The Nightingale's Castle by Sonia Velton

Author:Sonia Velton [Velton, Sonia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Káröröm

The countess loves puppets.

She loves their bright painted faces and tiny clothes, she loves their humor and antics, but most of all she loves the stories they tell. She may be the highest of mortals, but she still, like anyone else, just wants to get lost in another world.

The restorative properties of the thermal mud baths at Piešt’any have not been enough to improve her mood. Everyone has noticed that the countess is preoccupied. Most are too terrified to do anything other than keep out of her way, but Ficzkó has arranged a puppet show tonight to cheer her up. Not the crude bobbing fists of the day they met but the most elegant and sophisticated performance that money can buy, with porcelain faces and velvet clothes, limbs suspended on strings that dance a lively jig. With music, wine, and good food, he hopes it will be a much-needed diversion.

The countess, however, is in a bad mood. She did not sleep well, lying awake for much of the night thinking about Thurzó and his investigations now that he has stepped into his new role as count palatine. In the darkness, while sleep eluded her, she thought of the arrangements she would make, should the worst happen. She has already been to her castle at Sárvár and brought her jewelry and valuables safely back to Čachtice before the winter roads become impassable. All she needs to do now is write a will that leaves all her property and assets to her two daughters and son. Perhaps, with the line of inheritance clear, she will become a less appealing target. As she lay there, staring up at the canopy of rich, tasseled brocade over her four-poster bed, she realized a simple truth: If anything should happen to her the only possession among all this wealth that she would really like to keep is her wedding dress. She made a mental note to put that in her will in case, in the future, that is the only voice she has.

She finally fell back to sleep just before dawn. She batted Ilona away when she tried to wake her at the usual hour and slept on, which left her feeling groggy. It was already midmorning before she was sitting in the little closet off her bedchamber, sipping her hot cinnamon water. She heard the maidservants come in to tidy her room and make the bed. The girls chattered loudly, clanking the chamber pot and thumping the pillows, completely unaware that the countess was sitting, unseen, in the adjoining room.

“Shall we change the bedsheets,” said one, “or wait till after her courses?”

“When was the last one?” the other replied.

A pause, then: “I can’t think,” the girl said.

The countess sits at her dressing table in her corset and petticoats, getting ready for an evening of entertainment for which she has no appetite. The mirror in front of her is exquisite—fine Venetian glass with an ornate frame of gilt and lacquered wood—but the face it reflects is not.

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