Page 40 of Her Creation

Johanna greeted her warmly, as did Ida, while Wilhelm’s two friends argued animatedly on the sofa at the back of the room.

“They’re discussing Napoleon,” Helena muttered. “Best avoided.”

The evening unfolded much like the others. Helena flitted about, a tireless hostess, ensuring everyone was comfortable and occupied. Wilhelm returned eventually—and, unusually, remained close to Sophia, attentive, almost gentle. He did not pit them against each other as he so often did. The distance sparked a fragile flicker of confidence in Victoria’s chest. Perhaps this would end more easily than she feared. Foolish hope, she reminded herself. She had learned better than to indulge in it. Instead, she whispered a silent prayer to be free of him by night’s end.

About an hour later, as the group finished pressing birdseed into cakes and pine cones, a violent crash erupted from the kitchen, followed by a scream that froze the room.

Wilhelm burst back in, face flushed and wild.

“A bowl fell from one of the upper shelves and shattered on Sophia’s face!” he shouted.

Helena rushed forward, the others close behind. In the kitchen, one of the glossy wooden shelves along the dark green wall had collapsed, stoneware shattered across the floor. Sophia was hunched over the counter, blood streaming down her face in alarming quantity.

Panic erupted. Someone shouted for a doctor, several screamed as they ran frantically about. Johanna pressed a damp cloth to Sophia’s face, visibly shaken, while blood continued to pour through her fingers.

In the chaos, Victoria stood perfectly still.

It struck her then—how truly different her world was from theirs. How accustomed she was to blood, to injury, to bodies broken open and at her mercy. She was the one in complete control of the horror, never at its chaotic mercy.

“Victoria!” Helena called. Sophia had been eased to the floor, pale and shaking, clearly close to losing consciousness.

Victoria’s fingers flexed. Her feet felt rooted, heavy as ancient trees. The wound was severe. The blood was not clotting.

“Go get your father!” Helena cried.

Victoria hesitated—until Sophia lifted her gaze, miserable and frightened, and met Victoria’s eyes.

She knew then what she had to do.

Victoria and Wilhelm stared at one another for a long, suspended moment, the space between them taut as a wire. They both knew that Victoria was capable of helping Sophia. The truth of it lay between them like a blade. Yet if she did so, everyone in the room would know. But she would be free of Wilhelm’s unwanted touch.

Her dark eyes flickered toward the door as the murmur of the two men beyond it rose and fell, their voices low, uncertain. Some of the guests had not entered the kitchen yet. If she were to do anything, they needed to remain outside it. Then her gaze returned to Wilhelm. He watched her closely before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“We are through,” Victoria said, her voice frighteningly low, stripped of tremor or plea. “You will never touch me again.”

Wilhelm stiffened. His body shifted, turning once toward his wife and then back to Victoria, as though weighing the cost of refusal. His jaw tightened.

“She has a severe head injury,” Victoria continued before he could speak, forcing herself to sound certain. “She likely struck her superficial temporal artery. It looks worse than it is. She will live.”

At her words, Wilhelm turned fully toward where Sophia sat slumped on the kitchen floor, Helena and Johanna bracing her on either side. Blood streaked her face in dark rivulets, pooling at her collarbone and soaking into the bodice of her pale pink gown. Ida had already fled the room, unable to stomach the sight.

“You’re lying,” Wilhelm snapped, his voice sharp with panic. “You want her to die.”

Victoria tightened her mouth. She had not cleared the blood. She had not examined the wound properly. In truth, she did not yet know if her assessment was accurate or only an educated gamble. Still, she did not flinch.

“Victoria, you must send for your father!” Johanna cried, her voice bordering on hysteria.

“The old man will not come,” Wilhelm cut in coldly. “He will not leave his castle.” His eyes never left Victoria’s face.

Something strange and electric moved through her then—a flicker of power that shoved aside the frantic swarm of bees buzzing in her stomach. It steadied her spine. She didn’t bother mentioning that her father was tending to the baron today. She had just been given the opportunity to do work on a patient all on her own, to see if she could handle it. It would be the first of many.

“Keep them out there,” she said, her voice firm now. “I don’t need a bigger audience.”

She turned away from Wilhelm without waiting for his reply and moved toward Helena and Sophia. A moment later, Wilhelm exited, his voice low as he spoke to the others. The kitchen fell into a heavy, blood-scented quiet.

Helena stopped dabbing at Sophia’s face with a linen when she saw Victoria approach. Her emerald eyes swept over her friend, surprise flashing briefly before something deeper settled in—recognition, perhaps, or understanding. She slowly sat back on her heels, her gaze never leaving Victoria, as though the scattered pieces of her friend had abruptly aligned into a shape she could finally see.

“Johanna,” Helena said gently but firmly, “it’s getting crowded. And you look as though you may be ill yourself. Go—be with the others.”