When the Empress appoints Irina's father as the new Governor of Transylvania, the young Duchess is swept away from her glamorous life at court in Vienna to the mysterious "land beyond the forest" where danger lurks and superstition reigns.
When a pe...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Vienna, September 1769
Irina folded Amalia's letter, pinching her fingertips neatly along the crease until the paper looked as smooth and as crisp as if it hadn't even been opened. She couldn't help but smile at the clumsy lettering near the wax seal; her best friend's familiar handwriting and blotched ink had been so comforting to see. Amalia had always written like a cat, scratching at the paper with her quill until the ink coated her claws, but Irina had read the letter at least seven times over to make sure she hadn't missed a single word. But by the eighth reading, the excitement she'd felt when she first broke the wax seal had all but drained away.
She lowered the paper and gazed out of the window.
The palace gardens had begun to wither their way into autumn; the long avenues of elms tarnishing from green to gold, and the smell of summer flowers replaced by the smoke from smouldering pyres of fallen leaves. Summer had silently slipped away when no one was looking.
To Irina it seemed like only yesterday when she'd attended that Walpurgisnacht masque with Amalia. They'd both dressed in pale satin, worn masks and spring blossoms in their hair; danced and gambled and leapt over candles to say farewell to the darkness and greet the summer. Their last summer. They'd vowed to make the most of it; to not waste a single moment or miss a single party. They'd known that time was short, but it had passed by in a colourful blur and before long, it was time for Amalia to leave Austria for her new home and her new life as the Duchess of Parma. Karl had left Vienna for his country seat soon after; despite Irina's pleas for him to stay and keep her company, he refused, saying he couldn't bear to stay.
And so, Irina was left to spend the dog days of summer alone in her rooms mourning the loss of her closest friends and contemplating her own fast approaching departure.
"Madam?"
Glancing over her shoulder, Irina turned to find one of her father's sturdy-looking footmen standing with a small moleskin coffer cradled between his gloved hands.
"Is this to be taken with you?" he asked.
Irina puzzled over the plain looking box, "...Actually, I'm not even sure what it is."
She flicked the brass clasp and peered inside to find the eyeglass of her microscope looking back at her. As soon as she'd read about them, she'd sent a footman to procure her one. She'd almost gone cross-eyed peering through the lens to see leaves, insects and her jewellery up close and the tiny little cells they were made of.
Irina carefully closed the lid. "Yes, most definitely," she said. "Oh, and please, be very delicate with it."
"Of course, madam."
As she nervously watched him stumble over chests and side-step the various caskets, boxes and crates on his way to the door, Irina couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips; her entire apartment was in a state of demolition.
