The boy's eyes flickered with confusion, recognition, and finally, something that looked like longing. He took a step forward, then another, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
"Mother?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain.
The woman before him was very thin and sickly. He remembered his mother, who had radiant, beautiful eyes and was very pretty. Why did his mother turn out like this?
Linnea sobbed openly, rushing forward and collapsing to her knees before him. She reached up, cupping his face with trembling hands. "You're alive," she wept. "You're alive…" Her fingers traced his cheeks, his brow, as if verifying that he was real.
Sandoz recognized the voice—the same gentle voice that sang lullabies to put him to sleep, the same voice that would protect him whenever a maid bullied him or the duchess scolded him. The voice that gently explained to him that he needed to dress as a girl so the duchess could not harm him.
