Blood Rose Rebellion

by Rosalyn Eves

  A wind picked up, parting the branches of a nearby bush. In that shifting, I caught a glimpse of leaf-green eyes in a bark-brown face. The creature bared tiny needle-pointed teeth at me in what might have passed for a smile. Noémi murmured something about returning to the hotel where we were staying, and when I turned my attention back to the bush, the creature had vanished.

  I wondered how such creatures would fare in our world, free from the Binding. Already rumors were filtering into the cities of strange fae sightings, of creatures with otherworldly voices and the eerie shush-shush of giant wings under cover of darkness. But so far, a kind of uneasy truce held: there had been no attacks on humans since Hunger’s army came to my rescue outside the prison.

  I prayed it would stay that way.

  That evening, I swept into the grand ballroom of the Károlyi mansion on Gábor’s arm, following Petőfi and his young, dark-haired wife. Noémi and William were only a few steps behind us. Though we were a motley crew by any high society standards—two ladies, a middle-class poet, a Romani man, and a radical—the crowd in the ballroom erupted in cheers as our names were announced. Karolina, our hostess for the night, beamed at us from her station near the entrance to the ballroom.

  When the invitation to the ball arrived, I had nearly declined it. I had not seen Karolina since she rejected my plea for help, and I did not want to be in company. I’d rather mourn in private, lick my wounds like an injured animal.

  But Noémi had insisted I come. “They want to celebrate you as a heroine. It will give everyone great pleasure and cost you little enough. If I can attend, surely you can.”

  After that, I could not refuse.

  The walls of the ballroom were draped with great swags of Hungarian colors: red, green, and white knots were everywhere. Even the crimson and white flowers filling the room reflected the national theme.

  I could not help recalling Catherine’s ball, six months earlier, when I had longed to join the dancing and had instead been banished to the schoolroom. Now I was a guest of honor. I wore a gown in the Hungarian style: a tight dark velvet bodice, laced across the breast with rows of pearls, and a flowing skirt. Over the skirt I wore a richly embroidered apron, the gold and silver roses repeating themselves across my full sleeves. Gábor looked striking in his brocaded, silk-damask dolman coat, worn long over embroidered trousers. The coat was not a perfect fit; it was too broad across the shoulders, and I suspected it may have once belonged to Mátyás.

  Karolina rushed toward me, pressing my hands in hers and kissing my cheek. “I am so glad you were able to come. I have felt so wretchedly guilty about that night, turning you away as I did. And yet it has all ended well—here you are, a veritable heroine!”

  My grandmother and my cousin are dead. I did not speak the words out loud—to deliberately cloud the celebration seemed churlish. I ought to have been in mourning, but I had decided to put off my mourning clothes until I reached England. There had been enough of death. I would rather celebrate the living and the good memories I had of the dead.

  In any case, I could not hate Karolina. She had acted on an instinct to protect the ones she loved. I was no longer so certain that, in her place, I would have done differently.

  Karolina waved her hand at the gathering guests in the ballroom. “Our new world, Anna. Now we are no longer Luminate and commoner, countess and serf, master and maid—but we are all Hungarian.”

  We are all Hungarian. No more “us” and “them,” no more solitary “I.”

  Karolina moved on to greet other guests, and Gábor pulled me forward into a csárdás. Noémi and William danced nearby, and as the crowd shifted and flowed around us, a curious lifting sensation filled me.

  Happiness.

  Despite everything, despite Mátyás and Grandmama and the inevitable cost of the breaking and the revolution, there was still joy in my world. Society was shifting, stretching and growing and becoming something bigger and better—better even than I had dreamed back in the days when I had begun to dream with Freddy. Doubtless there would be growing pains, but I had only to look across at Gábor to know the changes were good.

  In a few days’ time, Papa would arrive. Shortly after, I would travel back to England and Noémi would return to her Eszterházy cousins in Vienna. Gábor had already found new work as an undersecretary for Kossuth Lajos, leader of the newly forming Hungarian government, whom Gábor hoped to persuade to pass Romani-favorable laws. A letter had arrived, overflowing—in very un-Papa-like style—with emotion. Papa seemed torn between elation and genuine grief at Grandmama’s loss. One line I had read over and over again until it was cemented in my memory: My dear daughter, I am more proud of you than I know how to say. I should be glad to see him again, and James. I missed even Mama and Catherine.

  But I could not think of leaving Hungary—the country of my heart, hőn szeretett országom, as Grandmama had always known it—without aching.

  Gábor smiled down at me. “Pensive?”

  I smiled back. “Thinking of you.” I sighed. “Thinking of England.”

  “I will wait for you,” he said. And there, before everyone, he kissed me. I kissed him back, pushing myself onto my tiptoes to reach him better. Fire lit in my belly and spread through my body. This, I thought. This is what I want.

  There were so many things I did not know. I did not know what would happen to the creatures I’d released or what shape magic would take in the wake of the broken Binding. I did not know how the Romanies would fare under Pál’s curse. And despite Gábor’s promise, I did not know what would happen between us. But, for perhaps the first time in my life, I was content simply to be, to let things unfold as they would.

  But I knew one thing. This was my home now, this country with the wide plains and the sere prairies, with the rolling Buda hills and the crowded streets of Pest and the mess of people: farmers, nobles, factory workers, students, and revolutionaries—Magyar, Croat, Wallachian, Austrian, Jew, even Romani.

  “I will be back,” I said.

  The truth of that promise sang in my bones.

  Long ago, and far away, over forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea, beyond the glass mountains, and beyond that to a kingdom beneath a pearl sky, a tree grew between worlds.

  Beneath the spreading canopy of leaves, the Lady sat waiting, soft hands folded in her lap, her gleaming face pensive. A young man with curling brown hair lay at her feet. He was neither dead nor alive, neither sleeping nor wakeful. He simply was, and the Lady waited for him to be.

  The east wind rattled past them, shaking the branches of the tree and pulling at the Lady’s hair. The wind pressed at the youth, filling his nose and mouth and lungs with air from the Upper Realm.

  A tremor passed through him.

  All history writing is, to some extent, a work of fiction, an attempt to recapture an era that no longer exists, except in the imagination. This is particularly true of historical fantasy. While I tried, where possible, to ground the story in real historical details, I also tried not to let those details get in the way of telling a good story.

  The first, and probably most striking, historical divergence is in the Hungarian revolution and the timeline leading up to it. The years 1847 and 1848 were tumultuous ones across Europe, with food shortages and riots and a number of small-scale uprisings. Hungary, in particular, was stirred by a burgeoning sense of egalitarianism and a growing nationalist movement that took pride in all things Hungarian. In March of 1848, galvanized by reports of the Paris revolution, Kossuth Lajos presented twelve points to the Austrian Congress in Vienna, demanding greater independence and rights for Hungary. After reading a printed copy of Kossuth’s speech, students and other Viennese citizens rioted in the streets on March 13, clamoring for their own liberties.

  When word of this citizen revolution reached Hungary, Petőfi Sándor and the Youth of March took to the streets on March 15, 1848. They commandeered a printing press and printed copies of Petőfi’s “Nemzeti Dal” (National Poem), a sti
rring poem calling for Hungarians to rise up and reclaim their historic glory. That afternoon, Petőfi read the “Nemzeti Dal” on the steps of the National Museum, inspiring the assembled crowd to march on Pest’s town hall and then to the castle district in Buda to demand the release of political prisoner Táncsics Mihály. The Austrian government and Emperor Ferdinand, already alarmed by the rioting in Vienna and reluctant to spur more violence, quickly bowed to the Hungarian demands and granted them power to form a separate government. Obviously, my revolution plays out much differently from the actual one, which was largely bloodless. But March 15 still stands as an important day to most Hungarians, and I want to acknowledge that.

  Other aspects of the story are, sadly, all too real: the prejudice and mistreatment toward the Romani people were historic fact. They were enslaved in many parts of Romania and the Ottoman Empire until the nineteenth century. In sixteenth-century England, Romanies could be branded and enslaved for two years, and if they tried to escape, enslaved for life. Beginning in the reign of Maria Theresa in Austria in the mid-eighteenth century, it was legal for Romani children to be taken forcibly from their homes and placed with German and Hungarian families, and it was forbidden for Romani families to speak their own language. Though many Romani musicians were in high demand in nineteenth-century Hungary, Romanies, in general, were discriminated against and regarded as pariahs. This prejudice still exists today in many parts of Europe. It can be difficult to reconstruct the world of nineteenth-century Romanies, as literacy rates were low and few kept records. What records we do have were often from outsiders, and either romanticized or tainted by prejudice.

  The term “Romani,” as used in this story, is in some sense an anachronism—in the nineteenth century, Romanies would have been known primarily as “Gypsies” (Cigányok in Hungary). Due to the negative stereotypes attached to the term “Gypsy” and the fact that it stems from a mistaken idea of their origins (it’s a corruption of “Egyptian”), “Roma” or “Romani” has been widely adopted as the preferred form of address. I chose to use “Romani” to acknowledge this preference and to reflect the difference between the way Gábor views his family and friends (and the way Anna comes to) and outsider perspectives. Where “Gypsy” is used, it refers strictly to outsiders’ perspectives of Romani life.

  Some of the characters in the story were real people. Károlyi Karolina, one of two Zichy sisters (her sister was married to Count Batthyány Lajos, who became the first prime minister following the revolution), was an influential force in the growing Hungarian nationalist movement of the 1840s. She and her sister held balls and banquets to raise money for the movement, and spawned the popularity of Hungarian-made gowns and traditional costumes among the fashionable elite. Petőfi Sándor is also real, as is his reputation as the greatest nineteenth-century Hungarian poet. Prince Metternich, mentioned in passing as the leader of the Austrian Circle, dominated Austrian court politics for most of the early nineteenth century in Vienna, and all of the Hapsburgs mentioned were real historical figures (Emperor Ferdinand and Archduke Franz Joseph). The personalities I’ve assigned to these characters, however, are largely invented.

  My thanks to Kovács Ildikó for her help with Hungarian translations, and to Bekefi Miklos, who offered a critical perspective on Hungarian Romanies. If there are faults, they are solely mine.

  Curtis, Benjamin. The Hapsburgs: The History of a Dynasty. New York: Bloomsbury, 2013.

  Gates-Coon, Rebecca. The Landed Estates of the Esterházy Princes: Hungary During the Reforms of Maria Theresia and Joseph II. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994.

  Hancock, Ian. We Are the Romani People. Hatfield, England: University of Hertfordshire Press, 2013.

  Kontler, László. A History of Hungary. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

  Lázár, István. Hungary: A Brief History. Budapest: Corvina, 1993.

  Lukacs, John. Budapest 1900: A Historical Portrait of a City and Its Culture. Grove Press, 1994.

  Sisa, Stephen. The Spirit of Hungary: A Panorama of Hungarian History and Culture. New Hope, PA: Vista Court Books, 1995.

  Stewart, Michael. The Time of the Gypsies. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997.

  *In Hungarian fashion, the surnames are given first, followed by first names, for the Hungarian characters.

  Anna Arden: our intrepid heroine

  Catherine Arden: Anna’s older sister

  Charles Arden: Anna’s father

  James Arden: Anna’s younger brother

  Mária Arden: Anna’s mother

  Lady Margaret Berri: head of the Lucifera order in England

  Ginny Davies: Anna’s maid and friend

  Eszterházy János (ES-ter-haa-zee YAH-nosh): Anna’s great-uncle; Grandmama’s cousin

  Eszterházy Mátyás (ES-ter-haa-zee MAT-yash): Anna’s third cousin; János’s great-nephew

  Eszterházy Noémi (ES-ter-haa-zee NOE-ay-mee): Mátyás’s sister

  Károlyi Karolina (KAH-roy-ee KAH-roe-lee-nah): a young society leader in Buda-Pest

  Kossuth Lajos (KOE-shoot LAH-yosh): political reformer and leader of the liberal party in Hungary; inspired and led the revolution of March 1848

  Kovács Gábor (KOE-vatch GAH-bor): a young Romani man

  Kovács Izidóra (KOE-vatch IZ-ee-DOE-rah): Gábor’s sister

  Petőfi Sándor (PEH-toe-fee SHAHN-dor): a poet and revolutionary; considered by many to be Hungary’s national poet and influential in the March 1848 uprising

  William Skala (SKAA-luh): a Polish-Scottish revolutionary

  Zrínyi Irína (ZREEN-yee EE-ree-nah): Anna’s grandmother

  Zrínyi Pál (ZREEN-yee pahl): Anna’s uncle; Maria Arden’s younger brother

  bácsi (BAH-chee): loosely “uncle,” a term of respect for older men

  belváros (BELL-vah-rosh): city center

  boszorkány (BOH-sor-kahnyuh) (the final component is voiced as a single syllable): a witch

  Buda-Pest (BOO-dah-PESHT): what we now think of as one city used to be two separate cities (they officially joined in 1873). Buda, on the west side of the Duna, was the home of many of the wealthy elite; Pest, on the east side, was a younger, more energetic city.

  csárda (CHAR-duh): a country inn

  csárdás (CHAR-dahsh): a country round dance with a slow beginning and frenetic finish

  Duna (DOO-nah): the Danube River

  Eszterháza (ES-ter-haa-zuh): a formerly rich estate belonging to the Eszterházy family, but largely neglected by 1847. The palace on the estate was known as the Hungarian Versailles.

  fene (FEH-neh): evil spirits. A fene egye meg (uh FEH-neh EH-djuh meg): let the fene eat it; similar expression to “Damn it!”

  fiam (FEE-ahm): my son

  gadzhe (GAH-djuh): Romani word for foreigners. Gadzho for male, gadzhi for female (also commonly spelled gadje/gadjo/gadji as well as gadže)

  hála Istennek (HAA-luh EESH-teh-nek): thank God

  Hapsburgs: the imperial family of Austria-Hungary. In 1847, they were ruled by Emperor Ferdinand. Today, the spelling “Habsburg” is more frequently used, but “Hapsburg” was a common nineteenth-century spelling.

  hőn szeretett országom (HOON SEHR-eh-tet OR-sah-gohm): my dearly beloved country

  Istenem (EESH-tuh-nem): my god

  kérem (KAY-rem): please

  kocsma (KOHCH-muh): a tavern or pub

  lidérc (LEE-dehrts): a succubus-like creature with goose feet, believed to steal your breath while you sleep

  nem (NEHM): no

  néni (NAY-nee): loosely “aunt,” a term of respect for older women

  Pünkösd (POON-kuhshd): the Hungarian name for Pentecost, also Whitsunday

  Romani (roh-MAH-nee): referring to Romani culture and language, also to the people themselves

  rusalka (roo-SAHL-kah): the spirit of a drowned maiden, believed to lurk in trees and near water to drown unwary passersby

  Sárvár (SHAR-vahr): the name of a castle and town, formerly belonging to the Nádasdy family (Eliz
abeth, or Erzsébet, Báthory, often called the Blood Countess, married into this family). Literally “mud castle”

  szegény (SEH-gaynyuh) (the final component is voiced as a single syllable): poor (plural: szegények)

  Szentendre (SEN-ten-druh): a picturesque village on the Danube Bend, north of Buda-Pest

  szívem (SEE-vehm): my heart

  temetni tudunk (TEH-met-nee TOO-doonk): we know how to bury (our dead). A Hungarian expression reflecting their familiarity with mourning and funeral rites.

  vadleány (VAHD-lee-ahnyuh) (the final component is voiced as a single syllable): literally “wild girl,” a woodland sprite known for seducing wanderers and siphoning away their strength

  LUMINATE ORDERS

  Animanti: manipulates living bodies. Common spells: healing, animal persuasion, sometimes invisibility. Less common: shapeshifting, necromancy.

  Coremancer: manipulates the mind and heart. Common spells: truth spells, spell re-creation, persuasion, emotional manipulation. Less common: dreams and foresight.

  Elementalist (formerly Alchemist): manipulates nonliving substances (light, weather, fire, water, earth, etc.). Most popular order. Common spells: weather magic, illusions, hidings, firestorms, water manipulation. Less common: firesmiths.

  Lucifera: manipulates forces (gravity, space, time, magnetism). Common spells: telekinesis, portals, flight. Less common: temporal manipulation.

  It doesn’t just take a village to write a book; sometimes it takes a small army. Thanks to all those who have fought alongside me or for me on behalf of this book.