THE IMPALER'S WIFE

27

27

"Tighter." A thousand butterflies flutter in my stomach. This is my first formal appearance since Vlăduţ's birth."How do I look?"

"Motherhood becomes you, my lady." Bernádett adjusts the veil flowing from my gold-threaded hennin.

I look down at my milk-full breasts, eager to flaunt my impressive cleavage. "Motherhood added a few new curves." I suck in my stomach. "But this waist. Ugh, Aunt Erzsébet says it will never return to its former size."

"A daughter steals her mother's beauty," says my new lady-in-waiting, Gizella, the heart-faced daughter of a Wallachian boyar. She clasps an emerald pendant, a gift from Vlad, around my neck. "A son increases it."

If that were the case, Aunt Erzsébet would be a great beauty.

"Summon me immediately if he cries." I kiss Vlăduţ'schubby cheek as he sleeps in the pillow-soft arms of the placid, rotund Dădacă, the skilled white-haired Romanian nursemaid Vlad hired.

"Don't worry, my lady." Bernádett smooths the veil over my back.

"Vlăduţ is in the best of hands." Gizella holds open the door.

I kiss Vlăduţ yet again. I don't want to leave my precious son but I must.I need to charm Vlad back into my bed. I miss the taste of his passionate kisses, the feel of his hands on my body, and the tenor of his wanton whisperings.

I walk toward the great room feeling like a visitor in my own home. Vlad added many furnishings during my lying-in. Tapestries. Banners. Statues. Benches. I recognize the two golden Turkish vases and the turquoise inlayed coffer he had brought to my bedside but nothing else.

"New house, new baby, new nursemaid, new lady-in-waiting." Gizella sighs loudly. "I don't know how you manage to be so calm."

I like Gizella. She is always cheerful and eager to please. "It's easy when my husband finds such good people."

Gizella blushes and lowers her head. "Thank you, my lady."

We are about to pass Vlad's chambers when I stop. I am desperate to discover why Vlad makes such infrequent visits to my lying-in chambers. Do I dare enter his room? I rest my hand on the door handle. It's unlocked.

"Wait there." I point to the bench across the hall.

With wide eyes, Gizella backs across the hall.

My heart throbbing in my throat, I open the door. "I'll only be a minute." I slip inside.

Vlad's chamber is rosy-colored and cool, sunset's pink glow streaming through the open window. His bed is draped with fur blankets, strewn with pillows, and canopied in red velvet. Rare sculptures and fine objects decorate the tables. A tall spray of fresh rosemary—the herb promoting mental clarity—bursts from an urn on the casement ledge. But it is his desk, topped with a candelabrum, a large drawing, and a sheaf of stacked missives that I go to for answers.

I stare down at a diagram of our manse. Thick straight lines delineate the basements, first, second, and third floors. Five chambers are marked with arrows and X's, and three dotted lines extend from the cellar to the edge of the paper. Tunnels perhaps? Vlad loves tunnels.

An old book is buried beneath a pile of correspondence. It's the same one I mistook for the Bible. The cover is worn, its wood casing peeking through a cracked leather binding. I run my fingers over its scratches and stains. How odd that it has no title, etching, or engraving. Three soft discolored leather straps fasten the book closed. With trembling fingers, I untie them and open the book.