Expressionless, Aurélie took up the carafe. As she passed the major, on the way to the man on his left, the shorter, rounder one, the major, without turning around, without looking at her, deliberately jerked his elbow back, joggling her arm so that the carafe overturned, the dregs of the wine spilling like blood down the front of her dress, turning the pink silk crimson, and drowning the light of the gems.
“Clumsy, clumsy,” said the red-haired one, Kraus.
There was an uneasy silence in the room, the men shuffling from foot to foot, looking at one another, all feeling they ought to do something, but no one brave enough to speak out. Aurélie’s father’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, but he stayed where he was, exercising the control learned long ago on the field of honor.
“Well?” The major made a brusque gesture. “What are you all doing still standing here? You are dismissed. You report here tomorrow for further orders. Go!”
The men shuffled uneasily toward the door, glancing back over their shoulders, speaking in low voices among themselves. The major plunked back down in his seat.
Stone-faced, Aurélie lifted the empty carafe. “I shall see this refilled.”
Lieutenant von Sternburg jumped to his feet. “Allow me to carry that for you.”
“I can carry my own burdens,” said Aurélie. “Thank you all the same.”
He followed her out into the passage regardless. It was a dark and narrow corridor, joining the old keep with the newer portions of the castle. It smelled of damp and rodent droppings.
Aurélie stopped, and Von Sternburg stopped, too. “It’s all of a piece, isn’t it?” she said bitterly. Now that she was out of the hall, away from the major, away from the villagers, she felt her mask of calm crumbling. “I cannot refuse your aid any more than I can refuse your demands. Will you requisition my good will as you requisition wheat? I warn you, I haven’t any left to give.”
Her voice was beginning to crack. She forced herself to stop, painfully aware that she was still clutching the carafe. She was beginning to hate that carafe. She would have flung it, just to see it crack, but for the fact that she couldn’t give them that satisfaction. And, besides, Major Hoffmeister had probably already added it to his requisition list. That was what the Germans did when they came through, wasn’t it? They took and took and took.
“Mademoiselle de Courcelles.” Von Sternburg took a cautious step forward. “The last thing I wish is to add to your burdens.”
Aurélie couldn’t help it; she began to laugh, and if her laugh was a little wild, Von Sternburg was tactful enough not to comment on it. “Oh, a regular angel of mercy, that’s what you are. Did you and your commanding officer plan this together? He threatens and you soothe and together you get what you want?”
Lieutenant von Sternburg stared at her, looking as though she had struck him. “Is that really what you think of me?”
Paris. Daisies and cakes and the gentle patter of rain.
Aurélie turned her shoulder. “You serve him.”
“I serve my country. Please, whatever you think of me, know that. I serve my country, not Major Hoffmeister. He is—he is a bully.” She could feel his presence, close behind her. His soap smelled faintly of violets. He was, she realized, staring at the nape of her neck, where Hoffmeister’s summary disposal of Suzanne’s chain had left a thin, red welt along her skin. “This—this is inexcusable.”
His fingers barely grazed the bruise, but Aurélie jerked away, covering the spot with her hand. “Should you be saying that of your commanding officer?”
“No.” He looked down at her. Aurélie looked away, away from the appeal in his eyes, but it was impossible to ignore him entirely, not when his very presence vibrated like a bell, driving away everything else. “I shouldn’t. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I approve of his methods.”
Aurélie’s lips pressed tightly together. “Maybe not his methods, but you’re not going to quibble with the ends, are you?”
“Do you mean do I want my country to win this ridiculous war? Of course. I would be a traitor to think otherwise. But do I want it to go on a second longer than it need? And destroy so much of beauty and goodness and . . . never mind.” Von Sternburg gave his head a shake, looking distinctly bemused. “Do you know, you’re still holding that carafe?”
“Yes. I think it might be permanently attached to my palms,” said Aurélie tartly. It was all very well for him to go on about truth and beauty, as if nothing had changed, as if he were still the man she had known in Paris. He wasn’t the one who smelled like a vineyard. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m meant to be filling it with wine so I can go back to my oh-so-honorable duties to my guests.”