The Night Library of Sternendach by Jessica Lévai

Author:Jessica Lévai [Lévai, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Fantasy / Historical
ISBN: 9781941360521
Publisher: Lanternfish Press
Published: 2021-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Betrayals

The Graf’s Letter:

The written word, like blood, maintains my life.

Thus I, who have consumed so much of both

And in a world with sustenance so rife,

Think meet I should the former aid in growth,

And writing use to tender you an oath.

That such a course in honesty ensue,

I wish a certain question to address.

You asked me once if I remembered you,

The book of tales I gave you. I said yes.

But this was less than truthful, I confess.

With ease, in fact, once you and I had met,

I put you from my thoughts immediately.

Though just a child, you were Luzia’s get.

I’d see you soon enough, when you would be

A weapon honed and trained to target me.

Suspicious, then, when I your note received,

I feared a brand-new chapter in our war.

Were you Luzia’s pawn, and I deceived?

Or brave Maria, come to warn once more

Of deadly Heller treachery in store?

A kindred spirit, one so young in years,

Seemed too absurd a thought to entertain.

Instead I trapped you, challenged you, to tears,

Subjecting you to coarse, unearned disdain.

I shudder that I caused you so much pain.

You bared your heart to me that night, and proved

Yourself the stronger, one who more would dare.

And how could I by this be aught but moved,

I whom you captured in the Opera square

With lovely, soulful eyes and plaited hair?

I’ve found with you in but a dozen nights

Such joy as I had not to celebrate

For many years. Yet there remain delights

We have not tasted and (though you may hate

The word) for which we must in patience wait.

In time you will live on your own, and when

You do, will we be far less vuln’rable.

It’s safer that I not see you ’til then.

Though not to think of you quite sensible

Would be, it’s also quite impossible.

I pray that you, who hold my heart and know

My nature, in my promise here will trust.

Though none sees by which path our futures go,

I’ll wait as long as Fate decrees I must,

And love you ’til the stars above are dust.

Luzia tries to read the missive,

With steady voice, but it’s a fight.

“Perfection,” she says, curt, dismissive.

“I’ll hand him this: the fiend can write.”

Her words of grudging admiration

Belie the utter consternation

Which all her soul like wildfire girds

And leaves her struggling for words.

First Galen at St. Paul’s that morning

To spy on them, which made no sense.

That Kinge to the Graf’s defense

So suddenly arrived, was warning

Enough that something was amiss.

Yet she could not imagine this.

Or could she? Kunigunde clearly

Is restless and too much alone,

Which he, the Graf, has cavalierly

Exploited. That’s a heart of stone

He has. Luzia should have brought her

To Kisilova this year, taught her

Out in the field, and kept her safe.

But no. The girl would only chafe

At that. She wants her independence,

Some friends her age, a chance to court.

She is a woman grown. In short,

She wants the normal life descendants

Of Heller line may not attain.

Luzia knows too well the pain.

Does she embrace her grandchild, saying,

“I love you, and I understand,”

Forgiving her for disobeying,

Forgoing wrath and reprimand?

By no means. She has not forgotten

Her fam’ly, nor her duty, not in

A thousand years.

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