----------------------------------------
Balthasar’s laughter cut through the somber air as he processed the news of Ursula’s death. “Dead,” he echoed, a mixture of relief and detachment in his voice. “Well, that solves my dilemma—I’m free from that burden now, Thomas.”
Thomas, less indifferent, furrowed his brow. “Is that how you see it? It’s tragic—the poor girl was so young,” he remarked, turning to Edward. “What was the cause of her death?”
Edward, wearied by the topic, sighed deeply. “I cannot say. She seemed content here, yet death claimed her.”
Balthasar, now standing, expressed a hint of unease. “Why was she buried within the house?” he inquired.
“It was during wartime,” Edward explained. “We did what was necessary, and perhaps it was her wish.”
Leaning out of the window, Balthasar stared at the white daisies in the fading light, imagining them sprouting from his deceased wife’s remains. He felt a mix of conflicting emotions—anger at her for dying and shaming him, yet relief that her death had resolved his marital obligations.
Edward, sensing the discomfort, reassured Balthasar. “She rests undisturbed. Her grave is deep.”
The Knight, visibly unsettled, crossed himself. “May she rest in peace,” he muttered.
With a lantern in hand, Edward led the way to their sleeping quarters. “You now know all there is to know,” he stated, offering Balthasar Ursula’s ring, which was met with swift refusal.
As they settled in for the night, Balthasar reluctantly accepted the invitation to sleep in the house. “Tomorrow, we ride for Cologne,” he declared, determined to leave the haunting memories behind.
“Rest well,” Thomas bid them farewell, the shadows of the night embracing the ancient house as they retired to their respective rooms, leaving the mysteries and tragedies of the past to linger in the darkness.
Edward cautiously pushed open the door, casting a wary glance inside before entering. Thomas stood by the window, his figure cloaked in darkness, save for the faint light that danced upon the pages of a small book he held.
“Do you enjoy reading?” Edward’s voice cut through the silence, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Thomas jumped slightly, hurriedly concealing the book within his doublet. “Yes, and you?” he responded cautiously.
Edward placed the lantern on the table, illuminating their faces in its flickering glow. “Master Lukas left behind his manuscripts,” he explained. “Being alone, I’ve delved into them.”
In that dim light, an odd mixture of guilt and excitement flashed in their eyes as they exchanged glances. “Ah,” Edward murmured, taking a step back. “Alone with a deceased maiden in the house,” whispered Thomas, a hint of unease in his voice. “How have you spent your time?”
Edward retreated against the wall, his demeanor tense. “Did you pity her?” he whispered. Thomas recoiled slightly. “Balthasar disgusts me—even though he’s my friend.”
“You would have come if she called for you?” Edward pressed, his voice edged with desperation. Thomas nodded. “It would have been the only choice,” he admitted. “What was she like?”
Edward hesitated, his voice softening. “I thought her beautiful,” he confessed. “She had blonde hair—you can see her likeness in that painting on the wall. But now it’s too dark to see.”
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Moving closer, Thomas changed the subject. “Do you also pursue knowledge?” he asked eagerly. Edward’s response was abrupt. “Why should I trust you? I know nothing about you.”
“There’s a connection in our shared pursuits,” Thomas replied calmly. Edward’s eyes flashed with frustration. “Let’s retire for the night. I tire of talking.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “This place is suited for quiet contemplation,” he remarked as they prepared to rest, the shadows of the room seeming to deepen with each passing moment.
As if broodingly enraged yet refusing to show it, Edward led Thomas to a chamber adjacent to Balthasar’s resting place. He left Thomas without a word, and Thomas didn’t seek any explanation.
Instead of returning to the workroom, Edward ventured into the garden, pacing under the fiercely burning stars that seemed unnaturally close to the dark silhouette of the house. His strides were hurried, his demeanor troubled. He nervously chewed on his lip, finger, and the ends of his straight hair, casting tumultuous glances at the heavens, the ground, and his surroundings.
Well into the night, Edward finally reentered the house, clutching a candle. He crept silently to Balthasar’s chamber. With a gentle touch, he unlocked the door and slipped inside.
Shielding the candle’s flame, he approached the bed where the young Knight lay in deep slumber. Balthasar’s disheveled blonde hair contrasted sharply with his flushed face and the rumpled pillow. His belongings lay scattered on the floor—a testament to his carefree demeanor. A blue cord peeked from his open shirt, revealing a hidden charm.
Edward stood there, watching the sleeper with a mixture of contempt, anger, confusion, and contemplation flickering across his weary face. Balthasar remained undisturbed by the light or Edward’s intense scrutiny. After a while, Edward silently left and crossed to the opposite chamber.
Thomas lay on his cot, fully dressed, his fair features peaceful in sleep. Edward placed the candle on the table and approached him noiselessly.
Thomas’s face, illuminated by the candlelight, seemed to hold a serene grace even in slumber. His dark hair framed his temples, and his lashes brushed lightly against his cheek, as if he might wake at any moment.
Edward, staring down at Thomas, felt a surge of emotions, his breath quickening. He retreated to a chair, covering his eyes with his hands as he tried to steady his uneven breaths. The candle flickered in tandem with his inner turmoil.
After a while, Edward looked up with a wild gaze, exhaling a long, distressed sigh. Thomas stirred in his sleep, prompting Edward to sit up, alert and expectant.
Thomas shifted again, rising slightly on his elbow as he noticed the light and Edward’s intense stare. With cautious movements, he swung his legs off the bed, preparing to face whatever awaited him in the eerie stillness of the night.
Edward interrupted Thomas before he could speak, placing a finger on his lips.
“Hush,” Edward whispered urgently, “Balthasar is asleep.”
Thomas, taken aback, furrowed his brow. “What do you want with me?”
Instead of answering directly, the young sculptor let out a low moan, burying his head in his arm. “You are strange,” remarked Thomas, puzzled by Edward’s behavior.
Edward lifted his gaze. “Will you take me with you to Padua—to Basle?” he pleaded. “I have money and some learning.”
“You are free to go as I,” Thomas replied, but a spark of curiosity ignited in his eyes. “I would go with you,” Edward insisted fervently. “Will you take me?”
Uneasy, Thomas stood up from the bed. “I have had no companion all my life,” he revealed. “The man whom I would take into must be of rare quality—”
Crossing to the other side of the table, Thomas met Edward’s gaze across the flickering candlelight. Their eyes locked momentarily, as if both feared what the other might expose.
“I have studied somewhat,” Edward confessed hoarsely. “You also—I think, in the same science—”
A silent understanding washed over them, and then Thomas spoke. “So few understand—can it be possible—that you—?”
Edward stood up abruptly. “I have done something.”
Thomas paled, but his hazel eyes glowed with intensity. “How much?” he began, then cut himself off. “God help us—”
“Do you use that name?” Edward exclaimed, baring his teeth.
Thomas’s fingers gripped the back of the chair tightly. “So it is true—you deal with—you—ah, you—”
“What was that book you were reading?” Edward demanded sharply, his tone fraught with urgency.
Thomas chuckled suddenly. “What is your study, that you desire to perfect at Basle, at Padua?” he countered. There was a moment of silence, and then Edward extinguished the candle with a swift motion of his hand, his excitement palpable.
“Black magic—black magic!” he confessed in a half sob, his emotions running high.