When the Empress appoints Irina's father as the new Governor of Transylvania, the young Duchess is swept away from her glamorous life at court in Vienna to the mysterious "land beyond the forest" where danger lurks and superstition reigns.
When a pe...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Hermannstadt, November 1769
By the end of November, Fiebe had recovered enough to be moved into the smaller room adjoining Irina's bedchamber. The wounds on her neck had slowly scabbed over and fallen away to reveal a red, silvery crescent just below her ear, and although she was still very weak, she was at least able to sit up in bed and take small walks around the room. She spent her days moving between the bed and the easy chair near the fireplace, bundled in furs to prevent her from catching a fever.
Realising that her patient was getting bored of resting (and that tongues were beginning to wag over why the girl lingered at the palace), Irina had given her some stockings to darn and some minor repairs to make to the gowns she'd brought from Vienna. It was only supposed to be a little busy work – something to keep her seated and her mind off the attack – but when it became clear that Fiebe had a talent for embroidery, Irina sent one of the maids out to the market for some coloured, silk thread. She handed Fiebe one of her old satin stomachers – a blank canvas to do whatever she liked – the girl had immediately set to work.
As Irina moved back and forth between the two rooms – helping the washerwoman change the linens and the maids move around her belongings – Fiebe sat in the window with Folie snoozing at her feet (the dog had barely left the girl's side since she'd arrived). She was carefully stitching the pink petals of a limping carnation onto the stomacher, glancing up from her work every so often to look out of the window at the snowy mountains in the distance.
Irina was in the middle of folding a clean chemise when she strolled over to the window and quietly peered over Fiebe's shoulder. The small triangle of cream-coloured satin had been completely transformed with intricately stitched blue cornflowers, leafy vines and delicate pimpernels. "...Oh, that's beautiful," she said, dropping a hand onto the girl's shoulder.
Fiebe flinched at her touch, cowering towards the window slightly. She was still very thin – so thin, in fact, that her shoulder blades poked through her skin like wings.
Irina frowned; the visible wounds had begun to heal but it was clear that there were other, much deeper wounds that would take longer to heal. "...I'm sorry," she said, her brown eyes falling on Fiebe's scar and the collection of old burns across her arms. She slowly stepped in front of her and gestured to the empty space on the windowsill. "...May I?"
There was confusion in Fiebe's blue eyes as she looked up, but she nodded anyway. She reached up and pulled her intricately plaited tail of long, strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder – smoothing it over the scar – and she tucked her legs up to make space.
Irina smiled. "Thank you," she said as she bundled her skirts and scooted into the seat beside Fiebe.
It was a little awkward; they barely spoke the same language let alone had anything in common to talk about, and so Fiebe carried on stitching quietly, lifting her glassy eyes every now and then as she waited for Irina to say something. She flinched at every movement, fingers shaking as she gripped the needle.
