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“We’re heading to Rome,” Edward announced, his voice laced with seductive temptation. “And you’ll get what you desire.”
“My desires!” Thomas exclaimed, his voice echoing wildly. “I’ve walked a cursed path chasing after the ghost of—my desires! Do you still promise that I’ll one day seize it?”
“Indeed—wealth, power, pleasure, they all await you in Rome when Ysabeau crowns Balthasar with the imperial diadem. These things—and”—Edward’s voice wavered—“even Jacobea of Martzburg,” he added slowly.
“Can one win a saint through devilish means?” Thomas cried out.
“She’s just a woman,” Edward replied wearily. “But if you hesitate and waver, I’ll release you from this pact with me; go your way, serve your saint, renounce your sins—and see what God has in store for you.”
Thomas paced the room, his steps unsteady. “No—I can’t—I won’t give up even the hope of what you promise.” Excitement sparked in his eyes, his cheeks flushed with anticipation. “And I pledged myself to you and your master. Don’t mistake my pause for cowardice—who is the Emperor?” His voice was hoarse. “Nothing to you or to me... As you said, Joris of Thuringia died.”
“Now you sound like my companion from Basle,” Edward exclaimed joyously. “Now I see again the spirit that led me to swear friendship with you that first night. Now I—ah, Thomas, we’ll be true to each other, won’t we?”
“I have no choice,” Thomas replied.
“Swear it,” demanded Edward.
“I swear it,” Thomas affirmed.
He went to the window, pushing it wider to gaze into the moonless night. Edward clasped and unclasped his hands on the table, whispering to himself, “I’ve regained him—regained him!”
Thomas spoke without turning. “What’s our next move?”
“I’ll meet the Empress again,” Edward revealed. “For now, stay discreet; there’s no need to discuss this further.”
It was now Edward evading the topic, his bright eyes under lowered lids observing Thomas’s eager yet desperate face, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Your absence might raise eyebrows at the palace,” Edward said softly. “You should return. I’ll let you know how you can assist me.”
But Thomas remained indecisive. “I feel like I have no will when you command me,” he protested. “I come and go at your bidding—you stir my emotions and then deny me closure.”
“You’re aware of everything I do,” Edward retorted. He stood up, holding the copper candlestick. “I’m exhausted. I’ll escort you to the door.”
“Where were you today?” Thomas inquired.
“Did you witness the Court returning from the tournament?”
The candle flames flickered, casting a warm glow over Edward’s pale face. “No—why do you ask?” he replied.
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“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted. His crimson doublet shimmered in the candlelight as he gathered his black mantle. “When can I visit again?” he asked.
“Whenever you wish,” Edward answered. He stepped into the passage, illuminating the darkness with the candlestick. “You’re bound to me whether you come or not—aren’t you?”
“Indeed, I believe so,” Thomas conceded. He hesitated.
“Good night,” Edward whispered.
Thomas made his way down the passage.
As Thomas bid “Good-night,” he grasped the latch, allowing a gust of air to nearly extinguish the candle flames, casting eerie shadows across Edward’s face. The door closed with a final thud, enveloping the room in darkness. Thomas stepped onto the street, closing the latch behind him. The night sky was partially veiled by clouds, with only a few stars twinkling dimly. Leaning against the house, Thomas felt a mix of excitement, confusion, and impatience. Edward’s sudden dismissal bothered him, the sway Edward held over him mingling with the allure of the promised reward.
Thoughts of Rome, with its grandeur and power, Jacobea of Martzburg, and just one obstacle between him and his desires, raced through Thomas’s mind. He questioned why he had ever hesitated or been horrified. His anticipation soared, like spirits taking flight to the heavens, leaving him breathless in the charged atmosphere. Countless questions for Edward gnawed at his elated heart, fueling his impatience.
On impulse, Thomas turned back to the door, attempting to open it. To his surprise, it was bolted from within, a sign of Edward’s caution. Although he hadn’t heard a sound, Thomas wondered about Edward’s stealth. Unwilling to draw attention by knocking, he circled the house, intending to enter through the low windows of the room where they had conversed. But the room was dark, the windows shut.
Annoyed, Thomas stepped among the rose bushes, gazing up at Edward’s darkened chamber. The witch’s dwelling stood silent against the stormy sky. A chill gripped Thomas as he wondered where Edward had vanished so swiftly and quietly. Who had secured the doors and windows without a sound?
Then, a light flickered in a room he had always thought of as Nathalie’s storage space for herbs and potions. His curiosity piqued, Thomas waited for the light to vanish, but it remained steady, like a beacon in the rose garden’s darkness. The fragrant scent of roses mingled with the rising wind, stirring the clouds above.
Old suspicions resurfaced as Thomas crept closer to the light, remembering Edward and Nathalie’s secretive nature. He crouched against the house, peering into the room through a slightly askew curtain.
In the oval room veiled in Syrian tapestries of scarlet and yellow, the black and white marble floor bore witness to a haunting ambiance. The air hung heavy with the blue vapors of a copper brazier’s perfume, while lamps behind pink silk screens cast an eerie glow. At the room’s far end, a violet velvet curtain adorned with grapes and swans concealed a mysterious space. Nearby, a low couch draped in scarlet and purple cushions beckoned, accompanied by a table adorned with celestial motifs on a white cloth.
Thomas, unattended, took in these details with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The amber beads draped across the table and the familiar copper candlestick hinted at familiarity yet concealed mysteries. His anger simmered at feeling misled, fueling his anticipation of Edward’s presence.
As the violet curtain stirred, Thomas’s surprise almost escaped in a gasp. A slender feminine arm emerged, followed by a figure cloaked in yellow silk, barely concealing her form. Thomas’s heart quickened with dread as the girl’s presence exuded an inexplicable terror, freezing him in place by the window. Her veil obscured her features, but restless dark eyes hinted at an unnerving awareness of his gaze.
Moving silently, the girl’s actions puzzled Thomas, especially the dragging sound accompanying her steps. Her delicate hand toyed with a silver ring, adorned with a flat red stone, before it fell to the floor with a clang. As she searched for the ring, Thomas’s horror deepened, realizing she possessed green wings folded on her back, trailing behind her with a chilling sound.
In a moment of terror, Thomas’s cry pierced the room, startling the girl into a shriek of fear. Darkness engulfed the room as she extinguished the lights, leaving Thomas to flee through the garden, haunted by imagined grasping hands and flapping wings.
His cries for mercy to Christ echoed through the night as he stumbled out of the witch’s house and into the quiet streets of Frankfort, his mind reeling from the horrors witnessed within.