Page 49 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

“However,” Sylvia continued, “the world is changing, and we cannot stand alone.”

The crowds fell silent.

“Our enemies beyond our borders are many. I have fought alongside His Majesty King Wilhelm before, and when the time comes that he calls on our might again, I will stand with him. In turn, he will protect us, just as Saint Bruno once did, and I believe he is a worthy successor to his power.” She rested a fist over her heart. “Wilhelm is the king ofallBrunnestaad—theking of Albe. Will you join me?”

There was no more than a beat of silence before the crowd erupted into cheers. Sylvia’s expression remained determined, but Lorelei could see the strain behind it.

The greatest threat to Wilhelm’s reign is Albe. What if he chooses to chargemewith Ziegler’s murder?

Lorelei could not imagine how much it cost Sylvia to stand in front of these people and pledge her loyalty to a man she worried might turn on her. Lorelei recognized that desperate fear in her eyes all too well. It was the look of someone with something to prove.

Sylvia stepped off the stage. The crowds parted for her, some people dropping to their knees at her feet, some reaching out to touch the snowyfall of her moonlit hair or catch the hem of her cloak. With utmost grace, she grasped their hands and blessed them with her smiles.

A group of villagers pushed wheelbarrows into the square. Inside were three crude effigies made of bundled straw. One wore a Javenish flag around its neck. The second she thought was meant to be Wilhelm, with his scarlet regalia and a crown woven crudely from branches. The last wore a black coat with a golden ring stitched on the lapel: a Yeva.

Lorelei’s stomach curdled. Common enemies, indeed.

Adelheid seized her elbow, and Lorelei could not find it in herself to pull away. “You need to leave.”

Two men hoisted Wilhelm’s effigy onto their shoulders and began parading him through the square to raucous laughter and chants ofAll hail the king of Albe. Through the chaos unfolding, Lorelei watched a woman raise a torch to the remaining two effigies. Flames ripped up the straw. The sight of that blistering black coat struck Lorelei cold with dread.

“Now, Lorelei,” Adelheid said sharply.

“Fuck,” Lorelei muttered, feeling oddly dazed. “Right.”

But where was she supposed to go? Wherecouldshe go? The hot press of bodies hemmed them in on all sides, jostling them as they whirled and shouted.

Sylvia’s gaze found Lorelei’s in an instant, as though drawn to her by a tether.Panic—andregret—knifedits way into her expression. Lorelei could hardly bear to look at her. The fierce, protective determination in her eyes felt in that moment like an unbreakable shield.

Sylvia fought through the crowds, but in the numb haze that had befallen Lorelei, it felt almost as though Sylvia had appeared at her side. The hem of her cloak fluttered behind her as she walked, revealing her hand curled around the hilt of her saber.

“Stay close to me.”

What could Lorelei do but obey? All she could see was Sylvia’s white hair stained blood red as fire leapt into the darkening sky.

Twelve

THE MORNING AFTER THEFeast Day of Saint Bruno, they set out at first light.

According to the old woman’s legend, the Ursprung lay high in the mountains that kept watch over the village: at the peak of the tallest one, which the villagers called Himmelstechen. A gamble, Lorelei supposed, to put all their faith in a fairy tale. But with noequipment—andnoZiegler—itwas the only lead they had left.

Their host, Emilia, had all but begged them not to go. If the forest itself (which evidently had a tendency to rearrange itself after dark) did not drive them to madness or kill them, the wildeleute within it almost certainly would. It had become something of a tradition for the bravest and most virtuous in the region to summit Himmelstechen in search of the Ursprung. None had succeeded.

What a waste, Lorelei thought. At this point, surely they’d have adjusted their metric of virtue to account for all the pointless untimely deaths.

But without a doubt, Emilia had concluded,a descendant of the Saint himself will prove worthy.

Sylvia had smiled a thin, pained smile at that. The rest of them exchanged looks and were, however briefly, united in their exasperation.

A descendant of the Saint himself. Lorelei still could not fathom why Sylvia never mentioned it before. It seemed the type of thing she wouldfind every occasion to mention. Lorelei could conjure her voice so clearly, full of pomp and undeserved pride.Why, yes, naturally the von Wolff line can trace its ancestry back to Albe’s most important folk hero. That is why I am such a gift to all humanity. Ha, ha!

Perhaps that last part was uncharitable. Still, her point stood. Humble, Sylvia von Wolff was not. But saintly? In that moment lastnight—gildedby firelight as she said,Stay close to me—Lorelei might have believed it.

No, no, no. Her intervention was nothing more than that hero complex of hers at work again. At any rate, it was far easier to be annoyed with her than to even touch this knot of emotion that had taken up residence inside Lorelei’s chest.

Sylvia had set a needlessly grueling pace for their hike. Johann and Adelheid easily kept up with her, butLorelei—whohad never stood in the shadow of a mountain before, much less climbedone—hadfallen behind. At one point, Ludwig wandered off alone for upward of ten minutes. Lorelei eventually found him knee-deep and sopping wet in the middle of a stream, clutching a bundle of plant specimens. After that, she left him to his own devices. Heike, it seemed, had given up entirely. Some five kilometers ago, she muttered, “Fuck this,” and slowed to an ambling stroll. The rest of them stopped every now and again to let her catch up.

Lorelei glanced over her shoulder to see that Heike had all but collapsed onto the trunk of a downed tree. Once Lorelei had recovered from the shock of the festival last night, she could not stop turning Adelheid’s words over:Some of us, I fear, cannot set aside ambition for the greater good.