CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO POTIONS AND POISONS
FOLKLORE CLASS
CURS DE FOLCLOR
brAN CASTLE
Guards stood outside the classroom, eyes fixed on nothing and yet alert enough to strike at any moment, though Radu paid them no notice.
He continued with his folklore lesson as if the castle weren’t being overrun by royal guards and missing or murdered students.
Either he was extraordinarily talented at appearing unaffected, or he truly was lost within his own imagination, trapped somewhere between myth and reality.
Two days had passed since the discovery that Anastasia was the victim from the tunnels, and the headmaster practically had the castle swarming with guards. I couldn’t tell if their presence comforted or frightened me more.
“In light of recent findings, our next lesson is on Albertus Magnus, philosopher and scientist. Legend says he was the finest alchemist who ever lived. Some believe he possessed magic. Magie.” Radu flipped through pages in the old book he’d taken from the library days earlier, De Mineralibus.
“He studied Aristotle’s work. Fine, fine man he was.
He’s said to have discovered arsenic.” Noah bravely raised his hand, and Radu hopped in delight.
“Yes, Mr. Hale? Do you have anything to offer on the subject and legend of Mr. Magnus?”
“I understand discussing arsenic because of the murders, sir, but how, exactly, does this relate to Romanian folklore?”
Radu blinked several times, mouth opening and shutting.
“Well… it’s foundational to understanding certain legends involving the subject of today’s lesson: the Order of the Dragon.
During its prime, the Order did quite well in places such as Germany and Italy.
Some believe the rise in their nobility ranks was due to the secret practice of using arsenic to slowly poison their targets. ”
I raised a brow, intrigued. Arsenic was known as “inheritance powder” in England, so called for its use by noblemen who wanted to attain a title faster than natural death allowed.
“Are you suggesting the Order were a group of noble alchemist assassins?” Cian asked. “I thought they were supposed to fight perceived enemies of Christianity.”
“My, my, my. Someone has been doing some research! I am impressed, Mr. Farrell. Very good.” Radu puffed his chest out and walked up and down the aisles.
“After Sigismund of Hungary died, the Order became vastly important in this country and its neighbors. Less so in western regions of Europe. The Ottomans were invading, threatening the boyars… er, yes, Mr. Farrell?”
“What exactly are the boyars, sir?”
“Oh! The boyars were the highest-ranking members of the aristocracy under the Wallachian princes. They were feuding over whom to name as the prince, and our ruling system was hopelessly corrupt.”
“Shouldn’t the title of prince be passed along to the next in the family line?” I asked.
Andrei snorted, a bit halfheartedly by his usual standards, but I ignored him. He might know the particular rules of his country, but I didn’t and felt no shame in inquiring.
Radu shook his head. “That wasn’t the way things were done here during medieval times.
Those born illegitimately were able to claim the title of prince.
In fact, most everyone who’d been born of either D?nesti or Dr?culesti seed was legitimized when the boyars appointed them to the throne.
They did not need to be pure-blooded to rule; they simply needed the might of a fierce army.
Much different than what you’re used to in London.
It often led to a lot of relatives murdering each other for the right to rule. ”
Not so different from England in that sense, I thought.
“Those who were opposed to the in-feuding and corruption swelled the ranks of the Order,” Erik said, Russian accent prominent. “I assume they were afraid of losing their culture to invading forces.”
“Ai dreptate. You’re correct. The Order, though they’ve never called themselves by any name as part of their secrecy, banded together, fighting for their freedom and rights.
Legend says they were fierce, taking it upon themselves to eradicate threats from both inside the kingdom and out.
In fact, there are stories that suggest they wanted to unify the country by eliminating the infighting within the two royal lines. ”
Thomas and I glanced at each other. My senses perked up at this revelation. It was precisely what I had worried about. I raised my hand.
“Oh! Yes, Miss Wadsworth? What do you have to add to this discussion? I cannot tell you how pleased I am by everyone’s interest in today’s lesson. Much more lively than our lesson on strigoi.”
“When you say ‘royal family,’ in this instance you’re referring to the House of Basarab, correct? Not the current royal family of the court?”
“Another fine detail. The current royal family—the Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen dynasty—is not related to the House of Basarab in any way. For our purposes, when I say ‘royal family,’ I’m discussing the lineage of Vlad Dracula and his ancestors.
I enjoy keeping our lessons focused on legends surrounding our illustrious castle’s medieval history.
We mostly deal with the Dr?culesti line.
Vlad Dracula’s descendants last ruled in the 1600s.
People have been led to believe his direct descendants are all gone.
” His focus slid in Thomas’s direction. “There are still those in Romania who recall the truth, however.”
“Is the Order functioning today?” Cian asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Are there new members?”
“There—” Radu paused mid-answer and scratched his head.
“Not for quite some time. I believe they died out around the same time the Basarab family lost their seat as prince. Though there is one family who claims to hail from that line—they are actually boyars here today. Now, now. Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I do have some old poems that show the craft and cunning of the Order. Arsenic wasn’t the only trick they used in disposing of their enemies. ”
He passed two pieces of parchment to each of us. Scribbled on them were poems in Romanian, which he promptly translated into English.
“Oh! I just love this one. I recall the first time my parents had introduced me… bother all that. Ahem.
LORDS WEEP, LADIES CRY. DOWN THE ROAD, SAY GOOD-BYE.
LAND SHIFTS AND CAVES DWELL. DEEP IN EARTH, WARM AS HELL.
WATER SEEPS COLD, DEEP, AND FAST. WITHIN ITS WALLS YOU WILL NOT LAST.
Blood frosted inside my veins. The words weren’t exactly the same, but they were strikingly similar to the chanting I’d heard snippets of outside my chambers. Thomas narrowed his eyes, ever in tune with my shifting emotions, and leaned back in his seat.
“Pardon, Professor,” he said. “What is the title of this poem?”
Radu blinked several times, bushy brows raising with the movement. “We will get to that in a moment, Mr. Cresswell. This is copied from a most special and sacred text, known as ‘Poems of Death.’ Poezii Despre Moarte. The original text has gone missing. Very strange and unfortunate indeed.”
I felt Thomas’s attention on me, but I didn’t dare meet his gaze. We were in possession of the very book D?nesti had been searching for. How the missing woman from the village had had it in her custody was yet another mystery to add to our ever-growing list.
The Bianchi brothers scratched notes into their journals. This lesson apparently had just become more intriguing to them with the mention of death. I could hardly contain my own excitement. Radu’s incessant rambling might be worthwhile after all.
“And this text was sacred to the Order?” I asked.
“Yes. Its contents were used by the Order of the Dragon as a sort of… well… it was used to rid the castle of perceived enemies during medieval times. Is it something you recall, Mr. Cresswell? As one of the remaining—and almost secret, I believe—members of that household, your family would have known more about this text, I imagine. Your education must have been exceptional.”
It was subtle, but I did not miss the slight flicker of tightness in Thomas’s spine.
Our classmates shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the revelation unnerving even to those who studied the deceased.
No wonder Thomas wasn’t keen on sharing his ancestry.
Hiding his ties to Vlad Dracula spared him from unwarranted scorn.
Radu apparently had done some research on Thomas’s matriarchal lineage. How intriguing. My body thrummed with alert. Radu was much less clueless than he appeared.
Thomas lifted a shoulder, taking on the air of someone who couldn’t care less about the topic of conversation or the tension now tugging at the room.
He transformed himself into an emotionless automaton, putting on an armor against judgment.
Nicolae glared at his sheet of parchment, not deigning to look at his many-times-removed cousin.
I imagined that he’d known who Thomas was and hadn’t shared it with anyone.
“Can’t say the poem sounds the least bit familiar,” Thomas said. “Or particularly interesting. Though I do believe if used on one’s enemies, it might very well kill them over time. One more line from that book and I might collapse from boredom myself.”
“No, no, no. That would be most unfortunate! Moldoveanu wouldn’t be pleased if I caused the death of his students.” Radu clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes protruding. “Poorly timed use of words, though. After poor Wilhelm, Anastasia, and now Mariana.”
“Who is Mariana?” Thomas asked.
“The maid who was discovered the other morning,” Radu said.
He sealed his lips together, watching the Bianchi twins squirm in their seats.
I’d forgotten that our classmates had discovered her body.
Studying death and coming across corpses outside the laboratory weren’t the same, and the latter was hard to simply get past. I knew all too well the lingering effects of such a discovery.
“Perhaps that’s enough for today’s lesson.”