Chapter Thirty-Nine

THE SERVANT WHO SHOWED them the way explained that Helga rarely left her suite of
rooms. Alana could understand why because the richly appointed rooms encompassed an area
larger than most homes. Helga looked right at home in them. She'd been having a late
breakfast. Apparently, the maid who had brought the meal had stayed to talk with her. The two
had still been laughing over something even as the maid opened the door for them.
Helga rose from her small dining table at the unexpected intrusion. She probably didn't even
think they were there to see her. The chalet was so big it would be easy to get lost in it.
A tender smile broke out on Alana's face. This was her mother! Her real mother! Helga was
wearing a simple green day dress. Alana noticed she wasn't tall. She was even shorter than
Alana by a few inches. No black hair, either. Helga's was blond, her eyes dark brown. Her
frame was sturdy, not thick, just big boned perhaps. Alana was small boned. Helga's face had
no wrinkles. She must have been a very young mother. She didn't even look forty yet.
"Helga Engel?" Christoph began.
Eyeing them warily, Helga gave a hesitant nod. "You're here to see me?"
Christoph smiled to put her at ease and introduced himself formally as captain of the King's
Guard. "Indeed, I bring you a wonderful surprise."
Helga laughed suddenly, guessing, "Another gift from the king? He's too kind."
Christoph appeared to be taken aback. "Frederick gives you gifts?"
Helga grinned. "Every year, sometimes twice a year." At his continued surprise, she laughed at
him like a schoolgirl. "Oh, nothing like that! Nothing extravagant at all, just little mementos to
let me know he has not forgotten what I did for him. It's not necessary. You should tell him that
for me. This"—she waved a hand to indicate her quarters—"was already too generous."
Helga's expression turned sad. Christoph cleared his throat uncomfortably, no doubt both he
and Helga thinking of the sacrifice she had made. But Alana didn't feel sad. She was ready for
the happy reunion she'd hoped for.
She started to move forward, to give Helga the happy news herself. Christoph suddenly stayed
her, his hand on her arm. She glanced at him and frowned as she took in his rigid military
demeanor.
Sure enough, he asked Helga in official tones, "You don't feel you deserved this reward?"
"I—"
Helga didn't continue, looking wary once again.
"Stop it!" Alana hissed at Christoph. "You're not here to interrogate her."
"You are."
"No, I'm not."
"You are. You have a thousand questions. I merely asked one."
"You have no reason to unleash that suspicious nature of yours here. It is simple modesty when
one denies one is deserving of something. That concept might be foreign to a barbarian like
you, but it's something civilized people frequently encounter."
He didn't appear contrite. Of course, the captain wouldn't. They'd been arguing in whispers so
Helga wouldn't hear them, but that seemed to alarm her even more.
"Would you please tell me why you are here?" Helga asked, glancing nervously between them.
Christoph relaxed. He even smiled again. Alana wondered if her tongue-lashing had really
shooed the captain away for now.
"I apologize, Helga," he said. "The surprise I bring you is your daughter, very much alive as
you can see."
Helga's eyes touched on Alana for the barest second before they rolled up into her head and she
crumbled to the floor in a faint. Alana jumped forward, but she didn't reach her mother in time
to break her fall.
Alana glanced back at Christoph. "Good Lord, you have the subtlety of a boar. You could have
done that more gently!"
He came forward and picked Helga up off the floor and laid her on the sofa in the west corner
of the large room. Alana followed him there and saw some evidence of her mother's artistic
endeavors, a few baskets of yarn, a large frame holding a half-finished tapestry set in front of a
chair.
"What would you have said, eh, to make it easier for her to hear?" he asked. "It was going to be
a shock to her no matter how it was presented."
Alana sighed and leaned over Helga, gently patting her cheeks to wake her. She didn't notice
what Christoph was doing until she saw him approach with a glass of water.
She gasped and shielded her mother's face. "Don't you dare!"
He raised a brow. "Why not? It's quick."
"It's rude. Let me try first."
"You are full of complaints today, why is that? Still nervous?"
"I wasn't. Not until you started interrogating my mother. You're not on duty here today. At least,
you shouldn't be."
"I am always on duty."
"You're the one who told me Helga Engel is my mother," Alana reminded him stiffly. "If you
aren't absolutely sure, you should have said so."
"I am certain."
"Then explain, please."
"She caught me off guard. We had only just spoken of mistresses. Frederick has been faithful to
both his wives, but there was a time between those marriages when he went through a number
of mistresses. One tried to kill him. It is my job to know them all, even though this was before
my time in the palace. I thought I did know. Her remark implied that she and Frederick—"
"I didn't gather that from her remark at all," Alana cut in. "She showed delight that he still
remembers what she did for him, even though she claimed his little gifts weren't necessary.
That, Christoph, is a female response. Are you really not familiar with it?"
He made a look of self-disgust. "Just wake her so she can give you a motherly hug and you will
be too happy to complain anymore."
Alana knelt beside the sofa and continued to pat her mother's cheeks. Without any response at
all. She was beginning to worry that Helga might have hurt herself in that fall. But then she
heard the slight groan and the catch of breath that followed. Helga's eyes opened, disoriented,
but calm, as if waking from a nap—until she noticed Alana. She actually pushed back into the
sofa to try to put distance between them, her eyes rounded in horror.
"Get away from me!" Helga shrieked.
But she was too upset to give Alana a chance to move away. She leapt off the sofa, nearly
knocking Alana over, and ran around behind it.
"You lie!" she cried, pointing a condemning finger at Christoph.
Christoph frowned. "If you don't believe us, then why do you act like she's a ghost? I assure
you her flesh is very warm."
Alana didn't have a chance to reprimand Christoph for his inappropriate remark as Helga loudly
denied, "I don't know who or what she is, but she is not my daughter. My daughter is dead!"
"Yes, we know that's what you thought, what we all thought," Christoph said gently. "But the
proof stands before you that it isn't so."
"Why? Because she says so?"
"Actually, she thought she was Frederick's daughter because the man who stole her thought
he'd taken the princess and that's what he told her. But thanks to you, he took the wrong child."
"Thanks . . . to me," Helga said brokenly.
She finally looked at Alana—and started to cry. But she didn't appear to be crying tears of
happiness.