Heart of the Impaler by Alexander Delacroix

Author:Alexander Delacroix
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ilona waited all morning, but Vlad and Andrei didn’t come. If they had, it might have saved her from Master Sîrbu’s tedious lessons. Now afternoon lessons had begun, and she was losing hope in Vlad’s promise. Maybe, like her, he had obligations that made it impossible to slip away. Or maybe he had simply forgotten.

“Please smooth out your wax tablet,” Master Sîrbu said to Gizela. “You will practice Latin noun declensions while I complete a special lesson with your sister.”

“I want a special lesson!” Gizela folded her arms and gave the tutor her most petulant glare.

“Fine. You can practice nouns and adjectives.”

“Never mind. I don’t need a special lesson.”

Ilona twisted her fingers into her skirt.

“Your father has requested,” Sîrbu said, gazing down his long nose at Ilona, “that I make you well versed in the history of Wallachia’s royal family. As you will soon be marrying into the House of Drăculești and providing young Prince Mircea with an heir, the grand boyar deems it prudent that you familiarize yourself with the family’s genealogy and accomplishments.”

Ilona nodded and attempted to shake away the unpleasant thought of “providing young Prince Mircea with an heir.” She was already formulating alternate plans to deal with that situation. They were still vague, but they involved dressing herself as a boy and making her way to Florence or Genoa. Thanks to her former tutor, she spoke passably good Italian. Perhaps one of the great Italian masters would take pity on the runaway “boyar’s son” from Wallachia and make him their apprentice.

Master Sîrbu rubbed his thin hands together and paced slowly around Ilona.

“Let us begin with a test of your current knowledge. In which year did Basarab the Great found the Principality of Wallachia?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something easier, then. Which battle, fought in November of 1330, secured Wallachia’s independence from the kingdom of Hungary?”

“I don’t know that either.”

Master Sîrbu scowled.

“One more question. Perhaps the most important, as it will most assuredly affect you and your children. Other than the House of Drăculești, which family—also descended from Basarab cel Mare—claims the rightful heirship to Wallachia’s throne?”

“The House of Dănești.”

“Yes! I was beginning to lose hope!”

Perhaps God was punishing Ilona for kissing Vlad. Twice.

“To fill in the prodigious gaps in your knowledge,” Master Sȋrbu said, “I think we should quickly run through the genealogy of Prince Vlad Dracul and his Dănești cousins.” He thrust a stylus and a writing tablet into her hands. “Please record each name beginning at Basarab and paying special attention to the division of his lineage with Dan the First and Mircea the Elder. You must commit the name of each voivode to memory along with the approximate dates each ruled Wallachia.”

This lesson was going to be even more tedious than Gizela’s grammar exercises.

Despite the tedium, Ilona learned one thing quickly: Membership in Wallachia’s royal family was a bloody affair. Brother betraying brother. Cousin murdering cousin. Treachery. Violence. Bloodshed. Death. This was the legacy Ilona’s children could look forward to.

She shuddered and wrote names on her tablet.

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