Grasping for the Crowns (The Powers Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  István compared His Majesty’s current appearance to when they had first met and marked the differences. The Emperor wore a white tunic and blue trousers. The Order of the Golden Fleece hung around his neck, and he wore his military insignia but no other orders. At his side hung a cavalry saber, and Josef Karl had tossed back the sides of his riding cape, flashing the ermine trim and scarlet lining. He wore a simplified version of the crown of St. Stephen on his red-brown hair. His darker brown mustache could not hide the new wrinkles in his face or the tired expression around his medium-brown eyes. A gravitas surrounded the Emperor, making him older than his thirty-eight years. István ventured to lower his shields a fraction and “read” his liege and sensed the three Powers of the House observing. He withdrew, wondering where Rudolph happened to be lurking. Then he caught himself, lest thought summon the Emperor’s cousin and buffer.

  “Lords of the diet, elected representatives of our people, we have summoned you to hear our words and we are grateful for your presence.” Josef Karl said the words three times, in German, Hungarian, and Latin. He continued in Hungarian alone as a courtesy. “You are aware that our enemies have sought to fan the flames of division among our peoples by making promises they cannot grant, offers of self-rule and autonomy, suggestions of the restoration of ancient borders and mythical kingdoms. You are also aware that the empire’s residents have borne the burden of the war for three long years and have done so with honor. We too have borne the weight of war, and have done our best, as the Lord has granted, to ease the load carried by our people.

  “Now we look toward the future. Russia dissolves into civil war, and may the blessed Lord show mercy on the Russian people trapped between the armies.” A flurry of hands moved as people crossed themselves. The Protestants joined the murmur of “Amen” and “Selah.” A crack and a boom sounded before His Majesty continued. “We imagine all too easily the same transpiring, should the threats of the Entente governments come to pass and outsiders carve countries out of our imperial lands. For this reason, after much prayer and consideration, and with the hope of a future of peace, we have begun talks with the leading men of our ancient kingdoms and crown lands. First, we intend to regularize and unify the law codes currently in use in our lands, abolishing that which is unnecessary or archaic. As well, over the course of the next three years, we wish to reform our empire, granting greater autonomy to our peoples, those that have shown their loyalty and maturity.”

  What sounded louder, István wondered, the rain pounding down or the commotion in the chamber? Zoltan Szecheny glowered across the chamber, although why István had no idea. He should have been pleased by the news. Fiodor Frankopans, and the Speaker of the Chamber, Paul Szentgyörgy, both smiled and nodded, although Fiodor’s thin, tight-pressed lips warned of his not-entirely heartfelt happiness. Florian Horthy mouthed something, the one hand that István could see clenched tight and almost shaking. Hmm, whom has he been talking to, I wonder, and why is he so angry? Because His Majesty cut his favorite idea out of the MSP’s platform with one slice? The other delegates talked, some waving their hands, others hanging their heads and looking glum. At least two pairs of men exchanged coins, as if settling wagers. The rain pattered against the windows and the Emperor allowed the men to settle down before he spoke again.

  “We will be blunt, lords, gentlemen. Our empire is exhausted, the people and soil both drained of the past years’ fruits. Russia no longer threatens us, nor do the Balkan lands. Serbia has accepted our leadership and her proper place among nations, and Romania regrets her willingness to listen to the whispers of the Entente. But the Ottoman Empire exists no longer. Italy betrayed us and claims that which has never been hers. Germany threatens to take that which belongs to the Polish people and to our Crown. And the discord sowed among our peoples grows as greedy, foolish, and unwise souls seek to use the blandishments of outsiders for their own gain. The Entente has signed a secret, or what they believe is still secret, treaty with elements of a self-proclaimed Czechoslovak government-in-exile, offering them independence and carving up Galicia and Hungary in exchange for promises of support from the Bohemians.” A new rumbling growl swept the chamber followed by shouts, until Paul Szentgyörgy had to pound the table for order with his iron mace of office. His Majesty continued, “We, the empire, will not repudiate our allies, but neither will we assist them in suicidal foolishness. We fight for what is ours, but we fight a war of defense, as we have since 1529. And we seek peace within our lands.

  “You are aware of the uprisings and treason committed in Pilsen and Prague, Budapest and Vienna. You hear the tales from Germany as the Communists threaten and promise, offering paradise on earth for workers and farmers at the price of other men’s lives and souls.” Josef Karl’s expression hardened and steel filled his voice. “We understand that some foolish people hear the promises and follow out of ignorance and desperation. For that reason, we are offering pardons to a few misguided souls who participated in the Communist rebellions out of fear or ignorance, after they show their repentance and true regret. To the traitors we offer no pardon, for they brought their own fate upon themselves.

  “Our enemies have promised much. They offer independence, and expanded borders at the expense of the Hungarian, Russian, and Ottoman peoples. We would not be surprised to learn tomorrow that they promise to recreate the Grand Duchy of Poland-Lithuania.” Josef Karl smiled a little, inviting dry chuckles at the grim joke. “We cannot counter their offer, because we cannot grant the impossible. That right belongs to God alone. Instead we seek peace with honor, peace within our borders, and governance that allows our peoples, all our peoples, to prosper, and our lands to bloom once more. For that reason do we seek to reform the laws, pruning the dead wood and encouraging the fresh shoots. For that reason do we consider reforming our government, to restore harmony within our borders, God willing that it may come to pass.”

  He’s just like Master Gellért, István realized. Josef Karl allowed a small burn, enough to clear the undergrowth and to keep the land healthy, but sought to extinguish the larger conflagration. And he worked to ensure that the small burn remained small in order to prevent a disaster. István wondered what Felix Starhemberg and Prince Wetzel Rozemberk had thought of the proposal, especially Felix. He had both Germans and Croats on his lands. István had Bohemians, Magyars, and Germans, and a few Tatars as well, although his family never looked too closely.

  “We thank you for your service to us and to our lands and people. We pray that the Lord will grant all here wisdom and strength, and show mercy upon us in our weakness. Over the course of the coming months, we will send you our plans for the empire and for the reform of the laws.” The air in the chamber seemed to chill as Josef Karl summoned his full authority as Guardian and House Head. Even those outside the Houses felt the difference, judging by the straighter backs and locked attention. “We will tolerate no double-dealings or secret alliances. Our family granted you rank and honors for your service. Now we call upon you to serve, together and united, for the good of the people the Lord has graciously placed in our care.”

  István, Zoltan, and others rose to their feet, answering, “God willing, we will.” A few of the members refused to render the accolade, and István knew why: the MSP resented His Majesty and anyone who supported him. And Horthy wanted the government for himself.

  After His Majesty departed, István went to his office. On the way, he heard Attila Gabor fulminating. “What does His Majesty mean his family granted my people rank? We’ve held our titles since the Magyar conquest, no thanks to anyone else.”

  A different voice, sounding patient, said, “My lord, I suspect His Majesty spoke in broad terms rather than specifics. After all, of the nobles in the diet, those made after 1600 do outnumber the older, true Magnates and princes.”

  “Well he should have recognized the difference. My family didn’t fight off Slavs, Turks, and Inquisitors for five hundred years to be insulted by our king.”

  Meciar,
walking beside István, shook his head and looked up to the patterned and painted ceiling in the long hallway.

  Gabor, my bloodline goes even farther, to a different land entirely. The Magyars and Szkelzy are parvenus compared to House Szárkány. But István preferred not to argue pedigrees until he had to, not any more. Once it had made good sense, and likely would again in the future. But now? One had to survive in order to leave a pedigree.

  “We all are seed of Adam’s line, my lord,” Meciar observed.

  “Although I’m starting to wonder if Cain spent his final days in Britain,” a voice snarled behind them. They stopped and turned to see Fiodor Frankopans of the Land and Crown Party, the arch of his dark mustache matching the downward curve of his mouth. His green eyes looked stormy, like the clouds visible through the window’s panes. “You have heard the latest, my lord?”

  “No, unless you mean the rumor of the secret agreement His Majesty referred to.”

  Frankopans made a rude gesture with one hand and clenched the fist on the top of his walking stick. “No, my lord. It gets worse. It seems the British have decided that President Woodrow Wilson’s talk of redrawing the maps of the world is a good idea.”

  The three men stopped, stepping out of the way into a window niche and staircase landing. “The Balkans,” István guessed.

  “The Balkans, the entire Ottoman Empire, Persia, Poland, Russia, and everything else east of the Rhine.” Frankopans rested both hands on his stick and leaned forward, voice low. “There are treaties already with Bulgaria, Romania, Serbia, as well as with that purported Czech government and a different group of Poles. And Italy gets the whole of the Adriatic, from Venice around to Ragusa.” He gave Meciar a significant look. “And they are determined to cut Hungary back to the Great Plains, so the Slovaks, Romanians, Poles, and Russians can have their feast.”

  “That’s impossible.” István made a cutting motion with his right hand. “Absolutely impossible. There are as many Magyars and Szkelzy in Transylvania as there are Romanians, and they’ve been there longer. Even the Saxons settled there before the Slavs, at least some of them. And the Slovaks never had a country.” He snorted. “Next they’ll be saying that they’ll make a country for the Jews, or giving North America back to the Red Indians.” Both were equally likely and equally within the power of the Entente.

  Meciar wrung his hands, the kidskin of his gloves whispering under the sound of the rain blowing against the window beside them. “That matches the rumor I heard from my fellow Calvinists in Zürich. That the British government and French have decided that the empire and Germany are solely responsible for the war, and that they intend to avenge every death and shell hole.”

  István started to swear but caught himself. He was better than that. “How short their memories are.” He stopped there, not quite trusting his own self-control. The time had come to change the topic to one better suited to the world of facts rather than the kingdom of rumor. “On a different subject. The legal reforms.”

  “Ah yes, my lord.” Frankopans straightened up, and Meciar nodded his agreement. “I believe the forestry committee, as it currently stands in the Chamber of Magnates, has sufficient expertise for the time being, my lord. I suspect the Socialists will focus on labor and the mining laws for now, leaving our party,” Crown and Land, “and the imperials free to get something useful done. At least the basic study. We will need to bring in lawyers, eventually. More lawyers,” he added when he caught Meciar’s amused expression.

  “Indeed, Mr. Frankopans, my lord,” Meciar said. “Once everything is clear and organized, then we can invite the lawyers in to muddy matters sufficiently for the larger chamber.”

  Given the number of lawyers in both chambers, István had no doubt as to the likelihood of that. He ranked lawyers down with Jews, both groups of people who based their lives on words, not deeds. Which explained why so many Jews seemed to be lawyers, he realized. That and they could continue living off other people, just as they had when the Crown had limited them to lending money and trade instead of allowing (or forcing) them to do real work. Well, not all Jews, he grudgingly admitted, as his clerk opened the office door and bowed him in. Just the worst ones. Those poor creatures from Russia and Galicia were a different breed entirely, them and the Jews who became doctors or learned other useful trades.

  Well, he’d have to do some trading in the chamber in order to get the laws he wanted preserved onto the list. István reached for one of the forestry books and stopped. No. The storm seemed to be abating for now. He’d listened to His Majesty’s speech, had discussed matters with members of his Party, and really should wait until His Majesty’s government presented its requests to the diet.

  “Mr. Sisa, call my carriage,” he told the clerk standing beside the door. He’d missed breakfast because of the Mass, so Luka should have a very nice dinner for him this evening.

  Instead he found Cousin Imre in the library and a very unhappy Luka in the dining room. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Lord István, I truly am. No fuel came today, and there’s no milk or meat to be found in the markets.” She smoothed her apron. “I’ll send Zora and Tadeas out first thing in the morning, Lord István. I do have bread and a bit of the potted chicken and a cold salad.”

  István wanted roast pork, asparagus, hot white bread dripping with butter, or a thick gulyás laden with chunks of beef, red with paprika and a splash of red wine. And coffee, real coffee or China tea to go with it, and a good white wine with ice-wine and nuts and cheese to have while he smoked after the meal. Instead he said, “I see. Thank you, Luka, and I’ll have whatever you can arrange. I’m certain things will improve tomorrow.”

  He walked into his office and found Cousin Imre, who was supposed to be waiting in the library, thumbing through a law book. If Ferenk had not warned him about Imre’s presence, István would have either bitten his head off, blood ties be damned, or stormed out and sulked. Instead he took a deep mental breath, reminded himself that the ancient laws of hospitality forbade the killing of guests, even uninvited relatives, and said, “Cousin Imre. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Imre had the grace to look a trifle embarrassed at having been caught going through the House Head’s possessions. “Ah, Cousin István. Good afternoon!” He put the book back on the shelf and closed the glass doors. “You are back early.”

  “Business had been taken care of and I saw no point in waiting until the storms returned, making Jenö and the horse both miserable.” István sat in his chair and scooted it up to the desk. “What brings you to this side of the river?”

  “I heard that Emperor Josef Karl’s address to the diet met with a cold reception and that he proposed to rewrite the law codes in favor of the Magnates once more.”

  István glanced at the simple clock on the mantle and counted the hours it had taken for the rumor to spread. Three and a quarter to get from parliament to Imre’s father’s office in the northeastern district, provided that was where Imre had been. “Rumor is, once again, one-quarter correct.”

  Imre sat without being invited. “I suspected as much when a mob did not descend on parliament demanding the abolition of the Chamber of Magnates, or cross the bridge to storm the palace. Although the afternoon is still young.” He crossed his skinny legs, locked his hands over his knee, and leaned forward. “So what disaster did the Emperor propose this time?”

  István let himself drop his usual guise, not bothering to hide his rising anger. “In general, His Majesty outlined the current diplomatic situation and announced his desire to see the law codes brought into better accord with eachother.”

  “And in particular?” When István held his tongue, Imre laughed. “You don’t really think that the oath to restrict debate and information to the chamber applies in the family, do you?”

  “Yes, I do.” You are fast wearing out your welcome, cousin or not.

  Imre shook his head and swung his foot back and forth in time with the clock’s ticking. “Really now, Cousin. Everyone will
know by tomorrow morning, once Mr. Horthy calls a meeting to discuss the party’s response to the Emperor’s demands, and the head of the Communists condemns that response. What did Josef Karl say?”

  “While you are under my roof you will speak of His Majesty with proper respect, Imre Andre Tomas Benes,” István hissed. “You are free to address His Majesty with whatever title you find appropriate when you are elsewhere, but here, in my house, in my presence, you will grant His Majesty the respect due to him. Otherwise you are free to go, nay encouraged to go, to a place where your opinions are less distasteful.” István lifted his right hand, his index finger raised, talon extended. “Shall I call Ferenk to bring your coat?”

  “Ah, no, Cousin István, that will not be necessary.” Imre uncrossed his legs and sat back in the chair, hands on the ends of the arms, a wary expression in his watery blue eyes. As usual, Imre retreated from the challenge. István thought once again that to call what his flighty relative did “weaseling” was a grave insult to weasels, ermine, and ferrets. They, at least, served a purpose when kept under proper control. Imre, in contrast, had inherited the worst of both parents: fixating on ideas and causes like his father, but as flighty and self-centered as his mother.

  “I take it you have rejoined to MSP?”

  Imre leaned forward again. “I probably will. Unless they insist on trying to maintain the fiction about the brotherhood of all workers, no matter what nation they belong to.”

  For once István had to agree. “I see. Indeed, I suspect a man from the rail yard on Csepel has very little sympathy for his brother-in-labor from England just now.”