No Children

February 489 I.C., Odin

Magdalena and Eva went on long walks through the woods to firm up their plans, far from any listening ears. The snow had fallen from the tree branches, but the ill-kept paths through the woods, little more than deer trails, were still covered in a muddy slush. Magdalena stomped through it, heedless of the dampness getting into her fur-lined boots. Eva was a little more delicate.

“We’ll have to ask the Earth Church for help,” Magdalena said, sounding quite annoyed by it, though she announced it with her usual practicality. “You and I can’t really do anything by ourselves.”

“I thought that you said they had already surrounded Erwin Josef in Neue Sanssouci,” Eva said. “Why haven’t they done anything yet?”

“Oh— I’m sure Lichtenlade knew that none of the palace staff could be trusted. That place was always a den of servants being paid off by someone or other. He took Erwin Josef with his own staff, to his own estate. And he must have been pretty smart about it, too. The Earth Church probably doesn’t know where they are, or they would have done something already. But if we give them their location, they can help us get him out.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s not,” Magdalena said. “I don’t trust them.”

“The only thing I know about them is from Heinrich,” Eva said. “They seem alright to me.”

“They made Ingrid into their tool. I don’t trust them not to do the same to Erwin.”

“Is there any way to stop that from happening?”

“I don’t want him to just disappear into the abyss.” She bit her lip. “We can’t just give them any information about how to rescue him— you have to make yourself essential to them, so they can’t operate without you. When you go into the house to get him, you have to be the only one who knows where it would be. And you’ll have to keep watch over him when you go. You can’t let him out of your sight.”

Eva nodded. The full scope of what she had agreed to do was beginning to form in her mind: the blank check she had given Magdalena would be cashed to its fullest extent. The idea didn’t trouble her as much as it should have. There was a strange comfort in being asked to find the limits of her own abilities. She imagined this was the feeling that Wolf had, when he went into battle.

She was quiet for a second as she thought about it. Finally, she asked, “You won’t come with me?”

Magdalena looked distraught. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Her voice was strangely calm, even though she shivered.

“Nobody can know that this is what we’re doing,” Magdalena said. “And you’re the only one who has an excuse to leave.”

“I have an excuse to leave?” It took a moment for what Magdalena was saying to truly sink in, so she repeated the words wonderingly, like a parrot, as their meaning took form.

Magdalena stopped and looked at her. The noonday sun was weak through the branches of the pines, and Eva pulled her coat even more tightly around herself. “You do.”

“Maggie—”

Magdalena hastily turned away. “I can’t tell it to you.”

“You know?”

“Of course I know,” Magdalena said bitterly. “Everybody knows. Everybody knows except you.”

“Oh.” On some level, she had understood this, but it was difficult to hear it said.

“I’m sorry.”

“How long have you known?”

“Forever,” Magdalena said. “Since before I met you.”

“That long…” It was very strange to get confirmation that the secret of Wolf’s somehow predated her marriage. How something that old could give her an excuse to leave him, she didn’t understand. But it must be terrible, if he hadn’t told her yet.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Do you want to know?”

Eva looked at Magdalena, who was biting her lip, scraping off the waxy red chapstick she was wearing with her teeth, leaving a pink sliver of bare flesh where her teeth drew across. Did she want to know? It was impossible to say. She might be able to demand that Magdalena tell her right now, but she hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t tell you, because you have to make Elfriede tell you,” Magdalena said after a moment.

“She knows too?” The words felt flat as they came out of her mouth.

“Oskar knows— she probably knows too, or at least she knows enough to find something horrible to say to you. She’s that kind of person.”

“He can keep a secret, can’t he?”

“Not this kind. Not from her.”

“What does that mean?” She felt like a child.

“Please don’t make me tell you,” Magdalena said. “Elfriede has to tell you.”

“Why her?”

“You have to be surprised by it— you have to make her believe this is the reason you’re leaving. There’s no reason for her to lie about that to anyone who asks. She has to be the one. And if we can do it in front of witnesses, even better.” She tried to inject some humor into her voice, but it didn’t work. “You’re not a good enough actor to fake surprise, darling.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Magdalena said, and then again, much more sincere, “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault.” Even though this was true, and she was saying it to comfort Maggie, the words came out dull.

“And if it was?”

“Maggie—”

“Please don’t hate me too much.”

“You’re scaring me.”

Magdalena just shook her head and was silent again.

“How do I get Elfriede to tell me?” Eva asked. She shoved what it was out of her mind, focused on the essentials. After all, it wasn’t as if anything had changed.

“You have to say something about her,” Magdalena said. “A secret she doesn’t want you to know. A fair trade.”

“I don’t know anything about her,” Eva said.

“But I do. I used to love her, you know.”

Eva looked over at Magdalena, who was staring up into the grey-cloud sky above. “No,” she said, and another strange shiver passed through her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Eva argued back and forth with Magdalena about Heinrich’s trustworthiness. Eva wanted to include him in the plan because he was their sole current connection to the Earth Church, and it would be very strange for one of them to corner his priest on his way out the door— strange enough that Elfriede might notice that something was going on. But Magdalena didn’t know Heinrich very well, and didn’t want to involve anyone else.

Eva won the argument. She was surprised at how easily Magdalena capitulated. All Eva said was, “I’m going to speak with him,” and Magdalena’s resistance collapsed into little more than a huff of breath and a wave of a hand. She was startled by this power she seemed to now possess: once she decided to do something, doing things became the easiest thing in the world.

And so she found herself in Heinrich’s room, a letter tucked into her dress pocket for him to give to his priest. He was asleep when she entered, but she sat down by the side of his bed anyway and just watched the rise and fall of his chest. He was very peaceful when he was asleep, and she didn’t want to wake him. There wasn’t any rush.

Perhaps it was the sound of her breathing and movement that woke him, but he woke after a few minutes, blinking and squinting into the light, his face contorting in a grimace with the pain that haunted him when he was awake. Eva poured him some water from the pitcher on the bedside table and held it out for him to take and drink before she spoke. His arms shook, and he spilled some on himself, but he drank nevertheless.

“Good morning, Heinrich,” she said.

“Were you waiting for me to wake up for long?” he asked.

“Not long. How are you feeling?”

He smiled and did not answer the question.

Although Eva had spent quite some time thinking about how she would broach the question, now that she was sitting at his bedside, it was tremendously difficult for her to bring it up. Instead, she stood and walked over to the bookshelf. She pulled down the well worn book of paintings and flipped through it, stopping on “Christina’s World” as the crease in the spine dictated. She stared down at it, though it only served to make her sad.

“Is something wrong, Eva?” Heinrich asked.

“No,” Eva said. Then, “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Has anyone told you what my husband’s secret is?”

“You haven’t mentioned it.”

“So you don’t know.”

“I don’t know very much at all.” His face twisted. “Nothing much beyond the corners of this room.”

“I wondered if Maggie might have told you.”

“You forget that you’re the only one who pays me any mind,” Heinrich said. “May I ask what the secret is?”

“I don’t know it.”

“I see.” When she said nothing, he continued. “What’s making you think about it now?”

“Can you keep a secret, Heinrich?” She looked over at him, and their eyes met.

“To the grave,” he said. The tone in his voice indicated that he didn’t think that would be very far. But he was earnest.

“Don’t say that.”

“Alright.”

She closed the book, but didn’t put it down, and went back to sit next to his bedside. He smiled up at her, his thin and chapped lips pulled up over his teeth. She took his hand in hers. “I’m going to do something terrible, I think,” she said.

“Terrible for whom?”

“You,” Eva said. “So I’m very sorry about that.”

“Me?” Heinrich asked. “I didn’t realize you were planning to kill me for my inheritance. It seems like it’s a very hasty thing to do. My will is in the vault in the basement— you’ll have to edit it first.”

She was too sad to either scold him for the joke or play along. Instead she just pressed his hand to her cheek. “I’m leaving, Heinrich.”

“Today?”

“No— I don’t know when. Soon, though.”

“Before your husband gets back?” he asked. He pulled his hand away from her face, his waxy fingers slipping out of hers to land on the bed with a feather-light thump. She suddenly understood that the tone in his voice, soft but undeniable, was jealousy. He was looking away, out the window. Something about that realization made her stomach turn, though she couldn’t place the sick feeling: pity or anger, maybe. It was an unfamiliar feeling for her, and she pulled her hands back to her lap, an invisible wall springing up between them. She looked down at her skirt, and she noticed her wedding ring— such a permanent fixture of her hand that she rarely thought about it.

“Yes,” she said. “Before then.”

“Can I ask where you’re going?”

She almost changed her mind, almost told him the lie that would be delivered to Elfriede and everyone else. But that would have been cruel for no reason. He was jealous of her marriage, and perhaps she had accidentally encouraged that feeling by spending so many hours with him, alone, the only real company he had in years. Hadn’t she done that because he was human? Perhaps she had forgotten that jealousy was just as human of an emotion.

“The rebel territories,” she said.

“Not even Phezzan?”

“I’m not running away from my husband.”

“Then why did you mention him?”

“I’m going to tell everyone that’s what I’m doing, but I’m not,” she said. She paused, suddenly not sure how to explain. Heinrich gave her time to compose herself. “It feels so strange to say out loud— you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I won’t.” His simple earnesty reassured her.

“Erwin Josef,” she said finally. “His mother was Maggie’s friend. And if no one gets him away from Odin, he’s going to die. Maggie— I can’t let that happen.”

“So you and Countess Leigh are going to do something?”

“No,” she said. “Just me.”

“Ah.” He was still looking out the window. “Thank you for telling me.” The jealousy in his voice was even stronger now, but the source of this was easily understood, and perhaps just as easily ameliorated.

“I need your help,” she said. “That’s why I’m telling you.”

“My help?” There was hope in his voice, but by the end of his next sentence he crushed it. “If it’s money you need, you can have it. Or secrets… I can keep a secret.”

“No, no.”

“What, then?” He rolled his head to face her at last, and she pulled her letter from the pocket of her dress. When she held it out to him, her hand trembled.

“Can you pass on a message to the right people?” she asked. “The Earth Church helped Erwin Josef’s mother escape— they might be able to help me now.”

Heinrich took the letter and stared at it. “If that’s all I can do.”

“It’s vital,” she said. “Please, Heinrich.”

“Of course. I will. I’ll make sure the right person gets it.”

“Thank you.” The relief in her voice was powerful, and it made Heinrich smile.

“I wish I could help you more.”

“You’re helping more than you know.”

He nodded, but turned away again.

“You’ll pray for me when I’m gone,” Eva said.

“You’re not a believer.”

“No. But—” Her voice broke. “I’m glad you’ll be thinking of me. Someone who knows the truth, who won’t think badly of me for going.”

He nodded, but was quiet.

“I’m worried Wolf will never forgive me for leaving like this.”

“Do you want me to tell him the truth?” She wondered, briefly, if it cost him anything to offer that.

“No,” she said. “That would be worse.”

“Are you going to come back?”

“As soon as I can,” she said. “I don’t know how soon that will be.”

“It’s a long way to the other side of the galaxy.”

They were both silent for a long time. This was natural for both of them, well used to contemplative time spent side by side, but it was heavier than it had once been.

“Don’t go alone,” Heinrich said after some time.

“I’ll have whoever the Earth Church sends with me.”

“Even then— don’t go alone. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t have anyone else to bring with me. Maggie can’t come, and I don’t… there’s no one else.”

Heinrich thought about it for a long time. She could see the gears turning in his mind, the way his eyes flicked upwards and his lips moved without sound, like he was reading a list of names, reciting a litany of saints. “Count Landsberg,” he finally said. “He would go with you.”

Eva balked. “I hardly know him. And he’s Maggie’s friend— if she thought he should be involved, she would have asked him already.”

“He’s a good man,” Heinrich said. “He would make sure you’re safe.”

“I don’t know why he would agree to get involved in a thing like this!”

“The same reason I would,” Heinrich said. “It’s an important thing to do. He wants to make his mark on the world, too.”

“I don’t know,” Eva said. “I wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And Maggie wouldn’t want anyone unnecessary involved.”

“A man and a woman with a child looks safer, less easy to take advantage of, than a woman alone,” Heinrich said. “It will help you, especially if you’re in disguise. Consider it, please.”

Eva’s reluctance came not only from the practical considerations of involving someone else in the plan, but also from the distrust she had at the momentary soaring of her heart at the offer of help. She had been asked to carry this burden, and she was ashamed at how much she wanted to put it down, to pass it off to someone else, to ask him to protect her.

“I’ll think about it. Maggie won’t be happy.”

“I’ll speak to him myself,” Heinrich said.

It was an uncharitable thought that flitted across her mind: it certainly would make her excuse of leaving the planet to escape her husband better, if she was seen fleeing with another man. It would make it that much harder for Wolf to forgive her, when she returned. She looked down into Heinrich’s eyes, wondering if that was the reason that he suggested it. She didn’t ask that, though. Instead, she asked, “Will you wait for me to come back?”

He let out a sigh, though his lungs were so pitifully small it was more like a wheeze. “Don’t make me answer that question, Eva,” he said. “I don’t like to lie to you.”

It was March before Hilde returned, as she promised that she would. The snow had fully vanished after a warm front of a few days, but then the temperature plummeted far below freezing once again, the winter unwilling to relinquish their part of Odin. Without the glittering white blanket on the landscape, the whole world was the grey of bare tree branches and frozen mud. When Hilde arrived in time for dinner, the warm headlights of her car were the only things that pierced the gloom, and the bulky red sweater she wore as she emerged from the vehicle was the only color around. There wasn’t even the bright hair of Herr Kircheis: Hilde had come alone. Eva waved to Hilde out the window as she walked up to the house, and then sat back down and waited.

The three women and Heinrich were all in their separate corners of the house, and Hilde made her rounds, paying each one a visit individually before dinner. Eva was in the parlor, listening to music and knitting, or at least trying to. Out the window, she had seen the car pull up in the driveway, and a cold fear had settled across her at what it meant. There was no other reason for Hilde to be here other than to warn them that the plans of those in the capital were about to be played out. There was no more time for Eva to think about what she was doing as a hypothetical.

Hilde found Magdalena and Elfriede first, and then stuck her head into the parlor to greet Eva.

Eva’s hands were shaking on her knitting needles, and she wasn’t looking at her project (a shawl). She could feel herself dropping stitches, and if Wolf’s mother had seen her jerky movements and the way her project was unraveling beneath her touch, she would have stopped her and scolded her immediately, and taken the half-made shawl onto her own lap to fix the destroyed row. But Hilde simply sat down in the chair across from Eva with a fixed smile, and her eyes glanced over Eva’s project without comprehending the state that it was in. Hilde didn’t know how to knit. What a blessing.

“Hello, Eva,” Hilde said.

“Welcome back— am I the last stop on your tour of the house, since you’re sitting down?”

“Heinrich will have to be,” Hilde said. “I looked in his room, but he was asleep. Isn’t he usually awake to eat dinner, at least?”

“Usually,” Eva said. “But he was having a rough day, so I convinced him to take a painkiller a few hours ago. He’ll probably wake up later, at least for a little while, so he can eat something.”

“It smells delicious in here,” Hilde said, commenting on the chicken and potatoes that one of the servants was roasting for dinner. “I didn’t realize when I left how terrible the food would be in the capital.”

“Have you had enough to eat?” Eva asked. It was easy to let genuine worry into her voice. “And Herr Reuenthal, and Herr Kircheis?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Hilde said. “We just can’t cook much— Sieg only has a one burner hotpot. It’s all canned beans and things like that, but I haven’t been hungry.”

“That’s good.” Eva smiled. “You’ve been gone for a while. That must be a lot of beans you’ve eaten.”

“I should have counted them one by one,” Hilde said. “I’d report the number to you, if I knew it.”

Eva laughed. “I’m glad you’ve been well.”

“Well enough.” Some of what was clearly false cheer in Hilde’s voice broke.

“How are things with Herr Kircheis?”

“Oh—” Hilde looked away. “I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you staying with him?”

“Yes,” Hilde said. “He’s— it’s fine. We had an argument.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Hilde said. “I’ve apologized to him already.”

“These things happen to everyone,” Eva said. “I always felt terrible whenever Wolf and I had some kind of little fight. But if you love each other—” She broke off abruptly, a hard lump rising in her throat, which was perhaps for the best, because the expression on Hilde’s face was very strange.

Hilde cleared her throat. “Are you alright, Eva?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, but her smile was thin. “I just miss Wolf.”

“They won at Iserlohn, so I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be back soon,” Hilde said. “If he’s part of the force sent to Odin— which I think he would be, since he has ground combat experience— he should be here soon. I don’t know when, exactly, but soon.” Talking about practical things caused an immediate change in her tone and posture: her voice became assured and hard, and she sat up straight. It was clear just how many thoughts were hidden behind her eyes, and how much of Hilde was far away, thinking about the fate of the whole galaxy, rather than the petty problems of their small household.

“I assume that means you and Herr Reuenthal will be making your move soon?” Eva asked.

“The night of the fifteenth,” Hilde said. “I did promise to come warn you.”

“That is soon. I appreciate you keeping your promises.” Eva finally put down her knitting, unable to pretend that she was making her shawl rather than making a mess with the silver-flecked yarn. “Have your plans changed any?”

“Only Sieg’s,” Hilde said. “Mine and Rear Admiral Reuenthal’s are still the same.”

“What’s different about Sieg’s plan?”

“He’ll be in a different part of the capital,” Hilde said. “I’m in charge of an attack on Littenheim’s ships, parked at the airfield.”

“By yourself?” Eva couldn’t suppress her alarm.

“It’s alright,” Hilde said. “I have a few of Duke Braunschweig’s soldiers to help me on the actual day. And Sieg helped me set everything up— it’s mainly going to be automated.”

“Do you mind if I ask how?”

“Oh, sure,” Hilde said. She got up from her seat and went to pace in front of the windows, gesturing as she explained her plan. She clearly was imitating the way Hank talked, at least subconsciously. “Littenheim has been supplying his men in the city with food and water— he gets supplies from his allies outside the city, and he trucks them in. The trucks are pretty vulnerable as targets. There’s several different groups that have been attacking them to get the food inside—”

“It’s that bad in the city?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Hilde said. Her concentration broken, her voice sounded strained. “It’s… pretty bad.”

“Sorry— go on?”

She nodded. “Usually, they leave the trucks on the road. Nothing they can do with them, anyway. Sometimes they burn them out, but they’re useful to us , so when we see that a truck has been raided we make noises like we’re reinforcements coming, and the raiders scatter. But really, Sieg and I have been getting into these trucks after they’ve been attacked and installing a backdoor program into their automated driving features. There are a bunch of vehicles that go in and out of the airfield that I have control over now— I can activate it any time I want. Some of the trucks just go into the airfield to park, since that’s where Littenheim is keeping most of his bigger resources, and some are delivering supplies.”

“And what are you going to do with them?”

“When my trucks are on their way back into the airfield, I’m going to stop them with my automatic control. Duke Braunschweig’s soldiers will grab the drivers and guards and replace them— steal their IDs, things like that— and we’ll swap any cargo out for explosives. The trucks will drive back to the base and park, the duke’s men will get out and leave the base, or get as far away as they can, and I’ll drive the rigged trucks to destroy the ships.” She shrugged and looked back at Eva. “It’s not the best plan, but it’s what we have.”

“It sounds— I don’t know. Please stay safe.”

“I will,” Hilde said. She looked out the dark window. “Anyway, it doesn’t have to succeed, really,” she said, sounding a little bitter. “It’s just a distraction. Littenheim’s ships don’t mean very much anymore.”

“I see,” Eva said. She heard footsteps outside the door of the parlor, and Magdalena opened the door.

“Dinnertime,” Magdalena said cheerfully. “If you’re all done holding war council in here.”

“Oh, good, I’m starving,” Hilde said. Then the substance of Magdalena’s words seemed to register. “Were you eavesdropping on us?”

“Of course!” Maggie said. “Knowledge is power.”

“Captain Oberstein would be annoyed if he learned that my OpSec was this terrible,” Hilde said.

“I won’t sabotage your little plot,” Magdalena said cheerfully. “You’re just lucky it wasn’t Elfriede listening.”

Hilde laughed. “She was half of putting together Herr Reuenthal’s part of the plan in the first place. Do you really think she’d do something like that?”

“Oh, never underestimate El,” Maggie said. “If she’s an expert in anything, it’s cutting off her nose to spite her face.”

“Have you all been alright here together?” Hilde asked as she offered her hand to Eva to pull her up from the couch. Eva took it, letting Hilde’s compact strength hoist her to her feet.

“We’re surviving,” Magdalena said. “At the very least, we can all have a nice, civil dinner together.”

They all headed for the dining room and settled in. The painting of Hank that Eva had painted some time ago was still on the wall, and Hilde smiled at it as she took a seat. “I wish everyone else could be here,” she said. “I miss Hank.”

“Darling, he’s my husband,” Magdalena said with a falsely offended sniff. “Only I’m allowed to sigh wistfully at his portrait.”

Hilde laughed, and this was the moment that Elfriede came in. She moved silently— the sound of the door didn’t interrupt the conversation— but Hilde was positioned to see her, and her laughter ended abruptly under Elfriede’s glower. Eva hadn’t remembered the two women fighting when they were in the house together before, but her presence chilled the easy camaraderie that Magdalena brought.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt you,” Elfriede said as she took her seat near the head of the table. In the entire time the group had been living in the house, the seating arrangements hadn’t changed a bit, and, indeed, Hilde’s empty chair after she had left had been a constant reminder of her absence.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Magdalena said. “I’m just glad you’re not late for dinner.”

“You wouldn’t wait on me? How cruel.”

“I assume Hilde has to get back to the city tonight, doesn’t she? I wouldn’t want to delay her too long, or let our dinner get cold.”

“Is that true?” Eva asked.

“Oh— yeah,” Hilde said. “I think it’s better if I head back quickly. And it’s easier to get in and out of the city at night, anyway. Or at least easier than staying until morning.”

“Is it?”

“Well— you’re harder to see in the dark,” Hilde said. It sounded like she was dodging some important aspect of the question, but Eva didn’t know how to pick a more pointed query, to figure out what Hilde was hiding. She probably wasn’t lying, exactly, but she also had plenty of reasons not to tell Eva things that would worry her.

“I hope you’re not doing anything too dangerous,” Eva said.

Hilde didn’t get a chance to respond, even if she had wanted to, as one of the servants came in with the cart bearing their dinner. Eva thanked him as he poured the wine.

“How much wine do we have left?” Maggie asked, raising her glass to the light once the food was served and they were alone again. “Are we going to make it through until we can start buying again?”

“You could go down into the cellar and look,” Elfriede said. “This isn’t information that anyone is keeping secret.”

“What I want you to do, El, is go down there and look for me.”

“And?”

“And when you come back up— if we’re running low, you tell me that we have enough to last six years—”

“And if we’re not?”

“And if we have plenty to last us an eternity, you tell me that since we’re almost out, it must mean that the civil war’s gone on long enough, and that it’ll all be over soon.”

Elfriede laughed, but did not smile. Eva couldn’t remember the last time she had heard Elfried express genuine amusement or happiness. “Why do you think that I would tell you what you want to hear?”

“Oh, I don’t,” Magdalena said.

“Even when the war ends, you won’t be able to buy anything,” Elfriede said. “The country’s collapsed. Whatever you have now will have to last you for a lot longer.”

“I’ll go with Hank to his estate,” Magdalena said. “His land is famous for wine.”

Elfriede sneered. “Run away, then.”

“I thought you found the countryside refreshing. You’re welcome to come with me.”

Elfriede’s expression, already grim, chilled further. “I much prefer civilization.”

“Is that what this is?”

“Yes, let’s be civilized,” Hilde said, cutting in. “I don’t really understand what you’re fighting about.”

“We’re not fighting,” Magdalena said, laughing. “I think we’ve just forgotten the art of conversation. I sometimes feel like without men around, I turn into a schoolgirl again.”

“And you were so charming as one, weren’t you?” Elfriede asked.

“Oh, I was,” Magdalena said. “I don’t think anyone could deny that.”

Elfriede turned back to her food.

“I think there’s plenty of wine left,” Eva said. “I was down in the cellar the other day.”

“Doing what?” Magdalena asked.

“Heinrich asked me to get his will out of the safe.”

“And what would he do that for?” Magdalena asked. Her voice held the genuine curiosity of a gossip.

“He asked me to keep it private.”.

Hilde smiled at her, though the expression was strained with the usual sadness that came from discussing Heinrich. “He trusts you quite a lot.”

“I suppose,” Eva said. “I’m very grateful for his friendship.”

“Unfortunately, he hardly counts as male company,” Elfriede said, rather scathingly. “So Maggie can’t entertain herself with him.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that!” Eva said. She immediately flushed, embarrassed at having lost her temper, but Hilde frowned at Elfriede as well.

“Darling,” Magdalena said, quite uncowed, “I’ve never once forgotten who my husband is.” She glanced over at the wall, where the smiling picture of Hank hung, alone in its less sun-faded square.

Hilde, trying to break the tension once again, asked, “Eva— why don’t you hang a picture of Herr Mittermeyer up?”

“Oh,” Eva said, not at all prepared to answer the question, “I hadn’t even thought about putting one in here. I didn’t want to go redecorating Heinrich’s house.” She laughed, but it was a very timid sound.

“Only I’m allowed to monopolize the walls. If I let you start putting up pictures of your husband, we would have had to put a picture of Oskar up too, to be fair,” Magdalena said. “And I don’t believe we have one.”

“No,” Eva said, objecting before she thought about the consequences. “I painted one of Herr Reuenthal too.”

A strange silence fell across the table. “May I see it?” Hilde asked, again trying to be cheerful. “I do like the painting you made of Sieg— and Hank.”

“Now?” Eva asked. She didn’t get an answer, but she had already stood up from the table, abandoning her meal. She wasn’t hungry anyway. “Well, alright.”

She practically ran out of the dining room, and, once she was out, she was so happy to have escaped the oppressive atmosphere that she considered lingering upstairs and not returning. Hilde would wonder where she went, but leaving dinner would be far from the strangest thing any of them had ever done, so it would be excused. But she had been taught early in childhood not to be rude to guests, and Hilde had, through her long absence, become a guest. So she crept into Heinrich’s room (the light from the hallway illuminated his moon-like face, and she could hear his soft breathing) and retrieved the painting of Reuenthal. She didn’t look at it any more than was necessary to pull it out from the stack of rejected watercolor landscapes, and she pressed it to her chest as she came back downstairs, moving too quickly, nervous about nothing.

The other three women were sitting in stony silence when she returned, nothing but the clinking of silverware on the porcelain plates to provide a soundtrack. She passed the painting to Hilde without looking at it, then slid into her chair, looking down at her food.

“Oh, it’s very nice,” Hilde said. There was something wistful in her voice. “I think you’ve captured his likeness quite well.”

“I didn’t know if I had,” Eva said. “I don’t know him as well as I’d like to. It was just from a photo at Maggie’s wedding.”

“I remember from when I was little, when he came to visit my family’s house— he’d sit in the window to wait for my father. Just like that.”

“Maybe I drew him too young, then.”

“No, I just always used to wonder what he was thinking about. I don’t think I ever asked— he wouldn’t have told me anyway.” She tried to laugh.

“No man can complain about a portrait that looks youthful. Let me see,” Magdalena demanded. Hilde passed the painting over without complaint, though when she handed it over the table, Eva almost wished she would accidentally pass it through one of the candle flames in the center, and set the whole thing alight. But why did it matter if Magdalena saw the picture of Reuenthal?

“I don’t think I’ve seen the photo you painted it from,” Magdalena said.

“Wolf took it. I think he thought it was a little too dark to put in the set that he shared with everyone else.”

“Ah.”

“He’s not well lit,” Eva said, rambling now. “In the photo, I mean. I had to make up most of the face. I could really only use it for the pose.”

“You did a good job.”

“Thank you.”

Through the conversation, Elfriede had been silent, eating her dinner and scrupulously not looking at the portrait as it passed around the table.

“Do you want it?” Magdalena asked, holding it out to her, though in such a way that she couldn’t see it. Maybe Magdalena would put it in the flames— she would be more likely to do so than Hilde.

Elfriede looked up at last, and in a very dry voice, said, “If it was intended for me, it would have been given to me, wouldn’t it have been? You shouldn’t try to make me beg.”

“I was going to give it to you,” Eva lied. “I was saving it for your birthday.”

“Her birthday was last month,” Magdalena said dismissively. “Early February baby. It’s what makes her so grim.”

“You should have told me that!”

“I thought I had mentioned it,” Magdalena said. “It must have come up at some point. You know, it certainly did— I told you about the night the two of us snuck out to celebrate. You must have a bad memory.” She waved the picture in front of Elfriede. “Here, take it. Happy birthday.”

Elfriede’s face had gone on a strange journey as Maggie was speaking, but she stamped her expression down into a frown and took the picture silently. She turned it over so that she could study it, laying it flat on the table. Her comment was not about the painting. “Does Maggie tell you many things about me?”

“I— Yes, I suppose.”

“Why do you ask, darling?”

“I’m curious about what else you’ve seen fit to tell— and why you’ve chosen to tell it.”

“Am I not allowed to talk about my childhood?” Magdalena asked, though the affront was false. It was masterful how well she had managed the conversation, Eva realized. They hadn’t planned it, and Eva had thought their conversation about paintings was dangerous for different reasons, but Maggie had managed to very pointedly let her know that she had divulged all the secrets that there were to divulge. This was exactly how they had planned to bait Elfriede.

Eva’s tongue was thick in her mouth— she had never had much of a desire to torment Elfriede, no matter how cruel and nasty the other woman had been at times. She wanted to back out now, to not have any curtains pulled back, either Elfriede’s or hers.

It was too late. Magdalena’s eyes narrowed on her, and Eva knew that if she tried to back down, Magdalena would push through regardless. She would figure out a way to enrage the other woman in just the right way, with or without Eva’s participation. Maybe they were perfect for each other, in that way.

“You can say what you like,” Elfriede said. “I will never understand why you feel the need.”

“You don’t like to think about happier times, when we’re stuck here?”

“Ha.”

“She didn’t tell me very much,” Eva said. She felt pitiful, and she knew she was sabotaging her own plans. “It wasn’t—”

“Scandalous?” Elfriede asked. She picked up her wine glass and tipped it towards the light. “You’re so naive— it’s very funny.”

Eva flushed. “Maybe I am.”

“There are worse things to be,” Hilde said.

“The scandal,” Elfriede said. “It doesn’t matter if she told you explicitly or not. I’m sure you understand exactly what happened, or at least what Maggie wants you to think happened.”

Eva stayed silent, looking down at her plate. Elfriede wasn’t even looking at her. Her eyes were fixed somewhere above Magdalena’s head, that frozen gaze directionless.

“After all— you know as well as I do what dear Maggie is like. And I’m sure you know why I was taken away from the capital and chained up like a dog—” She let her voice get too wild, and she caught herself, returning to an even, cold keel. “If she’s telling stories about our happy days in school, you can make guesses, even if she didn’t give you any details.”

“Then what are you upset about me saying, if it’s all public information?” Magdalena asked.

“You know, I almost thought you had changed while I was gone. It’s comforting to know that nobody changes.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” Magdalena snapped.

Elfriede finally turned to Eva. “She loves helpless, naive, pretty little things, you know. The mistake she made with me was that I’m not one.”

“That’s quite enough,” Hilde said, interrupting the conversation. The other three had almost forgotten that she was there, but her face was red too. “I don’t know what you’re all accusing each other of, but—”

“I’m not accusing Eva of anything,” Elfriede said. She leaned back in her seat. “There’s never been a more faithful woman to her husband.”

“Then what are you accusing me of, if nothing, as you say, has happened, or will happen, or is even capable of happening?” Magdalena asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then what—” Hilde tried to break in again. But Elfriede kept talking right over her.

“But it’s not like I haven’t seen this all before. You had to find someone to confide in, someone you could turn against me, to make yourself look like the innocent victim. This perfect little story you made up in your head— I don’t even think you believe it— but it gets you what you want. Sympathy, and once you have that—!” She laughed again.

“Eva,” Magdalena said. “Please tell Elfriede exactly what story I told you. I wasn’t lying.”

“Oh, who isn’t a liar?” Elfriede asked. “But tell me. I’m curious.”

Evangeline felt like she was being pressed between two panes of glass, suffocated and on display. “She didn’t tell me very much,” she managed to say again.

“Leave Eva alone,” Hilde protested. “I don’t know why you have to involve her.” She trailed off as the other two women ignored her, staring Eva down.

“I asked her why talking about Erwin Josef upset her so much,” Eva said. “She told me that it was because she had loved—”

“No, you knew that before,” Magdalena snapped. “Talk about when we were at school.”

Eva’s words were robotic and stumbling as she tried to bring to mind the story Magdalena had told. “You were— friends—”

“No, but go on,” Elfriede said.

“You were at school, and one of the older girls, Susanna, told you both to stay away from each other—”

“There were rumors,” Magdalena said.

“So you couldn’t be seen with each other anymore.”

“And then what?” Elfriede asked. “Come on, Eva, tell me the story.”

“Maggie made friends with Ingrid, and you were jealous—”

Elfriede again laughed aloud. “Oh, gods, keep going, this is very funny.”

“In what way?”

“Well, it’s very funny to call you friends with Ingrid,” she said. “And it’s less that I was jealous, and more that you lied to her, and told her that I was—”

“You were what?”

“You have this innocent little routine,” Elfriede said. “If you’re telling poor little Ingrid that I was the one who manipulated you, that it wasn’t your fault, that of course I was the dangerous one, and the one nobody should ever go near or else they’ll be contaminated — well, it’s a funny little game you like to play with people, when of course it only ends one way. But go on,” she said to Eva. “What happened next?”

“You were jealous, and you turned them in,” Eva said.

“And then what did innocent little Maggie do?”

“Her family paid the school—”

“No,” Elfriede said. “No, no— what was it that got me locked up for years and years?”

“I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t worked so hard to ruin me,” Magdalena said. “If you had just let things lie.”

“What did you do?” Eva asked.

“I told you already,” Magdalena said. She was either truly annoyed with Eva or a good actor. “I just made it clear that she was the one who made it impossible for us all to have a peaceful coexistence at school. Which was true.”

“Did she tell you that she went through my belongings, and turned them in?”

“That wasn’t what got you sent away.”

Elfriede was silent for a deeply uncomfortable stretch. “Because you turned everyone against me first. I wasn’t any more guilty than you.”

“You did that to yourself.”

Elfriede turned to Eva again. “And do you believe that?” she asked.

“Yes, darling, do you?” Magdalena asked. “Do you think I had to do anything to make people want her gone?”

Eva was helpless and she opened her mouth without saying anything to answer the question. “I don’t know,” she said. Her voice cracked.

“You can tell her what you really think,” Magdalena said. “I think she can handle it.”

“Oh, you love to make people cruel. You’re so good at it.”

“I’m not.”

While Elfriede and Magdalena argued, Hilde reached towards Eva, touched her arm as it rested on the table, and mouthed, “Let’s go?” But Eva was frozen, and didn’t register Hilde’s vain attempt to rescue her. Stymied, Hilde was forced to remain and watch the confrontation play out.

“You’re not?”

“I don’t think I have any responsibility for making you the way you are.”

“What are you trying to do to her, then?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“No— you’re trying lots of things. They’re just not working.”

“Maggie hasn’t done anything to me,” Eva said, her voice weak.

“You just don’t see her trying,” Elfriede said. “You are very naive. Or blind. Intentionally.”

“Go on, tell me what she’s blind about.”

Elfried paused, and a strange smile slid over her face. “You know, Mags, I suppose I should apologize.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“If you were trying to make her cruel, you would have used all the tools at your disposal. You’ve been keeping the best one for yourself. But I suppose if you really succeeded, she wouldn’t be your innocent type anymore. You like to toy with your food. You have to save the worst for right before you’re done with her— the denouement— get what you want, and then let her go.”

“What are you talking about?” Eva asked, though she knew very well.

“She’s tried to turn you against me, but she hasn’t tried to turn you against your husband yet, has she?”

“I get along with Herr Mittermeyer quite well,” Magdalena said. “Why would I ever want to do a thing like that? And, furthermore, how could I?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

“It only suits me,” Eva said. The words came out unbidden. “Doesn’t it?”

Elfriede laughed. “Oh, yes. It does.” For the first time, she sounded genuine. “It suits you very well. I’m quite sorry for you.”

A hot lump formed in her throat, and when she tried to speak, nothing came out. Her eyes were burning, and Hilde tried again to put her hand on Eva’s arm.

“Come on, Eva, let’s go,” she said.

Eva almost took her up on the offer, but she couldn’t move. “I’m not stupid,” she protested vainly.

“No,” Magdalena said, sounding resigned. “You’re just kind. Maybe that’s the same thing.”

A silence fell across the table. Elfriede looked down at the painting of Reuenthal, then held it out to Eva. She didn’t take it.

“It’s yours,” Eva said, though she was barely holding back tears. “Keep it.”

“Why?” Elfriede asked. “I don’t love him.”

When Eva couldn’t say anything to that, Elfriede relented and kept the painting. She stood up from the table, and Hilde visibly relaxed at the sign that she was about to leave. But it was Eva who stopped her. “Wait, Elfriede—”

“What?” She stood in the doorway, her face already being swallowed by the shadows of the hallway.

“I don’t want to be cruel,” Eva said. “I don’t want you to think that I could be.”

“Everyone can be. That’s how it works.”

Elfriede almost walked away again, but Magdalena spoke up. “Did you think you’d become cruel, El?” she asked. “Do you think that’s what you wanted, as a kid? What you imagined yourself being?”

Elfriede scoffed. “That’s what being naive is. You don’t know what you’re like until you’re tested. Maybe I was— I don’t know. I don’t remember. You must have liked something about me— maybe that was it.”

“Maybe I should apologize to you,” Magdalena said.

“Don’t bother.”

“Or, you haven’t tried to make Eva into someone else either— I should thank you.”

“By telling her secrets?” Elfriede asked. Her invisible gaze was heavy as she stared at Eva from the shadow of the doorway. “In some ways, it’s much funnier to watch you suffer in your dream world, Maggie. I’ll leave you to it.”

“What dream world?” Magdalena asked. She was clearly getting desperate— Elfriede was about to walk away, and all their plans would fall apart.

“The one where you have a secret key that will make things go your way. But I think you know if you use it, everything will just fall apart, so you’ve trapped yourself by holding onto it, locked yourself into the room. But it’ll fall apart without you, someday.”

“I would tell her, if she wanted to know.”

“But she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to know if she’s capable of being cruel or not.”

“You think so little of me,” Eva said.

“Why don’t you make Magdalena tell you?”

“I don’t want to hate her for it.”

“And what about your husband?” Elfriede asked. It was strange— Wolf had barely been addressed before now.

“I don’t think— I don’t know. I don’t want to hate him.”

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” Eva said, and found that to be true.

There was a strange silence, and then Elfriede spoke. “Your husband is cheating on you. He’s been sleeping with Oskar since before you were married. He loves him more than he loves you.” A bitter twist of her face showed the glint of her teeth in the shadows of the doorway. “And Oskar certainly loves him more than he loves me, but I suppose that isn’t difficult. Goodnight.” And then she turned and left, the soft sound of her footsteps receding down the dark hallway.

In the horrible silence that was left, Magdalena said, “You don’t have to ask me if it’s true. It is.”

The world outside of Eva’s eyes had narrowed down to one tiny point of light, the candle flame in the center of the table. She stared at it until the bright speck engulfed her vision, the light making a blind spot when she turned away from it. She didn’t cry. She would do that later, when she was alone.

“Are you alright, Eva?” Hilde asked. Eva felt bad for her, and she focused on that feeling.

“Hilde,” she said. “I’m going to say goodbye to Heinrich. And then, could you drive me—”

“Of course,” Hilde said.

“Where are you going?” Magdalena asked.

It was theater. They had already planned exactly where Eva would go, a place where they could stage the next phase of their plan. But somehow it felt like an organic choice now— Eva couldn’t stay here, and she had nowhere else to go. No cozy apartment waiting for her in the city, and she couldn’t go back to Wolf’s parents, a few districts away.

But she didn’t want to talk to Magdalena either. She kept addressing Hilde. “Can you take me to Count Landsberg’s house?” she asked. “I don’t know where else I can go.”

“On short notice? Nowhere,” Magdalena said. “You don’t have to leave, Eva.”

“I’ll take you there,” Hilde said. “Or— I can find a place for you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do,” Hilde said.

Eva nodded and stood. The little burned out patch in her vision from staring at the candle made it easy to not look at Magdalena’s face as she walked out, and the darkness of the hallway felt absolute. She stumbled through it by memory alone, trying not to creak the stairs on her way up to Heinrich’s room.

His bedroom was the same refuge it had always been, and she didn’t notice he was awake as she sat down at his bedside. She hadn’t turned on the light, and his eyes were closed.

“I heard you come in earlier,” he said, startling her.

“I was getting a painting for Elfriede,” she said. Her voice was raw, and he immediately understood that something was wrong. Blindly, he reached out his skeletal hand towards her. She couldn’t take it, and so he left it laying on the bedspread, just in her reach.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m leaving tonight, Heinrich.”

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t think I can talk about it,” Eva said. “Ask Maggie to tell you, once I’m gone.”

He nodded and was silent. She was grateful for that, for everything about his companionship. If there hadn’t been wheels in motion that she was now powerless to stop, she would have stayed in the house with him. His friendship would have been enough to keep her there. But even though the plan to rescue Erwin Josef was only a distant thought, far off and unreal, it was enough to force her to move. But still, she could sit there for a moment longer, dash her silent tears away with the back of her hand. His eyes were still closed— he didn’t see her crying.

She took off her wedding ring. It had been a permanent fixture on her hand for years, and she felt naked and empty without it on.

“Will you do me a favor?” she asked, though her voice was thick with tears.

“Yes.”

She picked up Heinrich’s hand from the bedspread and pressed her wedding ring into his palm. She curled his fingers around it and held his hand between both of hers. “If anything happens to me— tell Wolf I forgive him. Please.”

“Is that true?”

“It has to be,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be cruel.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.” She kept holding his hand in hers. She could hear, down the stairs, Hilde moving around and talking with Magdalena, though their voices were too distant to make out in anything other than indistinct tones. Hilde was angry— short and clipped sentences.

“I’m being cruel to you, aren’t I?” she asked Heinrich suddenly.

“Don’t worry about me.” She understood what he meant, and there was no way to argue with him about it. He would do this because he loved her— the kind of love that asked only for the other’s happiness, or wanted to ask only for that, if that was the only thing that was within reach.

Maybe it was true that she could forgive Wolf. Maybe she already had, at the bottom of her heart, prepared for this moment for as long as she had known there was a moment to prepare for. It was a foregone conclusion that she would forgive him, no matter how painful it might be to go through, and to come out the other side. But if that was true, what would she do with the pain she held? Where would it go?

The idea flitted through her mind, and if it had been any other day, any other hour, she would have rejected it. But she wondered, just for a moment, if balancing the scales of that pain would be enough to relieve her— even if only a fraction.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Heinrich asked.

She kept one hand on his, pinned to the bedspread, but with her other she reached out to touch his forehead, stroking his hair back from his forehead. Her fingers tangled through the bone white strands for a moment, and he stayed perfectly still, like a corpse.

She leaned forward, hovering her face just over his. She could feel his shallow breath on her skin.

“Eva—” he said. His eyes were still closed.

“What?”

“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” he said. “Not right now.”

She looked at how thin his skin was— the way all his veins were visible, even in the dim light of the room, at the cracks in his lips, at the weakness of his arms. There would always be something to regret, she supposed, regardless of what she did or didn’t do. And so she kissed him anyway, briefly, but enough to wet his lips and make his hand curl against hers.

“Goodbye, Heinrich,” she said. She didn’t say anything about meeting again— she rather doubted that they would.