by Alma Boykin
Avoiding traffic distracted her from her grim thoughts. The high clouds starting to weaken the morning sunlight warned that winter lurked just out of sight, waiting, and the residents of Vindobona worked steadily, preparing for the long cold ahead. Heavy wagons groaned through the streets closest to the walls, carrying supplies to the depots near the palace district. Carts loaded with black, dusty sacks of earth coal left their loads at businesses and some especially prosperous houses. Emperor Rudolph had forbidden storage of more than ten sacks of coal per hearth or oven in any building within the walls for fear of fire, so the coal carts and sleds were a daily sight this time of year and through the winter. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose as a whiff of nightsoil, coal smoke, and tannabark made her eyes water. Southeast wind from the tannery row. Rain tomorrow, I wonder? She eased Maldonado to the side of the road as cries of “make way, make way,” rang out. A very fancy carriage drawn by matching black horses thundered past and she glanced back to see Lazlo mouthing something unflattering about Countess Albinez, the carriage’s owner.
I have to find a way to get messages through the army as fast as news passes through Vindobona. She’d sent no formal notice of her arrival, but people had gathered on corners and in some streets, cheering and waving as she and her men rode through the city. She savored the praise and attention, cueing Maldonado into his high-stepping parade walk and raising her baton to her supporters. Clellan is going to be steaming when he hears. His majesty might not be pleased either. Not that I can do anything about it. What was she supposed to do, have the people chased off? She’d caught her share of mudballs and old fruit, thank you, the year they’d failed to capture Scheel City. “Godown bless,” a carter yelled, tugging the front of his battered felt hat. She touched the brim of her hat in reply.
They reached Donatello House without incident and rode into the open wooden gates. As soon as the last rider crossed the threshold, the staff closed the heavy panels, shutting out the usual prying eyes, petitioners, and street urchins. While she put her baton in its belt case, Lazlo dismounted, then held Maldonado as Elizabeth swung out of her sidesaddle and stepped onto the mounting block. “Thank you,” she told her guards. “You are dismissed until tomorrow.” Grooms took the horses away, or tried to. Maldonado reared up, almost dragging the scrawny stripling off the ground.
“Quit,” Elizabeth hissed. “Hold him, Colonel.” Lazlo caught the stallion’s head and pulled it down as Elizabeth climbed back into the saddle, locking her leg around the leaping horn but ignoring the stirrup. “Clear the courtyard.” Anyone with half a brain had already fled, emptying the space. As soon as she had the reins well in hand, she gave Lazlo a curt nod and he too moved well clear of the fractious horse. “You want trouble, boy? I’ll give you trouble,” she whispered. He tried to rear again and she pulled his head down, then began working him, using hands, seat, and stick to make him turn, back, trot, and rear on her command. She put him through a series of battle kicks, then into a tightly controlled trot in place, before letting him relax. They stopped beside the mounting block and he stood square, chewing on his bit and “thinking.” She dismounted and waited but he stayed still. Satisfied, she pulled the reins over his head and led him to the waiting groom. “I’ll take him out to work tomorrow, unless the weather is dangerous.”
“Yes, m’lady.” She forebore giving the stud a hearty slap on the rump as he clopped past her, now properly quiet.
A woman’s laughing voice called from behind her, “You know very well that if you insist on keeping nothing but intact males, you’re going to have your hands full, Elizabeth.” Archduchess Ann Babenburg, nee Starland, stepped out from behind the safety of a pile of crates and a hay mound.
Elizabeth grinned and walked up to the older woman. They embraced and she replied half under her breath, “Intact males are predictable and easy to manage, unlike some mares of my acquaintance.” Leaning back she added, “Geldings are serviceable but not much fun,” and winked.
Ann pretended to be shocked by such language. “A proper lady of court would never even think such a thing.” She slid her arm into Elizabeth’s and they walked to where Lazlo and some of the servants waited. “I, however, heartily agree. You always have had excellent taste in horseflesh.”
After proper greetings had been exchanged, Elizabeth took a moment to shed her hat and riding boots, exchanging her uniform jacket for a more comfortable, older version. Then she joined Ann and Lazlo in the solar. She stopped to pet her two precious pfeach trees, now tall enough to endanger the glass roof of the indoor garden. They’d been one of Lazlo’s first courting gifts to her, long before she learned that he was trying to win her heart. They’d survived the Siege, Ann’s late husband, and the fire that had gutted one wing of Donatello House five years before. As Elizabeth took her seat, she caught a glimpse of Lazlo chasing a confused looking maid out of the solar and locking the door. “Colonel, is there a problem?”
Ann answered instead. “Not yet, but you need to know about it in case gossip gets any worse.” She waited until Lazlo returned and took his seat beside Elizabeth. “Shall I go first?”
He nodded, taking Elizabeth’s hand. Ann poured all three of them chokofee, then sat back, stirring sucre into hers.
“Elizabeth, what do you remember about my brother’s personal conduct?”
“Quill was a model of conduct. He never strayed from Marie, never mistreated her that I knew of, never spoke ill of her in public or private.” Was there anything else? No, not that I recall, aside from rumors that after Roland was born he and Marie stopped sharing a bed. “That’s what I remember.”
“That’s ninety percent of the truth.” Ann and Lazlo both drank more chokofee. “Quill had a lover. Once he married Marie he remained faithful to her until after Roland’s birth, then with her knowledge returned to his lover on occasion. Quill said that Marie seemed relieved when he asked her permission to stop having conjugal relations with her except when she requested them.” Ann shook her head a little, a sad expression on her age-softened features.
Elizabeth shook her head in turn, unable to imagine such a thing. Even though she sometimes felt a little physical discomfort when she and Lazlo made love, a legacy of the golden horn smut poisoning, she couldn’t imagine being happy if he asked her to return to celibacy. “What has this to do with me, other than having been Quill’s student and supporter?”
Lazlo shifted in his seat. “Elizabeth, do you remember when you once asked if Kemal had married, and I said that he and Duke Starland had an understanding?”
“Vaguely.” She stopped. No. Kemal and Quill? Kemal was Quill’s Jenna man? Oh. And Marie knew? Oh St. Sabrina, no wonder Marie always seemed to try too hard to be the perfect duchess. And no wonder she thought Quill might desire me, since I was more man-shaped than woman-shaped the first time she saw me. “Kemal and Quill. That explains some things.”
“There are suggestions that Duke Matthew takes after Quill that way,” Lazlo said, stroking her hand. “And there have been inquiries, less discreet, to see if I do as well.” He shook his head. “To make matters more complicated, Duke Matthew asked if I would be willing to work for him as aid de camp, since you have been training Ulrich and I have experience operating on the eastern border.”
“Oh sweet Godown, no wonder Quill was furious when he found out we’d married! He said he wanted you free to be Matthew’s advisor and captain, and if he thought that…” She couldn’t finish the thought.
Ann set down her cup, leaned forward, and took Elizabeth’s other hand. “Quill was thinking about what Kemal meant to him, and how much their relations had helped him before he married Marie, and not about your or Lazlo’s feelings. Did he ever apologize?”
“Yes, after the damage was done.”
“And after he’d told Archduke Gerald Kazmer,” Lazlo snapped. “Who tried to get Emperor Rudolph to order us to divorce and to command Elizabeth to marry Matthew.”
“Gerald Kazmer was, Godown forgive me, an ass of the fir
st degree.” Ann rolled her eyes. “Lewis told me about their growing-up years. Gerald Kazmer was born an ass, matured into a fool, and mellowed into a suspicious boor in his old age.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand and then released it. “Lewis and Arpad swore that their mother must have eaten sour-drops when she was carrying Kazmer.”
“No argument here, my lady,” Lazlo chuckled without humor. “The reason to drag up all this ancient history, love, is so you know the truth before the rumor tree blossoms any further. No, I do not take after Kemal in that way. I told Duke Matthew that I am quite satisfied with my current position, he congratulated me, and has made no further attempts to press the matter.”
Should I laugh or cry? We thought it such a useful tale, that Lazlo followed St. Jenna. No one asked about his staying near me or questioned our conduct because of course we’d never be sharing a bed. And now this. The room blurred through tears and she tried to wipe them away. “My cup, please. I seem to have dust in my eyes.” Lazlo let go of her shaking hand long enough to put the cup in it. He steadied her wrist as she took the first sip of the sweetened dark, bitter brew, then let her finish unassisted. The cup chattered a little as she put down on the drip catcher. “Let me guess. There’s a rumor that Lazlo and Matthew are a pair, and that I support Matt, or he supports me, for that reason.”
Ann nodded. “Something like that, yes. There’s an especially nasty version claiming that Marie loaned you a dangerous horse because you carried a child for Matthew, in case—”
“No!” Elizabeth jumped to her feet. The chair fell over, clattering on the stone floor. Lazlo surged out of his seat and grabbed her. She sagged against him, shaking her head, tears burning her face. “How could they?” she mumbled into his shoulder as he held her, patting her back.
She felt as well as heard him sigh and say, “Because that is how vicious things have gotten in court, my lady my love. Duke Clellan and his people are using every tool they can grasp, and his majesty can’t or won’t stop them.”
“Lewis said once that Alois, Rudolph’s father, had seen gossip tear the court apart just after Alois came to the throne, and that’s why he and Rudolph kept such a tight rein on things. Thomas hasn’t learned that lesson yet.” Ann sounded remarkably calm, and it helped Elizabeth settle back down. She released her husband and righted the chair, then held her cup out for a refill.
“And if they decide to attack me, they’ll begin by going after Col. Destefani and the people around me. Charming.” I feel sick.
“You’ve been warned. And on a lighter note, I need your advice concerning real mules as opposed to professional asses.” Ann sat back. “I need a set of carriage mules, and you have a better eye than I do.”
Elizabeth nodded to Lazlo, “Please unlock the door before someone thinks we’re doing something suspicious.”
“Like exchanging new recipes for pfeach liqueur?” He did as asked and returned, “Speaking of which, what became of those bottles that were aging behind the white wines?”
“I’ve no idea, I’ve been away, remember? Ah Ann,” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and she winked at Lazlo, “is there a specific color you prefer?”
“Anything but gray.” The three laughed at the old, familiar joke.
It was her last laughter for several hours. Lady Ann left and Elizabeth ventured into her office, lighting the lamps and glaring at the work waiting for her. A stack of papers, correspondence, and partial reports spilled out of the basket and across her heavy, dark wood desk. A smaller, neater pile of invitations perched on the other edge of the desk. Elizabeth tightened her grip on her marshal’s baton and fought the urge to beat the piles with it and then sweep all of the papers into the fire. Pain in her hand warned her to release the metal and wood before she cut herself, and she set the black and silver rod on its stand with exaggerated care, settled her skirts, and sat down. Lazlo had sorted the documents by date, pulling out the few general Imperial notices and making a much smaller second pile. Begin at the beginning and go to the end. I will need another table. “David.”
The door opened and a brown-clad footman appeared. “Your grace?”
“A small table, here, please. And red-leaf tea in an hour.”
“Yes, your grace.” He brought a campaign table and set it at her right elbow, bowed, and disappeared.
She read the Imperial notices, only one of which had anything to do with her. Good. A tariff on sheep wool will encourage more shahma breeding and raising. The Empire imports too much sheep wool as it is, when we have such good shahma. And if I sell more shahma, I can finally replace those last windows in the chapel with colored glass. She scrawled a note in the corner of the page to have a word with Ann about splitting the flocks at Donatello Bend again, maybe renting pastures from Duke Kossuth on his lands near the Dividing Range this time, or perhaps talking to Duke Matthew Starland about it.
Then she attacked the pile of correspondence and reports. She’d read a month’s worth when someone tapped on the door. “Enter,” she snapped. David opened the door, brought in a second small table, then a tray of hot tea and small savories. He poured a cup of tea, bowed, and left. Someone must have reminded the staff about my fondness for pointless paperwork. She drank the tea, ate two of the hot cheese bites, had a second cup, and returned to work. A maid came in, refilled the lamps, and departed at some point. Elizabeth barely noticed. She’d emptied the teapot and plate and made two trips to use the necessary closet before her anger, frustration, and disgust reached their limits. Hands shaking, shoulders tight, head pounding, she folded her hands in her lap and closed burning eyes.
I am not perfect. No one on this planet and probably not on any other planet is perfect. Only Godown is perfect. The Frankonians did not roll over and die. They never have and never will. What in the name of St. Kiara’s flame was I supposed to do? I did not know about that second army because they’ve never fought like that before. I can’t make firewood and clean water appear from the sky. We captured Florabi and drove Lauri’s men back to where they were two years ago, where the treaty said they were supposed to stay. What more do you ignorant, inexperienced, unrealistic, stay-at-home, perfume-swilling swine want?
“They want a miracle, your grace, and begging your pardon, but if you stick your tongue any farther out, a bird will light on it.” She opened her eyes to find Lazlo standing in front of the desk, a leather folder full of papers tucked under one arm. “No, you were not speaking aloud, but your lips were moving.”
How shall I put this? “I am curious as to why these,” she waved to one of the sub-piles of inter-office letters, “never passed south.”
“Because the box with all of the state documents in it only arrived the day after news of your pending return did, your grace.”
“Ah. Thank you, Colonel.” She reached for the folder. “For me?”
He passed it to her. “Yes, your grace, but perhaps not until later? It is the sixth hour after noon, and those are all supply reports based on the harvest to date. They need your acknowledgment and nothing more.”
Her stomach growled and a spasm from her bladder warned that the last of the tea wanted out. “An excellent point, Colonel, thank you. Put them on the sideboard and I’ll deal with them later.” She stood, staggering as the room swayed and faded. Lazlo caught her. “Colonel, make a note to have someone interrupt me every two hours. I seem to be unused to sitting for so long.” I can’t feel my rump. And my hips hurt. I’m not twenty anymore, alas.
“Very good, your grace.” He waited until she moved steadily under her own power, then began putting out the lamps. She left him to his task and hurried to the necessary before urgency became mortification. Much relieved, she returned just as he finished covering her desk with a piece of cloth, concealing the papers enough to discourage the casually curious. After a final check for anything that might burn or spill, they left the office. She locked the door. Still formal and in his official role as aid, he offered, “If my lady wishes, supper will be in the lesser dining room.
”
“I wish it. I will be there in three-quarters hour.” She turned and walked up the stairs, along the second floor to an ornately carved and gilded door, and entered her bed and dressing chamber. Mina sprang to her feet and dropped a hasty curtsey. “The light blue blouse and brown skirt and jacket.”
“The brown twill or the boiled fleece, my lady?”
“Fleece.” Elizabeth shed the old uniform jacket and stiff blouse, scratching lightly where the starch-heavy collar had rubbed her skin almost raw. Ugh, that’s it. I’m finding something that doesn’t scratch my neck, uniform be damned. Mina handed her a small jar of skin lotion. “Perfect, thank you.” As she rubbed it in, Mina undid her uniform skirt and heavy underskirt. Once Elizabeth finished with the cream, Mina lifted the skirts over Elizabeth’s head with a practiced smoothness. As the maid put them away, Elizabeth discreetly loosened the lacing on her bodice by a centimeter or two.
“My lady, there is a rumor that King Laurence wears stays.” Mina helped her get her left arm into the blouse.
“Oh? Has he fallen off a horse?”
“No, my lady. It is said he wishes to retain his youthful slimness.”
Elizabeth finished dressing and shook her head as she settled a modest wig over her cropped hair. “And yet the preachers rail against women’s vanity. This is a most peculiar world, Mina.”
“Yes, my lady. Will you be going out?”
“No. Not until tomorrow morning. I’ll be riding.”
“Very good, my lady.” She curtsied again as Elizabeth left.
Four of Elizabeth’s younger officers joined her and Lazlo at the table. She made it a point to dine with them in the field and at least once a week during the winter. Rumor control and problem solving are so much easier when both are small. She said the blessing and the young men tore into the food, with proper decorum, of course. How could we have been on tight rations in the middle of one of the prime fruit and grain growing regions of this continent? Because the enemy got there first. Well, I’ll plump up over the winter, Godown willing. Master Joe Kim, a nephew of her first cook, certainly seemed determined to prevent her from starving, judging by the rich meal set out for her consideration.
