me to my room and sat on my bed, watching my face in the mirror while Ginny brushed out my hair.
“You mustn’t let Noémi get to you, szívem.”
“I make it a point not to mind unpleasant people,” I said, wincing as the brush caught in another snarl.
Grandmama shook her head at me. “She deserves your pity more than your scorn. It has not been easy for her. Her father gambled away their estate, her mother’s dowry, her own portion—everything. Then he could not live with the shame, and he shot himself. Her mother died shortly after. She lived with her Eszterházy cousins for a time in Vienna, while Mátyás was at school, but—it is not easy to be the poor cousin. When János invited them here, to help with the estate, they came gladly. But this is not the life either of them sought.”
I looked down at my hands, still dirty and scraped from my tumble down the hill. I knew how it felt to be thrust into a life you did not want. I promised myself to be kinder to Noémi.
Ginny helped me undress and settled me in bed. “I’m glad you’re home safe.” Her smile wrinkled her nose. She bobbed a curtsy at Grandmama and left.
Grandmama sat beside my bed with a collection of Hungarian fairy tales. She had read to me nearly every night as a child. Somehow, the familiar cadence of her voice in this unfamiliar place raised stinging tears in my eyes. I blinked them back.
“It was long ago,” Grandmama read, “and far away, over forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea, beyond the glass mountains, and beyond that to a kingdom beneath a pearl sky.” She described a beautiful reed maiden, the king who loved her, and the wicked girl who trapped the king in marriage. Her voice soothed my fraught nerves.
After she left, I stared at the ceiling of my room, the carved rose vines dimly visible in the moonlight sliding between my half-drawn curtains. I should close them. But my ankle throbbed and I was disinclined to move. Noémi’s words rang in my ears: do not count the corners.
One.
This was ridiculous. There was no reason for my breath to hitch as I began counting. No reason to feel that something beyond mere curiosity drove me. I did not need to remember my dreams, not after that night.
Two. Three.
I would not do it. It was clear Noémi was only toying with me, trying to frighten me. I could not decide if she was malicious or ignorant or both.