William crumpled his hat in his hands, a soft thing with a wide brim. “You have. And I thought I’d made my answer equally clear. I’ve not given up hope.”
I looked out the window at the decaying gardens of the palace, tamping down flickers of anger—and something that might have been hunger. When I had dreamed of changing the world with Freddy, it was always through words, through salons and impassioned letters and parliamentary debates. But I could not deny a flicker of excitement at the idea of rebellion—of fire and passion and blood—even though I knew it was unthinkable. “Well, you should. I’ll not change my mind. I might wish society were more equal, but I’ve no wish to unmake it.”
William switched tactics. “Would you be open to an experiment? There is a place, not far from here, called Sárvár. A very old spell there, connected to the Binding, has gone awry. If you can break that spell, it would confirm what I suspect of you.”
“And what is it you suspect of Anna?” Noémi asked, drifting over to join us. Mátyás followed behind her.
William turned the full light of his enthusiasm on her. Noémi blinked and shifted a step closer, dazzled despite herself. “Your cousin can break spells. I think—hope—she might break the Binding.”
“You’re being irrational,” Noémi said. “The Binding was established to protect everyone, to provide a stable pool of energy and keep untrained Luminate from overtaxing their ability and dying. Think what would happen if you broke it: you would be unleashing all that magic, and who knows how it would settle. Or how it might affect the Luminate.”
“I always did admire your mind,” William said. “But you’re wrong. The Binding was established less for protection and more for Luminate self-aggrandizement. Its sole purpose is to ensure that only Circle-approved nobility have access to magic.”
Noémi’s cheeks burned crimson. “Is this why you’ve come? To foment revolution in Hungary now you’ve failed in Vienna and England?”
“Change is coming,” William said. “Here, Vienna, England—it doesn’t matter. One revolution against the Circle will spark others. Hungary is the strongest of the Austrian states—if she rebels successfully, others will follow. Poland, almost certainly.” A beat too late, he added, “I came to see you too. It was fortuitous that the two women I wanted to see most in the world are currently under the same roof.”
“Me?” Noémi laughed, but her laughter carried a steel edge. “Don’t make me a party to your madness.”
“What happened at Sárvár?” I asked Mátyás, ignoring Noémi and William’s continued squabbling.
“Countess Báthory—” Mátyás eyed me uncertainly. “That is, nothing that concerns you, because you won’t be going.”
My temper spiked. “I go where I please. You are neither my father nor my grandmother, and I do not think you have any say in this.”
“Oh, do I not? I am far older and wiser—”
“Ha!”
“And I will tell your grandmother to keep you here, by force if necessary.”
My fingers curled against the itch to slap him. “You are insufferable. This is none of your business.”
“Please be civil, children,” Grandmama said.
“It’s not yours either,” Mátyás said, goading me.
“Enough!” Noémi said, pivoting between William and Mátyás. “I am sick to death of both of you. Because you are men, you think your will should bind us too. No matter if you destroy our country, or break our hearts.” Her voice shook, as if she were on the brink of fury or tears. She linked her arm through mine. “I shan’t wish you good day. Anna and I are leaving.”
When we reached the crumbling courtyard, I had recovered my composure enough to ask, “Where are we going?”
“I have somewhere I must be, and you might as well come with me.”
“Why should I?” Perhaps my anger had not entirely run its course after all.
“Because it is better than being trapped in the parlor with two nattering fools.” Noémi’s cross look lifted when she smiled. “Besides, you owe me a favor.”
Noémi led me down the dusty street of the village, to a small hut set some distance from the others. The whitewashed walls were grimy with dirt, the thatched roof bedraggled and thin in spots. Noémi stepped up to the door and knocked. I stood back, eyeing the door and the house with considerable reluctance.
Angry as I was with Mátyás and William, I recoiled from following Noémi as she played Lady Bountiful, dispensing unwanted advice to the poor. I’d seen how our tenants looked at Mama, their expressions of gratitude just masking resentment. But Noémi was right. I owed her a favor for interceding with Grandmama, for hiding that I’d ridden away from the palace alone.
The door opened, and Noémi stepped in without hesitation. When I did not immediately follow, she frowned and beckoned me in.
The inside of the house was as mean as the outside—meaner, perhaps, as the only furniture on the packed clay floor was a pallet in the corner, occupied by a woman who moaned and thrashed in pain. The air in the room was rank and close. A small girl with a dirty face watched me with wide, solemn eyes, one thin finger thrust up her nose. An even smaller child clung, wailing, to the woman in the corner. Noémi scooped up the toddler and thrust it in my arms, where it continued to screech. I bounced it uneasily on my hip, and after a moment the screaming slowed. Instead, the child grabbed fistfuls of hair from the sides of my head and yanked.
Tears smarted in my eyes. I tried to set the child down, but it only resumed screaming and I hastily lifted it up again.
Noémi crouched beside the sick woman, stripped off her gloves, and laid a hand against the woman’s forehead. She fussed at the woman for some time, feeling the pulse in her wrist, urging her to sip something. The older child remained unmoving, her eyes fluttering from Noémi to me and then back again. Her stillness was unnerving.
As I struggled to balance the feral child in my arms, I watched Noémi’s face tighten. At last she bent near the woman, whispering a few words. Her hands flickered.
I set the child down once more. This time, it rocketed on unsteady legs toward its mother, who had ceased thrashing and lay still. Noémi murmured something to the woman, patted the older child on the head, and walked toward the door. I nearly stumbled in my rush to follow her.
“Will she be all right?”
Noémi hunched one shoulder, as if pained by my question. “I don’t know. I think she’s dying.”
“What will happen to her children?” I thought of the small body, so warm in my arms.
“Perhaps a villager will take them when she dies. If they grow up, they will want to remember her.”