Zelda stopped at the railing, her fingers gripping the polished wood as she looked down. At the bottom of the stairs stood August, solemn and intense amidst the swirl of guests. His usual sour, thin-lipped expression softened, his eyes filling with a rare warmth as they locked onto hers. In that instant, the world seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them suspended in a timeless void.
The seconds stretched and slowed as she placed one foot carefully in front of the other, descending the long staircase. August was in his full dress uniform; his SS-Ehrendolch, his honor dagger, was belted to his waist. Based on a medieval Swiss design, the center of the wide and long spear-pointed blade was engraved with those familiar words: Meine Ehre heißt Treue. Its cross-guard and pommel were nickel-plated; the handle was black, inlaid with the Reichsadler and Siegrunes, and a gloss lacquered scabbard gleamed softy in the low light. The total effect accentuated his sharp features, recalling the figure of nightmare who’d first terrorized her so.
Now, his face was as familiar to her as her own. Her heart thudded against her ribcage as she hesitated, one foot hovering in the air, struck with the gravity of her decision. But she’d meant what she’d said before: the future both terrified and exhilarated her, and she couldn’t picture it without him. He watched her come toward him, his eyes intense and unblinking; in them she saw a raw, consuming need that mirrored her own. And in this shared silence, they were utterly absorbed in each other, the rest of the world fading into oblivion.
Then the moment shattered.
She’d barely reached him when their small but exuberant guest list descended. Marie-France crashed into her like a hippopotamus on roller skates, loudly slurring her happiness as she clung on for dear life. Ingrid intervened, attempting to redirect the larger woman, but Marie-France just kissed her on the cheek and announced that she was also excited for Charlotte’s wedding and could she use Klaus’s special dagger for the bloodletting? Ingrid blinked in astonishment but, before she could respond, Gretchen nearly yanked her mother’s arm out of its socket dragging her toward the living room. After a moment’s hesitation, the group followed suit.
August shot Zelda a dark look, and her lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
She trailed along behind, and then she saw it. She stared, slack-jawed; the transformation was remarkable. Charlotte had rearranged the furniture, creating an open space in front of the fireplace. Her prized camellias decorated the mantel, their delicate fragrance mingling with a mix of expensive perfumes. Obergruppenführer Felix Bittrich, August’s commanding officer, was the only element of the scene not straight out of Martha Stewart. Somewhere in his fifties, he was neither elegant nor handsome, although the streak of white in his black hair did lend him a certain air of sophistication. He was examining one of the flowers but, hearing the commotion, he straightened. “The woman of the hour!” he exclaimed, a broad smile transforming his face.
“And not a moment too soon,” August muttered.
Felix, retrieving his drink, studied Marie-France over the rim of the glass. “The natives are getting restless,” he commented, as she smooched first Klaus and then Adolf.
The head of the Gestapo in New England, Felix was likewise in his full dress uniform. So was Klaus, but neither of them looked as good as August. Adolf, daubing Marie-France’s lipstick from his cheek with a thunderous expression, had opted for his usual charcoal suit; the pinstripes on Fred’s blue number were almost as alarming as his tie. Gretchen rounded out this exclusive club, along with Felix’s wife, a Finnish woman so pale she was almost colorless.
Joining them, she beamed at Zelda. “I just love weddings,” she gushed. “Thank you so much for including us.”
“Zelda,” Felix announced, “please meet Aino, my distinctly better half.”
Behind them, Marie-France’s shriek of laughter tore through the room like a hyena’s.
Her teeth on edge, Zelda managed a faint greeting.
Clearing his throat, Felix leaned toward August. “Shall we?”
August turned to Zelda, waiting for her fractional nod before giving his own assent.
Felix raised his voice to address the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started.”
Their guests began to find their chairs, arranging themselves in some semblance of order. Marie-France collapsed into a seat, still giggling sporadically. Gretchen, engrossed in her reflection, snapped her compact shut with a sharp exhalation of annoyance. Fred slotted himself into the next seat over, gripping his knees so hard his knuckles turned white, while Ingrid and Adolf exchanged a loving glance. Klaus knocked the last of his drink back before joining them, glowering as he contemplated a lifetime of family events with his least favorite person.
Zelda faced August in front of the fireplace.
Drawing a deep breath, Felix let his gaze travel over each of them before meeting first Zelda’s eyes and then August’s. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, and then he began. “As both your commanding officer, August, and as a husband myself, I’m meant to give a few words of advice. Aino would give better advice,” he added with a rueful chuckle, “but as regulations don’t permit her to conduct the ceremony, we’ll have to wait for dinner.”
Ingrid patted Adolf’s knee, and Gretchen giggled.
Felix's expression grew serious, though a warm light danced in his eyes. “What she’s taught me, though, is to live together in a state of forgiveness.” He smiled at his wife, his tone both earnest and affectionate. “Don’t insist on your rights. Don’t blame each other, even when blame is very much warranted. Accept each other as you are, acknowledging that whatever fault you encounter is likely more recognizable in yourself.” He placed a hand over his heart, his voice softening. “Tell each other you love each other every morning, and never go to bed angry.” He let the statement hang in the air, before clasping his hands. “And now, are we ready to begin?”
A whirlwind of thoughts spun through Zelda’s mind as, once again, she indicated her assent. She wondered what her mother would’ve thought, if she could see her now, and about what her parents’ long-ago wedding must’ve been like. Emma and her sweetheart had started their new lives in Cambridge, too, under a broken fan in a dim and dust-filled courthouse. They’d been so young, but their shared hopes and dreams for the future had crowded out all doubt. Likewise, in this brave new world, all Zelda had was August—and that would have to be enough.
Felix paused, letting the gravity of the moment settle over them. “August, Zelda,” he asked solemnly, “do you come here voluntarily and with hearts prepared, ready to receive each other in marriage?”
August’s gaze never wavered from Zelda’s. “Yes,” he stated, his voice steady and sure.
She stared up at him, feeling the strength of his conviction bolster her own. “Yes,” she echoed, the word a faint, trembling affirmation.
Felix gave a brief nod before continuing, his eyes once again meeting each of theirs in turn. “Will you love each other, respect, and be loyal to each other until death separates you?”
“Yes,” August responded, his tone still resolute.
“Yes,” Zelda repeated, a little more firmly this time.
Then, reaching the most important question, Felix’s expression turned grave. “Are you ready to fulfill the obligation placed upon you by your oath of loyalty to the Führer, to raise your children in obedience to the Reich?”
“Yes.” August spoke the word without hesitation.
Zelda’s breath caught in her throat, but she swallowed and managed an answer. “Yes.”
If Felix noticed her discomfort, however, he gave no sign. Instead, he gestured for them to take each other’s hands. “You have consented to the sacred bond of marriage,” he continued, “and to its most vital obligations, those of partnership and loyalty to a shared cause—the future, and each other. Now, August, repeat after me.”
Slipping her hands into August’s, Zelda felt a surreal sense of detachment, as if she were watching herself from afar. Felix’s voice seemed distant, but August’s presence was an anchor, grounding her in the moment. His warmth and strength flowed into her through their joined hands as he spoke the words that would bind them for the rest of their lives. “I take you, Zelda Wahl, to be my wife. I promise to love you in good days and in bad, through sickness and in health, with love and respect, until death separates us.”
And then it was her turn.
She took a deep breath and he squeezed her hand, encouraging her. Felix spoke the words again and she repeated them, quietly and cautiously but with growing confidence. “I take you, August Armin Voight, to be my husband. I promise to love you in good days and in bad, through sickness and in health, with love and respect, until death separates us.”
Felix’s face lit up. “I am honored to announce, Herr and Frau Voight, that you are now man and wife.”
Leaning down, August pressed his lips to hers.
Gretchen stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled.
She stepped back, feeling the world around her spin as someone kissed her on the cheek and someone else shook August’s hand. Conversation poured in around them, filling their bubble of silence like a tidal wave, but she couldn’t pick out a single word. She was married.
Retreating to the library, she had no sense of independent movement; she felt like she was floating on a cloud. Their guests’ chatter faded to a low susurrus as August shut the door behind them. The library was softly lit, the warm glow of electric bulbs casting gentle shadows that danced on the walls, creating a quiet sanctuary away from the buzz of their guests. Their marriage certificate was waiting for them on the desk. It bore several signatures already, Felix’s and those of their witnesses; the empty line for her own seemed to stare back at her.
They’d opted for matching platinum bands and, producing them, August put the larger one on. No religious content was permitted during a civil ceremony, and that included exchanging rings. She ran her thumb over the SS-Ehrenring, which seemed to wink at her in the low light. “You’re officially wearing more jewelry than I am,” she teased, although with some effort. She wanted to hide in here forever, not make nice over Heidi’s awful food.
“You can keep the earrings,” August remarked, taking her hand for the second time that night. “Pearls wouldn’t be flattering.” And then, with exquisite care, he slid her own ring onto her finger. His expression was as unpleasant as ever, but the depth of his obsession was clear in his eyes. He was hers and she was his, bound together in this strange, all-consuming love.
Leaning over the desk, she signed her name, then straightened and handed him the pen. He signed his own with sharp, decisive strokes, grimacing as he capped it. “Before you came downstairs, I found myself promising Fred that he could come for dinner next week. I must be in a good mood.”
She patted him on the cheek. “I can tell.”
“Either that,” he added dryly, “or I’m having a nervous breakdown.”
“I’m still adjusting to the fact that I’ll be there,” she confessed.
His response was to lead her out of the library, and into the hall.
Voices drifted in from the dining room and, as they approached, she felt a rush of emotions. This house, so elegant despite Klaus’s awful decorating, had become a second home to her. Floor-to-ceiling windows ranged along the right-hand wall, bathing the room in the soft glow of the setting sun. On the left, the classic Georgian fireplace flickered warmly, while the Zuber mural brought ancient Greece to life on the walls. Near the foot of the table, the entrance to the greenhouse was a reminder of the life and growth that’d taken root here—and would, with enough time and understanding, flourish.
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Stopping in her tracks, she stared.
Everything looked the same, but different. She realized with a pang that she’d slept her last night in this house as someone who lived here; tonight, she’d go home to a new home and begin the process of adjusting to life there. And when she came back here, to see her sister, it’d be as a guest.
She and August had been given the traditional place of honor and two chairs sat waiting for them, side by side, in front of the fireplace. August pulled hers out and she sat, while Charlotte beamed and Marie-France declared again that all brides were radiant—even the rushed ones. But no one paid her any mind and Zelda, for once, didn’t care. Someone had filled her cup with sparkling apple juice; the rest of the table was drinking mead, which Fred complained loudly that he didn’t understand. “Honey?” He peered into his own, Zelda couldn’t help but notice, empty cup. “Whose ancestors discovered a hive of drunken bees and, dear God, how?”
The first course arrived soon after, presented with Heidi’s trademark lack of enthusiasm.
It was a dubious substance, in a bowl.
Fred clapped enthusiastically. “Wedding soup!”
Adolf, moving his spoon around in the contents, fixed his son with a suspicious scowl. “Who was in charge of this menu?”
Gripping her napkin tightly, Charlotte shot Klaus an apologetic glance. “I asked Heidi to prepare something else.”
Ingrid waved her martini dismissively. “Heidi does what she wants.”
Marie-France turned to August. “What do you eat in München?” she queried, trying to sound genuinely curious. “For weddings, I mean. Not in general. Pretzels, or something?”
He regarded her coolly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Unwanted children.”
Her smile faltered as she blinked at him, debating whether he’d made a joke.
Fred issued a morose sigh. “They’ve got nothing down in Bayern, except beets.”
“Mead for fertility?” Gretchen raised an eyebrow, addressing Klaus as she reached for the bottle. “Bold choice, considering Zelda’s already proven her capabilities.”
“Gretchen!” Marie-France shrieked, her hand flying to her chest.
“Nothing like a good fertility boost,” Gretchen added, smirking, “when the bride’s already—
“Raisins!” Charlotte cut in brightly, her voice rising a bit too high. “There are raisins in here!”
Klaus glared at his bowl, his expression darkening.
“This is almost as delightful as our wedding dinner,” Ingrid murmured to Adolf.
Aino’s eyes sparkled with humor as she leaned forward, dropping her tone to a mock-whisper. “At our wedding dinner,” she confided, “we had herring.”
“A dozen different kinds,” Felix lamented, shaking his head.
“And reindeer.” Aino chuckled at her husband’s reaction, her lips curving into a playful smile.
Fred blanched. “How was that prepared?”
“Smoked,” Aino told him, her tone matter-of-fact. “And then served cold, with cheese.”
Fred valiantly did not vomit, though his face had taken on a slightly grayish hue.
Ingrid rescued the mead from Gretchen, shooting her a reproachful look, then turned to Aino. “So, what is your advice on marriage?”
Aino’s smile deepened. “To pick someone smarter than you are.”
“Indeed!” Felix proclaimed, giving up on his soup after gagging down a good amount. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he shook his head. “I explained to Aino, when I proposed, that I needed a woman with brains enough for two so that we’d have the one complete set between us. Thank God our children take after her, and aren’t all total idiots.”
“What are they up to?” Adolf prompted, watching dispassionately while Fred clutched at his stomach.
“Kalle, our youngest, is about to enlist,” Aino shared proudly, her eyes lighting up. “Tulli is apprenticing to teach kindergarten, and Kirsi informs us that she has her eye on a young man who may or may not have accepted his fate.” She laughed softly, the sound warm and melodious. “Kirsi is still working in Berlin, though, so he certainly has plenty of competition.”
The next course arrived, a dish of meatballs drenched in a caper-heavy cream sauce, served over some kind of noodles. Zelda poked at hers, pursing her lips in mild concern. August, meanwhile, studied his plate like he’d just been served cockroach pâté. “With delicacies like these,” he deadpanned, “I can’t imagine why Prussian cuisine isn’t more popular.”
Fred, who hailed from Köln, looked like a child on Christmas morning. “I love Königsberger Klopse,” he declared, digging in with gusto. Zelda was finding the courage for a second bite when, having cleared fully half his plate, the Reichskommissar scanned the table expectantly. “Aren’t we doing toasts?”
Adolf tapped his fingers on the table. “You’re not.”
Fred’s enthusiasm, alas, remained undimmed. “Fine then, you give one!”
His hand on his cup, Adolf regarded his son. “Shall we?”
Klaus inclined his head ever so slightly. “Go for it, Dad.”
“Only if you do,” Adolf admonished, his tone somewhere between strict and teasing as he fixed Klaus with a meaningful expression. “And if you say anything inappropriate, my son and heir, I will stab you with this fork somewhere both painful and embarrassing.”
Klaus arched an eyebrow. “Where?”
He sounded, to Zelda’s ears, entirely too interested.
Fred, finishing his wife’s mead with a contented sigh, switched plates with her.
Adolf rolled his eyes, then stood slowly, the room quieting in anticipation as he gathered his thoughts. “I always regretted that Klaus never got a brother closer to his own age,” he mused. “The boys, who follow him around like worshipful sheep, are far too young to give him the hell that he and every man so richly deserves. Then, happily, I met August.”
He smiled warmly at his chosen son, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “A man who, his whole life, has had to teach by example—and with little to no thanks, I might add.” He paused again, letting the table absorb his words. “So my hope is that, going forward, we all look to August for advice on one more thing: how to cherish a family of one’s own.”
Zelda squeezed her husband’s hand, underneath the table.
Adolf’s tone softened, his voice carrying a profound depth of feeling. “Odin tells us that only the mind knows what lives near the heart. A man is alone with his own spirit, and there is no sickness worse for any man than having no one to love.” Behind him, Marie-France gazed up as if she suddenly understood how he’d gotten six children. He raised his glass. “August, you’ve earned all the happiness in the world. Zelda, so have you. Ingrid and I love you both.”
Fred risked a tentative grin at his wife as Adolf took his seat.
Klaus was studying August, his own expression reflective. August, in response, flashed him a sardonic smile. “You’re not actually allowed to murder a man at his own wedding dinner.”
“Unfortunately,” Klaus conceded.
Klaus’s words could be cutting or surprisingly kind, and Zelda braced herself for either. Despite the tension between the brothers-in-law, there was—if not respect, at least tolerance, but only with Charlotte was Klaus reliable. With everyone else, he might laugh off a joke that landed wrong or plan murderous revenge, and no one could predict which.
Not that, she reflected dourly, the other fools at this dinner were much better. Marie-France, having transitioned from tipsy to embalmed, seemed poised for another bout of inappropriate laughter; Fred looked ready to toast anything that moved. Ingrid and Aino liked their husbands, which gave her hope, but she was starting to wonder if Gretchen liked men at all.
Then there was Charlotte, her ever-supportive sister, who could find silver linings in even the most threatening clouds. She watched her fiancé as he stood, her expression loving and uncritical. Whatever he came out with, she’d spin it into something…less hateful, but then Klaus opened his mouth and surprised them all. “May there be one end for you both,” he recited, voice both quiet and sincere. “One bond after these vows, to sustain your love until you feast as united souls in Valhalla.” The silence stretched as his gaze met August’s, and held it. “Know that I will never again accept a seat in the hall where my brother is unwelcome.”
Fred, oblivious to the gravity of the moment, burped. “Prost!”
Klaus sat. Charlotte leaned in and whispered something into his ear, her words soft and private. His expression softened as he listened, a rare gentleness creeping into his features. But then Heidi reappeared, with a new culinary punishment: Grööner Hein, beans and bacon stewed with pears.
Fred attempted it, and gagged. “I noticed that, ah, in the library there’s….”
“Yes?” Klaus, his hands in his lap, feigned a studied ignorance.
“There’s, ah.” Fred licked his lips, looking distinctly nervous. “Heads.”
“Yes,” August agreed, his tone bland to the point of boredom. “Klaus collects them.”
Digesting this revelation, Fred searched for a response. “Whose heads…are they?”
“Don’t worry,” Charlotte reassured him kindly. “They’re old.”
“Not that old,” Klaus corrected her, relaxing into his chair with a casual air. “Not all of them. But to answer your question, Fred, they come from the Jivaroan peoples of Ecuador and Peru.”
Fred turned to Adolf for help, his eyes pleading, but received none. “That’s, um. That’s an unusual hobby!”
A fond smile played on Ingrid’s lips. “Klaus never wanted to do what the other children were doing.”
“You started this—at a young age?” Fred’s eyes bulged, clearly wondering if he’d heard correctly.
“He was so frightfully upset when we wouldn’t let him experiment,” Ingrid’s tone was indulgent, as though Klaus’s preoccupation with death were merely some charming quirk.
“Ah…experiment?” Fred eased a finger inside his collar.
“They’re properly called tzantza,” Klaus explained, his voice taking on a lecturing tone.
“And displayed by tribal leaders to frighten their enemies.” Raising his cup to his lips, August regarded Fred over the rim. “The process begins with, first, separating the skull and the base of the neck.” He’d adopted that doctor’s voice of his, presenting this information with a detachment that made even Gretchen squirm. “Then,” he elaborated, “an incision is made, just behind the ear. After which the flesh is peeled from the skull, back to front, in one large piece.” His eyes glittered with something between amusement and malice, as Fred rubbed the back of his own neck in an unconscious gesture of protection. “Specially prepared seeds are placed underneath the nostrils, after a wooden ball is placed inside the head to help it keep its form. The lips are sewn shut and only then are the palm pins inserted. Of course,” he finished, “I’m leaving out quite a bit.”
“The boiling process,” Klaus volunteered, with a certain low enthusiasm. “Did you do that, August, in medical school?”
August’s lips quirked. “Only to our least favorite professors.”
Gretchen pushed her plate away, her expression a mix of disgust and fascination.
“The most interesting part, to me,” August told her, “is that the heads are tanned from the inside out.”
At the best possible moment, dessert arrived.
Heidi presented it with a flourish, revealing a beautiful cake. Gretchen’s eyes widened in anticipation, or maybe trepidation. Fred, who’d already loosened his belt by one notch, leaned forward eagerly, his fork clattering against his plate in his haste. “Baumkuchen!” he breathed.
Marie-France squinted. “That’s…large,” she faltered.
Fred snorted “That’s nothing! Some Baumkuchen are a meter tall.”
Heidi spun on her heel, vanishing with a grumble.
Adolf did the honors, passing Fred his slice without comment.
“It’s traditionally made on a spit.” Fred spoke around a mouthful of the golden sponge, enrobed in ganache and rolled in slivered almonds. “Each layer of batter is poured into the form and then just allowed to brown, before another is added! Fifteen is the traditional number, but….” He trailed off, squinting as he counted. August, for his part, appeared to be considering helping.
Poking at her own slice, Zelda couldn’t help but giggle. As she looked around the table, she realized that after so much going wrong for so long, everything was perfect. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over their faces, and the room was filled with a sense of contentment and celebration. She wouldn’t even mind if Fred actually did vomit. Although, given how he’d thrown himself on his second helping of Heidi’s creation, that crisis seemed to be averted. The cake was good and, even better than its delicate flavor, she was eating it next to the man she loved and he was truly hers. She’d seen the truth in how he’d looked her, when he’d said his vows.
And for a brief, shining moment, she allowed herself to believe that this happiness could last.
But deep down, she knew better.