Across the table, Maxi was speaking animatedly. “The tsar wants our help. To destroy the sultan and divide up the Ottoman Empire”—he leaned toward Luzi—“but it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” Luzi asked.

“The British and French won’t allow it. There would be an unnecessary war.”

“Is Habsburg unbeatable?” Luzi was so earnest. Just like Spatz. Elisabeth suddenly missed her so much it almost hurt.

“No one is invincible, Luzi. Not even Habsburg,” Maxi answered.

The idea of war sat uneasy on Elisabeth’s skin. Would Franz join the tsar? What would that mean for Habsburg? What would it mean for Helene as future empress? There had been that attempt on Franz’s life. Might there be another?

Elisabeth glanced at Luzi, who was carefully tightening his doll’s loose bow. She frowned. He should be allowed to just be a child, without all this talk of war. She picked up the feathered yellow fan she’d been given and, once Luzi had finished his task, she caught his eye and made a silly face through the feathers. He grinned, relaxing into himself, letting his tight little frame ease.

“Is he always like this?” she whispered conspiratorially, pointing her eyes briefly toward Maxi.

Luzi’s smile widened. Like Spatz, he loved being in confidence with an adult.

“Your hair, Helene: it’s so beautifully braided.” Sophie’s voice traveled from the other table. “Don’t you agree Franz?”

“Very pretty.” His voice was kind.

“I do it myself,” Helene answered, demure as always.

“Helene has never been difficult a day in her life.” Mother’s volume was twice anyone else’s, as usual.

The words, a lie, also as usual.

How her mother had raged that day at the river. Helene wasn’t her perfect angel then. That day, Helene had been her most difficult child. Not to mention the day Helene had found a nest of baby garden snakes and brought them into the nursery to play with. Or the time their father took them into town and had the two of them perform a song and dance in the market square for coins. Or when Helene went through her thieving phase, stealing hot pies off kitchen windowsills for her and Elisabeth to gorge themselves on under the sleepy willow tree by the river.

Elisabeth hoped that Néné still existed somewhere inside. That she had only been driven into hiding by their mother. A fate Elisabeth would never allow for herself.

Elisabeth glanced toward her sister, hoping to telegraph her support. Instead, her eyes found Franz. Sitting quietly, as Helene spoke to Sophie. Staring—

At Elisabeth.

Her skin prickled. The room narrowed. Her gaze traced his elegant eyebrows, strong chin, lips hovering somewhere between an expression curious and serious. What was he thinking? What did he see when he looked at her?