THE IMPALER'S WIFE

15

Aunt Erzsébet lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. Its weight comes not from physical strength but from the political power she wields.

A disdainful look, an arched eyebrow, an ignored invitation, a forgotten curtsy, a whispered suggestion. These are her weapons. A woman's armaments. One slight from Erzsébet Szilágy Hunyadi—beloved mother to the king—even a perceived slight, sends the ladies at court into a panic.

A year ago she intimidated me. No longer. Now I admire her cunning. She has the king's ear, the nobles' respect, and a sage's discernment.

"Did Bernádett ruin a frock or behave improperly?" I am aglow from my diplomatic success.

A web of wrinkles gathers between Aunt Erzsébet's eyebrows. "Domestic matters do not interest me. Politics do."

"Bernádett doesn't—"

Aunt Erzsébet's jeweled hand slices the air. "When Mihály brought Bernádett to Buda he claimed she was a distant relative. Did your father ever tell you the name of this obscure relation?"

"If he did I don't remember. That was eight years ago, I was only eleven."

Aunt Erzsébet squeezes my shoulder. "My new little wren passed Bernádett in the hallway today and was struck by her resemblance to an acquaintance. She asked if they were related but Bernádett denied any knowledge of the person."

The hairs on the back of my neck lift. "Why is this a political concern?"

"My little wren's acquaintance is Romanian."

"I don't understand."

Aunt Erzsébet frowns as though frustrated by my stupidity. "I am a woman of scrupulous detail." Her knobby finger traces my shoulder seam. "Each stitch is vital to a frock. There is a kind of integrity in craftsmanship. One loose stitch compromises the others. A knotted suture, however, reinforces the seam. My desire is simply to determine the ilk of Bernádett's thread."

"Why?" Icy slivers prickle my spine.

"During her childhood in Romania many boyars disappeared, some fled to Moldova, Bulgaria, and Poland. Others—those not sympathetic to Dracula's reign—were summarily killed." She fusses with the pleated lace at my neck. "Never discount the value of knowledge, Ilona. Never underestimate the significance of family loyalty."

"I'll ask her."

"Good."

Fresh from my success with Matthias, I feel emboldened to bring up a troubling topic. "I know you prefer Margit but—"

Aunt Erzsébet's brows shoot to the top of her hairline. "Quite the contrary. Margit needs my protection and guidance. Not that she is a dim-witted girl by any means, but she lacks your cleverness. You remind me of my younger self. When my face could still betray me."

I touch my cool cheek.

"The quick crease of your smooth forehead, the briefest flare of your nostrils, a quick swallow—you must control even these tiny displays of emotion, Ilona. Especially as they pertain to disbelief or anger. Or love."

"I—"

Aunt Erzsébet sets two fingers over my lips. "You marry into a family of wealthy landholding snakes with a humanist's skin and a viper's venom. Should Luigi della Scala suspect you love Prince Vlad, the marriage contract and the king's assurance of your virtue will be jeopardized."

My heart thumps against my bodice. "I did not—"

"Do you deny Dracula seeks your company more than Margit's?"