A Forest of Wolves Read Free Page B

going to do more to you than what Henrik’s doing.”
    â€œWhat?” Henrik made a face. “Really, Marc? I have him subdued. He’s old. What do you want me to do with him?”
    Igor glared. “Ludmila Nováková! Get her out of my house! She’s a Catholic spy. That’s what she is. Do you know who her father is? Václav Novák, the goddamn high chancellor of the kingdom!” Igor screamed. “That murderous, treacherous killer. And you, my own flesh and blood, have the nerve to bring his vile offspring into my house.”
    Henrik clicked his tongue.
    â€œEnough,” Petr said. He’d been quiet during the exchange. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Despite his age, the muscles bulged in Mr. Sýkora’s arms. “For goodness’ sake, put down the spoon, Igor. You are not attacking anyone. Do you hear me? Marc, Henrik, do you trust this woman?”
    â€œYes,” they both replied in unison.
    â€œWith my life,” Marc added.
    Henrik rolled his eyes.
    â€œThen I trust her as well,” Petr said. “I have faith in my sons’ judgment. Why, Igor, is it so unfathomable to believe that we have a converted rebel in our midst? Think about it. Ludmila could be an asset. She’s lived in the castle. She knows the Crown.”
    â€œShe’s a spy,” Igor spat.
    Marc’s hand squeezed into a fist. “Uncle . . .”
    â€œEnough.” Petr’s voice was as sharp as a razor’s. Final. “The girl stays and you will treat her with respect. That is an order.”
    Henrik released his hold and Igor stumbled from his grip. Henrik patted his uncle on top of his head before grabbing an apple from the table.
    Igor scowled before turning away. He returned to the pot over the fire, all the while mumbling a string of repulsive names at me under his breath.
    â€œWell,” I sighed. “Kladno is lovely, Marc.”
    â€œDon’t worry. We’ll stay at the tavern.”
    â€œThank goodness.”
    * * *
    Staying at the tavern meant Marc and I shared a room with Stephan and Henrik. There were no beds—only a long room with four worn mattresses on the floor. Marc pushed two of the flimsy beddings together.
    â€œYou’re going to sleep?” Henrik nodded at the open window. “Really? It’s barely time for breakfast.”
    Marc tugged at his boots. “I haven’t slept in days.”
    â€œGood point. All right; come downstairs if you change your mind.”
    â€œLet’s get a drink.” Stephan nudged Henrik. “We can start the day off right. Bright and early and tipsy.”
    Henrik followed Stephan out of the room.
    â€œTake off your shirt,” I said.
    Sweat covered Marc’s forehead. It was then that I truly recognized the extent of his injuries—it was a monumental effort for him to simply take off his boots.
    I crawled in front of him and removed his worn leather boots.
    â€œThank you,” he whispered.
    â€œDon’t thank me yet, I have to clean your wounds.” I retrieved a washbowl and towel from the stand near the window. I kneeled on the floor beside him and lightly pressed the damp cloth against his back to wipe away the dried blood.
    He winced.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said.
    â€œIs it as bad as everyone makes it out to be?” Marc peered over his shoulder. “I’ve caught people staring at my back when they think I’m not looking.”
    I didn’t answer his question. “The wounds will heal.”
    I forced my face to look pleasant, which was difficult. I didn’t want to seem alarmed by the extent of his injuries. Marc wouldn’t want me to feel guilty or pity for his wounds. And I wouldn’t. The lacerations would heal, but Marc would always have the scars on his back. He would always remember what happened to him.
    What my father did to him . . .
    Marc reached behind him and squeezed