Chapter 6
Magdeburg, July 1636
Daniel used one of his finest and smallest brushes as he added detail to his painting of the king's ornate jacket. It was richly embroidered in an array of colors and tiny seed pearls, and it had been terribly time-consuming to paint. Normally, he could have sketched the design and done the painting when he was alone, but today, in particular, he felt he should stay and keep Gustavus as still and quiet as possible.
When he'd arrived almost an hour earlier, the king had been bellowing at his cousin, Colonel Erik Haakansson Hand, about the Polish Sejm and their arrogance, their stupidity, how their heads would decorate the walls of the very palace they stood in before he would bow to their outrageous demands. Hand, being careful not to aggravate his crippled and permanently bent right arm, had tried to calm him, but the king was in one of his rages, and would not be stilled until it had run its course.
Daniel had previously wondered aloud to Rebecca if it wasn't just as well to let him vent his anger from time to time, but she said the up-timers claimed that rage became a habit, the more you expressed it. The only way to really cool his temper would be to teach him to control it—and no one was fool enough to propose trying to do that.
The shouting had stilled for some minutes when Hand came out to send one of the guards for a cool towel and a drink for the king. When he set eyes on Daniel, he beamed. “Ah, perfect. Just the distraction he needs.”
“You're sure it wouldn't be better for me to come another day?”
“No, no, your timing is perfect.” Hand waved his left hand at Daniel to go in while he waited for the guard to return.
Daniel entered the Aerie with no small amount of trepidation. He had never been subjected to the king's temper himself, but he had seen it often enough, and in the king's still-weakened condition, it made him more than nervous.
Gustav turned his head when he heard Daniel, preparing to speak, but his frustrated look turned to relief when he saw who had entered. “Daniel, my friend, it's good to see you. I'd forgotten you were coming.” He looked around the room uncertainly, his face pale and drawn. “Shall I . . . would you like me to move?”
“Oh no, there is no need, Your Grace,” Daniel assured him. He would indeed have preferred the king in a different area of the room, as the light was far from ideal where he was currently seated, but he wouldn't think of asking him to move. Gustav looked exhausted.
As Daniel set up his easel and prepared his palette, Hand returned, placing the king's wine on a table beside him and offering the cool towel. Gustavus took it from him and waved his hand, dismissing his cousin without a glance. Though Daniel did not know Hand well, the look of relief on the man's face was unmistakable.
“You will tell me when you're ready, yes?” the king said, placing the towel across his forehead and eyes.
“Oh yes, not to worry. This will take a few minutes yet.” And he made sure it took several more than it needed to, until the king put the towel down on the table without prompting. Only then did Daniel take the canvas and place it on the easel, removing the drape that protected it between sessions.
As he was finishing the lace at the king's collar, Kristina entered, hesitantly. Seeing her, the king waved her in, and she sat beside him. They spoke softly and briefly as she ate one of Sofia's delectable pastries, licking the icing delicately from her fingertips.
Daniel had never seen her so quiet and soothing, but he found himself thinking how lucky a man Ulrik was to find himself so kind a princess to ally himself with. She was in many ways far from the sort of person he envisioned when he thought of royal young ladies.
Soon after, she departed, and a few minutes after that, the king's eyes closed and he slept. Daniel painted on, knowing his presence helped keep the outside world from troubling his king.
∞ ∞ ∞
Emanuel waited in hiding until his father had left his apartment and disappeared down the street. Then he knocked on the door—softly at first, then harder.
He asked himself again, Why am I here? He knew the answer to that question, but had considered leaving twice. He knocked a third time, and Sofia answered.
“Yes?” She didn't recognize him at first. Why would she, with his hat pulled down against the afternoon sun, his face unshaven. Then her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Emanuel. Nice to see you again, but I'm afraid your father is not here. He's out with Benjamin. They are trying to get more painting supplies.”
“Actually,” he said, “I was wondering if I could speak to you . . . if you have a moment.”
She seemed surprised at that, but nodded. “Of course.” She stepped aside, holding the door open. “Won't you come in? I'm sorry for being unprepared for guests. I'm in the middle of baking.”
“That's quite all right,” he said, and followed her into the kitchen. The heat of the oven made the room nearly unbearable. He took off his hat. “Smells good. What are you making?”
“Pastries,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and pulling out a chair at a narrow table. “For Daniel's next sitting with the king—and bread for our meals. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I just wanted to come by and apologize to you about my curt behavior during dinner the other night. It's just that, well, it has been a while since I've spent time with my father. I was just, just—”
“It's all right, Emanuel. I understand. Daniel has told me about how he was back then. But he has changed, I can tell you that. He's a good father to Benjamin. Good to me. He really wants to make a good life here in Magdeburg—and he very much wants you to be a part of it.”
“It would seem so,” Emanuel said, sniffing the air. “Are those the same pastries we had the other night?”
“No,” Sofia said. “They're different, but I'm sure you'd like them. I believe they're cool enough now. Would you like one?”
Emanuel nodded, and as she began to swirl white icing on the top of one, he continued to ask questions. “Are Daniel and the king getting along?”
“Oh, yes. The sittings are going very well. Daniel has painted him before, you know, so it's like they're old friends.” Sofia laughed. “Well not exactly, but to hear Daniel talk, it's like they're brothers.”
Brothers . . . “Very nice. I bet the king sends his best carriage to pick him up.”
“No. Daniel prefers to walk. It helps with his arthritis.”
“Yes, but it's pretty far, through unsavory neighborhoods.”
“Not at all. He likes to go through—”
And she laid it all out for him: the route, the time, everything.
Emanuel nodded and smiled, attentive to her every word, asking a question here and there—simple, innocent questions that his father's new wife happily answered without a second thought.
Sofia set a small plate of decorated pastries in front of him. “They're still a bit too warm for proper icing,” she said, “but they should still taste good.”
Emanuel studied them carefully. They were beautiful, each round pastry with a halo of icing dripping down the sides. “You have a knack for baking. They're lovely.”
“Thank you. Daniel may be an artist with paint, but I'm an artist with icing.” She smiled, picked up the nearest one, and held it out to him.
Emanuel accepted it and took a bite. The pastry was still warm, and practically melted in his mouth. The cinnamon was divine, but the icing was the key. It mixed with the cinnamon and the buttery pastry to create a sweet, tender flavor that he had not experienced often. “Perfection,” he said, finishing off the last bite.
Sofia smiled. “The king seems to think so, as does the princess. Daniel tells me that they sometimes eat the whole box before the sitting is finished. Daniel suggested I make a second box, but I refused. The purpose is to help the king get better, not make him fat. Besides—”
She went on talking about other things, but Emanuel was not listening. He licked icing from his fingers and stared at the plate of pastries. He stared and stared, and a thought came to him. An idea.
A plan.
He stood up abruptly, perhaps too abruptly. He calmed himself, put his hat back on, and cleared his throat. “Well, you are busy, Sofia, and I don't want to keep you any longer. I will leave now. I thank you for your hospitality, and I wish you all the very best.”
“Oh, wait,” she said. “Take some pastries with you—for Peter and Anika, yes?” Sofia took a small box from a stack on a shelf in the corner and put six of the treats into it, tying the box with string to make it easier to carry.
Sofia placed the box into his hands, and he gave her a tender hug.
“Will you come again soon, when Daniel is here?”
He nodded. “Of course. Good day now.”
Emanuel departed, walking down the street with a grim smile on his face that he could no longer contain. It was a good plan—an excellent plan—and one that Peter, his true father, would approve. And yet, the cost would be so great for his other family, Daniel's family, in the end.
He shook his head to clear it, the sweet taste of cinnamon and icing still strong in his mind. He must stay focused on the mission. For Marija. For all of them.