by Alma Boykin
After the last diner finished the pickled fish that marked the final course, four muscular men in blue and red livery emerged from a side door and carried a platform around the room. A chorus of “ooh,” and “ah,” and “magnificent” rose as they passed. The sweet reached the head table and Elizabeth could only stare in awe at the skill of the bakers who had duplicated the Lvarna citadel in cake and sugar, including tiny nut-paste figures of Miranda and Ryszard. A servant carried a small table up to the head of the room, and the men set the cake down, then bowed and stepped out of the way.
The bride and groom together lifted off the top of the “main hall,” revealing more sugar figures, including a black horse and a fountain. Ryszard presented the horse to Miranda, who in turn gave him the fountain. With that, King Bogumil stood and blessed the couple. Ryszard led Miranda out of the hall, and Elizabeth ducked her head, hiding her blush. Lewis stood up, got two pieces of the wall at the back of the citadel, and slid one onto the bread-plate in front of her. Matthew did the same for Ildiko. Elizabeth admired the details carved into the thick, dark pastry and nibbled the edge. A heady blend of spices exploded on her tongue and she happily gnawed the firm, gingery bread. She would have to get the recipe.
King Bogumil stood and the others followed him as he strode out of the way so the servants could remove the trestle tables to the edges of the room, clearing the floor for mingling and dancing. “So, this is the Empire’s famous woman warrior.” The heavy man studied her from wig-top to boots. Older than Rudolph and much heartier, King Bogumil still led his soldiers from the front line. Elizabeth had seen his warhorses, almost as large as Oberland draft horses, and understood why he needed such heavy chargers. He wore his iron-grey hair clipped short, and a black iron circlet set with cat’s eye and bright red stones formed his crown.
She curtsied. “Yes, your majesty.”
“Good. Enjoy today and I look forward to seeing you ride tomorrow,” he told her. “We start work the next day.” With that he turned and left to take Queen Minka’s hand and lead her around, so she could meet and speak with the guests.
“Work?” Princess Ildiko’s acid tone boded ill for her uncle and the others.
Lewis nodded. “Yes, my lady. After the equestrian festival tomorrow, their highnesses, Matthew, Elizabeth, and I, and his majesty have military business to discuss and plans to make.”
Ildiko tipped her head back and looked down her nose at Elizabeth. “I trust I am not expected to be responsible for Lady Sarmas’ conduct?”
Matthew hissed, “This way,” and led Elizabeth out of earshot as Lewis loomed over his niece. Matthew rubbed the bridge of his nose before asking, “What did you think of the ginger cake?”
“I think you need to get the instructions and bring them back to Starheart, my lord. Lady Marie would enjoy it very much,” she gushed. “Lord Aquila as well.”
He gazed out over the milling guests. “I think I shall. Kemal Destefani’s mother makes a spicy cookie ball that Mother enjoys, but Goodwife Destefani refuses to tell anyone how she makes it.”
“All cooks have their secrets. I think Mr. Kim, at Donatello Bend, would die before he surrendered the ingredients of his shahma marinade.”
He tipped his head to the side and stared at her. “So the rumor is true! You really do eat shahma.”
“Oh yes, but only those animals that are too old to feed over winter or that don’t need to be kept in spring. Maybe five per year out of a herd of several hundred.”
Lewis laughed from beside her. “Since we ate horse an hour or two ago, why not shahma?”
Ildiko, standing behind her uncle, blanched. “Horse?” Before anyone answered, the overwrought princess moaned and sank onto the floor. Elizabeth dropped to one knee, taking the young woman’s pulse and checking her breathing as Lewis waved for servants. He spoke quickly and quietly, and the ladies gathered Ildiko up and carried her away. “Nerves,” he sighed. “I tell her to eat more, but no, she won’t listen.”
“Tell Lady Martina, not her highness,” Matthew advised. “They listen to their maids when their ignorant, brutish brothers get ignored.” Elizabeth remembered the Starland family argument she’d almost blundered into a year before and had to agree with him.
With that the three Imperial guests separated and mingled with the others, playing diplomat and making apologies and excuses for Ildiko when necessary. The musicians shifted from quiet background music to dance tunes after an hour or so, and Elizabeth found a place to sit where she could watch. King Bogumil and Queen Minka led the first dance, a stately march. Despite her years and blindness, the queen retained her fine-boned beauty and grace. I admire her determination to continue her duties as queen. Surely there’s a way to cure red-spot fever before it settles into someone’s eyes, Elizabeth sighed. The Landers had to have a way, so why can’t we?
Three dances later Archduke Lewis found her, tucked in among the dowagers. “Elizabeth, come,” and he extended his hand.
She shook her head. “I’m not allowed to dance.”
“Not allowed? What…” His eyebrows rose. They dropped and Elizabeth wanted to giggle. She could see him mentally kicking himself as he remembered her position. “Ah. I beg your pardon, Lady Sarmas.” He bowed and sought another partner.
Elizabeth enjoyed watching the festivities. She drank a little wine, nibbled on more of the ginger cake citadel, and savored other people’s joy and happiness. The Poloki seemed genuinely pleased to have Miranda Starland marry their prince and made no attempt to hide their feelings. Just after sundown Elizabeth decided to retire for the evening. As she began skirting the tables along the wall, making her way to one of the side doors that led into the main palace, Lewis reappeared. Both he and Matthew had been doing their best to ensure that no lady went without attention if she desired it. “Leaving us?”
“Yes,” she smiled up at him. “Some of us have evening and dawn liturgy.”
He took her hand and led her to where Bogumil and Minka sat. Alcohol and exertion both had turned the king’s face bright red, and he chuckled as the couple approached. “Seeking our blessing are you, Lewis, Elizabeth?” He boomed.
“Shush,” Minka scolded.
Elizabeth flushed as red as the Poloki crest. “Ah, no your majesties,” she stammered. “I wish to thank you for your gracious hospitality and most generous welcome, and to bid you the best of evenings.”
“You are most welcome, Lady Elizabeth,” Minka replied before her husband could further upset their guests. “And thank you for bringing our new daughter safely home.”
Elizabeth curtsied and let Lewis take her arm and escort her out the door. “Thank you, your grace.”
He released her and she hurried off. The long day started wearing on her, and she had a suspicion that the riding tomorrow meant more than sitting on a horse and being pretty. Should she look in on Princess Idliko? No, if she’s still overwrought, the best person for her is Lady Martina. But why should she be upset with me?
After Sonia helped her out of her dress and left, Elizabeth studied her face in the mirror. Her wig concealed her mousy, almost-brown hair, but could do nothing for decent eyes, an unfashionably “healthy” nose, and thick lips. Her jaw, which might have saved her profile, just fell away, leaving her almost chinless. And I’m too tall and square-bodied. Pretty women are slender, like shimmer-leaf trees, or small, soft, and curving. If Ildiko thought Elizabeth could compete with her beauty, Ildiko needed to have a long talk with a healing woman and her own ladies-in-waiting. Elizabeth yawned and set the mirror aside. She recited the evening litany, then fell asleep.
Two days later, Elizabeth stood at Lord Matthew’s shoulder, studying his list of cavalry formations and light artillery units. Archduke Lewis sat across the table from them, writing out a rough order of battle based on the Imperial infantry. He looked up. “Sarmas, how many from Windth, ah, from Donatello Bend?”
“Five tercios, plus light cavalry, for a total 1500 men, your grace.” Or so Lazlo hoped to have by summer. He a
nd Gary had worked a miracle, one that she needed to live up to.
“Good.” He scratched away on the page. “Well ridden yesterday. Did you hurt anything?”
“Pulled my shoulder, your grace, and Snowy says I’m a fool. Geese should be shot, not pulled.”
Both men laughed. Matthew turned so he could look at her. “You realize that mule is worth more than the entire Starland territory?”
“He is in his own mind at least, my lord,” she agreed. “Godown makes no modest mules.”
Laughter erupted behind them, and the men got to their feet as King Bogumil and the royal princes strode into the council chamber. “Modest mules are as common as peaceful Frankonians,” Bogumil declared, heaving himself into his chair. He’d overdone it the day before, Elizabeth guessed, trying to show up his sons. Not that she had any doubts about the old bear’s ferocity or skill. She curtsied, taking his words as a compliment. Lewis moved so that he sat beside Matthew, with Elizabeth standing between and slightly behind them.
“So. Here is the problem,” Crown Prince Imre began without preamble. “The Frankonians have renewed their pressure on the Bergenland cities and counties. Laurence is talking about stopping all overland trade westbound, and inspecting it for ‘contraband.’ He will not say exactly what that means. Meanwhile, there are rumors about a Turkowi flotilla on the Tongue Sea. The coast states have seen nothing yet, but we can’t discount the rumors. And Tayyip sent the sea states threatening letters as a way of encouraging them to convert to the true faith.” He ran a hand through light brown hair and turned to his father, who nodded, all joviality gone.
Lewis also nodded. “We’ve heard much the same, as well as very disturbing rumors from south of Tivolia, your highness. There are reports of ferengrazzias against the southern cities on the Thumb,” the peninsula south of the Triangle Range, west of Tivolia. “And this past year, the raiders left claim markers on Imperial lands, as well as launching the first army to cross the Dividing Range in several years.”
Prince Ryszard added, “And the new breed of fanatic, do not discount them. They may be tolerated as shock troops.”
The men discussed matters for several minutes before Imre turned to Elizabeth. “What say you? I’m told you have Lord Starland’s confidence, and the Emperor’s as well.”
“Not exactly, your highness, but I can add to your supposition about Frankonia.” She’d gotten two more letters from her mother since that first, most unwelcome missive. “Laurence wants to block the export of metals and timber from Bergenland to the sea republics north of Frankonia, diverting the metals to his armies. That would make the sea republics dependent on trade from the northeast, limiting them to what they can get in the seven months a year of clear seas, at best. He’s trying to squeeze them as he’s squeezing the Empire.”
“That’s foolish. He’ll cut his own throat,” Ryszard protested.
Elizabeth spread her hands. “I cannot argue with your assessment, your highness. But, if the tax system is still unchanged, the Frankonian army is now large enough, with enough artillery, to capture at least one of the sea republics while also harassing Bergenland and the Empire.”
“How do you know this?” King Bogumil toyed with a small knife and she wondered if he intended to throw it at her. He did not sound friendly.
How to phrase this? With utmost care. “Your majesty, I have a source who has thus far been trustworthy. The person is not in the Frankonian court, but has, ah, close ties to someone who is.”
“Who, and what is their position?”
A slow and unpleasant smile appeared on Imre’s face. “According to one of my sources, Father, her mother is a whore in the court, or was until she tried to charge a dead man’s estate for her services.”
Lewis and Matthew rose out of their seats, furious at the insult. Icy calm settled over Elizabeth and she clamped her hands on the men’s shoulders, trying to keep them from overreacting. “So it is said, your highness. After her husband’s death, Olympia Sarmas-to was, indeed, one of Laurence IV’s mistresses and an ornament to his court, or so I have been told on multiple occasions. I was not aware that she attempted to extort money from the royal family, your highness,” and she bowed her head to Imre. “Such a thing would have been pointless, since Laurence IV made no secret of his fondness for female companionship, nor of the identities of his lemen.” She released the men and folded her hands at her waist before facing Bogumil. “Of all things, your majesty, I trust Lady Olympia’s observations on matters financial the most.”
“Very well, Lady Elizabeth.” Bogumil gave Imre a hard look. “So, Lewis, does the Empire face east or west?”
The emperor’s brother studied his notes and she sensed his hesitation. “Your majesty, I am not in a position to say at this moment.”
“But you are the emperor’s brother,” Imre pushed.
“My brother keeps his own council, your highness.”
The Poloki king looked from one man to the other, weighing each, or so Elizabeth guessed. Ryszard and Matthew held their peace and Elizabeth wondered who had been carrying tales around the Poloki court. Not that anyone who knew anything about the court of Laurence IV could have missed her mother’s beauty and sociability.
“Very well,” Bogumil repeated, still toying with the knife. “What troops are you putting the field, and when, based on the current situation?” The discussion returned to the most pressing matter and Elizabeth listened, made mental notes, and answered as best she could when one of the men put a question to her. By the time they finished, her knees, hips, back, and shoulder ached from standing for so long. At last Bogumil dismissed them. Imre gave her another hard look and as she walked back to her quarters, trailed by one of the female servants, she wondered what stories he’d been told.
Lewis and Matthew caught up with her. “You are dismissed,” Matthew pointed to the servant. She curtsied and disappeared. “Just to warn you, Elizabeth, tongues are wagging. It is said that you are not as loyal as you appear.”
“And how am I to counter this rumor, my lords?”
“You can’t,” Lewis admitted. He and Matthew both frowned.
“Just, be careful, Elizabeth. And don’t disappear.” Matthew rubbed the bridge of his nose again.
Elizabeth shrugged, and hissed as her pulled muscles protested. “Very well, my lords.”
They’d reached the cross corridor. Sonia saw them coming and bustled up, curtsying to the men. They nodded to her and went their own ways.
“Sonia, do the men of your acquaintance ever give useful advice or make simple recommendations?”
The older woman thought about it. “Once or twice a year, my lady. Sometimes more. But never if another woman is involved.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Men.
Sonia helped her get ready for supper. Elizabeth could barely raise her arm high enough to get it in a sleeve, thanks to her pulled shoulder muscle. The serving woman eased Elizabeth’s blouse onto her, then unfolded a new garment as Elizabeth fastened the buttons and neck ribbon. “My lady, this should help,” and she held out a short cape.
“That is an excellent thought, Sonia.” The brown and green cape came only to Elizabeth’s waist, unlike her longer jackets, but it fit well and did not billow into the way when she pretended to eat. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“You are welcome, my lady.” She helped set the wig in place and wrinkled her nose. “My lady, this is a lot of hair.”
Laughing, Elizabeth shook her head enough to finish positioning the hairpiece. “This is scandalously short and insultingly simple compared to what the women in Frankonia wore the year I left.” She waved her good hand ten centimeters above the top of the wig. “No shorter than here, with ribbons and flowers and ornate pins and even stuffed birds braided, or woven, or just stuck into them.”
“Goodness,” Sonia breathed, eyes wide. “I think I prefer my scarf, my lady.”
“I preferred a scarf like yours as well,” Elizabeth assured her. “Especially in s
ummer.” Although Sr. Amalthea’s idea of a proper headdress for a postulant left a great deal to be desired. The starch alone inspired more curses than did any mule I’ve ever met.
Still smiling, Elizabeth and Sonia walked out into the hall outside the guest room. They found Leigh Cooper, Lady Miranda’s maidservant, waiting there. “My lady, I must have a private word,” Cooper began, insistent.
“Speak, then.”
“Her highness Princess Miranda insists that you cease harassing her brother at once. You have exceed your place and station, and her highness says that your conduct endangers her marriage and the safety of the Empire.” Cooper sounded triumphant, enunciating her words so that even a foreigner such as Elizabeth could understand them.
I have no idea what this is about and I’m not going to worry with it now. I want to sit and eat. “Thank you, Mistress Cooper. I have heard your message. You may return to her highness.” Elizabeth stepped sideways, past the woman and began walking down the hall, Sonia following.
Cooper’s voice rose an octave. “Did you not hear me? Her highness insists that you stop acting out of your station and interfering with her marriage.”
“I have heard your message. Please so inform her highness.”
The maid darted in front of Elizabeth, forcing her to stop. “You must not approach her highness’s brother again.” The woman’s dilated eyes locked on Elizabeth’s own and she pressed her face too close to the Frankonian. “Your actions endanger the alliance.”
“What am I to do? Lock myself in the stables until the time for us to return to the Empire?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You are making me late. Return to your mistress.” What is wrong with you, Cooper? And what is that odd smell on your breath?
“You don’t understand! You will ruin her highness. Stop, stop, stop!” At each word Cooper’s voice climbed, reaching an ear-stabbing shriek. Eyes wide, face red, Cooper began screaming, incoherent with hysteria. Sonia tried to calm her but the wails continued and Elizabeth started to wonder if Cooper had been taking some kind of herb that affected her mind.
