by Alma Boykin
She dreaded the gossip even as much as she pretended to ignore it. At least riding accidents were common enough that all of her injuries could be explained by that. Lazlo and her other staff officers, and her few court acquaintances, had been keeping very quiet. Were they trying to let her rest? Elizabeth doubted it, and suspected that someone was shielding her from the rumors, or that no one wanted to admit just how bad the rumors and whispered smears were.
Stop that, she scolded. Enjoy being outside Donatello House and quit worrying. The gossip will be there tomorrow. This lovely weather and good company won’t. They rode a few kilometers more, to the edge of the first slope of the western hills, stopping on a small rise. If she squinted, Elizabeth could just pick out the little ridge where she’d watched the battle. The distance hid the damage to the vineyards on the western hills. Instead, the bare trees and evergreens stood out, black and deep green against the snow, drawing the eye away from the gaps in what had been neat rows of grape vines. Smoke rose from some of the folds and valleys, threads of life escaping from farmhouse and manor house chimneys. Elizabeth breathed as deeply as she could, savoring the clean, familiar scents of snow and wood smoke.
Prince Alois turned his horse to face the east. Elizabeth did the same. Their world seemed peaceful beneath its clean white blanket. There wasn’t enough waste and manure piled up outside the walls yet to show from this distance. Instead, Vindobona looked like a city from a legend, aside from the telltale damage to the northern walls, just barely visible from where they stood. Snowy pawed the snow, sniffed it, and snorted; his tail flicking back and forth. Elizabeth scratched his crest and patted the hairy neck. A few high clouds dimmed the bright winter sun, and she could see the two ends of St. Gerald’s bridge on either side of the sun. “A good sign, your highness,” the tall, thin man beside the prince observed, pointing to the tiny rainbow spots.
“Indeed.” Prince Alois shifted in the saddle. “So, Duchess von Sarmas, how do you like your new property?”
“Your highness? Forgive me, but I am unaware of any new property.” Had Lewis given her more animals without telling her? That would be like him.
Alois pointed down with his riding whip. “This property. You own the land from here east one kilometer, including the little stream there, and down both sides of this ridge. This is yours, a gift from my father. Although you may not sell it except back to the crown, you are free to build on it as you wish. But no cannon foundries this far from the river, please.” Before she could respond, he added, “And all of Donatello House is yours, as long as you agree to let my mule-mad uncle stay there if my honored mother throws him out of the palace again.”
Aquila backed his horse a little and asked, “Your highness, what did Lewis do this time?”
“He’s talking to Count Irwin Kossuth about crossing his mammoth jacks with some of the count’s mud horses. If he ends up with this planet’s largest, stubbornnest, hungriest mules, he has only himself to blame.”
Lazlo leaned forward and caught Elizabeth’s eye. “You win, my lady.”
“I told you he’d try it. Would you rather have him breeding leggers?”
“What do you mean, breeding leggers, Sarmas?” Alois demanded.
She pivoted Snowy a little toward the prince. “Last spring his grace the archduke asked Axel, the farm manager at Donatello Bend, and I to see what would be involved in crossing Hämäln leggers into the Oberland cross line he already has, in hopes of getting racing horses, your highness. We both thought he was daft to ruin a good line, especially since there is no market for light runners of that sort down here.”
“He is daft. There’s one in every generation and he seems determined to live up to tradition,” Alois leaned back and met Starland’s eyes. “No offence, Duke Starland.”
“None taken, your highness,” Quill replied. “My sister is equally daft, in her own orderly fashion. That’s why I sent her off with Lady Sarmas.”
Elizabeth had to defend Lewis. “Your highness, your grace, he is quite daft, and he is also a damn good commander. Vindobona would not have been able to hold out as long as it did without his leadership.” Snowy dipped his head as if agreeing with her.
“I did not say that he was incompetent, Duchess Sarmas, just that he was crazy,” Alois corrected. “And what do you plan on doing with your new property?”
“Your highness, his majesty’s generosity is far, far more than I could imagine or warrant. I was following orders, nothing more. His grace Duke Starland deserves the credit and the rewards.”
Alois and the man beside him laughed, almost identical sounds. Duke Starland smiled as well. “Your modesty is most becoming, but I have been very well rewarded, Elizabeth. I am the new governor of Tivolia. Matthew will see to the Starland lands, as will you. Marie is looking forward to a warmer climate, and I admit I have no objection to seeing less snow in winter.” He released a long plume of steaming breath. “I am not as young and hearty as I once was.”
“And before you panic, Elizabeth von Sarmas, and you, Col. Destefani,” the thin man said, reaching up and unwrapping his scarf. “My brother has decided against ordering you to divorce so that Elizabeth could marry Matthew Starland.” Elizabeth’s heart raced as Archduke Gerald Kazmer glared at her. “He was not pleased to learn of your marriage and neither was I, and we had discussed forcing you to end it. Given recent events, however, a Starland-Sarmas match would be unwise, for both domestic and international reasons. Since there is no longer any concern about Duchess Sarmas having children that might inherit her property and title, dynastic considerations are no longer in play. And having Matthew marry a woman known to be barren raises more problems than his majesty cares to deal with.”
Elizabeth stared at Snowy’s ears, reciting every saint’s name she could think of and trying not to cry. She risked a glance at Lazlo and saw his hands shaking with anger. She took a deep breath before trusting herself to say, “You are correct, your grace. The lack of dynastic and inheritance considerations does remove my private life from being of direct interest to the Crown.” She sounded amazingly calm to her own ears, even as she wanted to hug Snowy’s neck, or sob into Lazlo’s shoulder. Or slap Gerald Kazmer hard enough to wipe the smile off his lean face. Slapping you so hard you fall off into the snow, then letting Snowy drop a load on his head would be a treat, she growled to herself.
The archduke laughed again, a chilling sound. “I would not go that far, Duchess Sarmas, but it is apparent that King Laurence has given up attempting to recruit or turn you. I still do not trust you.”
“You trust no one, Uncle,” Prince Alois snapped.
“Quite true,” Gerald Kazmer replied, as calm as a pond on a windless day.
“Now, Duchess Sarmas, we need to get you back into the warm before every female in my life scolds me for letting you get a chill,” Alois said. “And before we go snow blind.” He and Gerald Kazmer led the way down the little hill, talking about some family business.
“Congratulations on your governorship, your grace,” Elizabeth told Quill.
“Thank you, and call me Quill.”
Lazlo, features tight, asked, “Your grace, did you tell his majesty about our marriage?”
“Yes, Col. Destefani, I did.” He stared into the blue-white distance ahead of them. “I told him because I was angry with Elizabeth for ruining my plans. I wanted you free to act as Matthew’s captain of the guard and advisor as your brother does for me. Matthew needs someone level-headed, who can be properly respectful but still knowledgeable enough to tell him when he needs to soak his head in a horse trough.” Quill shook his head and looked very old and tired. “I’m sorry, Lazlo. I’m too used to thinking as Duke Starland and not as Aquila, who does remember what it felt like to fall in love, contrary to popular belief.”
After a long silence Lazlo dipped his head. “I forgive you, your grace. And I suppose it is better to have his majesty know.”
“I don’t know,” Starland said. “But I do know that the ne
ws was not truly mine to share, since I forced it from your wife. For which I apologize, Elizabeth. You are not my child and I was not fair to you. I owe you a great deal.”
Eyes stinging with tears, Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Quill, you owe me nothing. I accept your apology and forgive you. Ten years ago you believed in me and gave me a place to prove myself, and if anything I owe you.” She smiled a little. “Without your lending me Lazlo, I’d probably have pulled my hair out by now, assuming I could find where I’d left my hair.”
“Next to your marshal’s baton, on the draft of the report which my lady needs to file before something bad happens to it,” Lazlo reminded her.
“You mean Quill’s baton, which needs to go back to him.”
Quill interrupted, “Yes, it does, because you have your own now, or will as soon as you are fit for Court. Healthy fit, not, argh,” he stopped, realizing the hole he’d begun to dig. “And now you see why I prefer the life of a marcher lord to that of a courtier.”
Prince Alois and his uncle must have overheard the comment, because they laughed along with Elizabeth and Lazlo. Talk changed to safer subjects and the quintet rode back to the city, enjoying the bright cold day. Elizabeth felt much more tired than the short ride warranted, and caught Lazlo and Quill both watching her closely. “What?”
“I have been informed, in excruciating detail, what Marie will do to me if you get hurt or overtired,” Quill told her. “I do not care to test her.”
Archduke Gerald Kazmer said something to Prince Alois. The prince turned and called to Lazlo, “We’re coming in the northern gate, Colonel.”
“Ah. Thank you, your highness.” He dropped back, crossed behind Elizabeth and Quill, and then caught up, putting Elizabeth and Snowy between him and their mentor.
As they approached the gate, the city guards halted the outgoing and incoming traffic for them. Alois raised his hand and all five riders stopped. Gerald Kazmer pointed to something attached to the wall to the left of the top of the outer gate. Elizabeth glanced up, then stared. An eyeless head stared back, battered by weather but still visibly human. It hung in a metal cage suspended from one of the iron spikes. “The rest of him is feeding the birds at Traitors’ Flat.” Gerald Kazmer sounded horribly satisfied. “Your would-be assassin proved quite willing to talk, once a little persuasion had been applied, Duchess Sarmas.”
Elizabeth glared up at the Frankonian churigon’s head. “You failed. I’m still here,” she told it. After a long minute she looked back down. “Thank you, your highness, your grace. That is indeed a welcome sight.”
“You are welcome, Duchess Sarmas.” They rode on.
That night Lazlo joined her in her bed. They did nothing more than hold each other and kiss, but it was a promise and for the moment, it was enough.
11
The End of the Beginning
“You may rise, Elizabeth von Sarmas, Duchess of the Empire, Commander of the eastern forces,” Emperor Rudolph told her.
Easy for you to say, your majesty, she thought as she struggled to get to her feet without dropping the marshal’s baton or overbalancing. The bodice of the formal court dress did not allow any motion, unlike her preferred styles, and the tight lacing made her breasts feel three times as large as usual. The bright orange color gave her skin a jaundiced hue. She hated the gown, had hated it the first time she tried it on, and swore she’d never, ever wear such foolishness again. But a formal court summons required a formal court gown. So now she struggled to get to her feet without falling on her nose.
A further month had passed since her ride with Prince Alois. She and Lazlo had returned to Donatello House to find additional gifts waiting for them, including the official grant of Donatello House, use of Donatello Bend, confirmation of Lazlo’s promotion and a special dispensation from having to raise troops, and bundles that contained several of the ornate tapestries that Mukara had left when he fled Vindobona. Close inspection of the patterns revealed nothing but flowers and birds in the designs, and the tapestries now hung on the walls of Donatello House. Because Lazlo’s promotion had been granted by the crown, it put him in the odd position of being neither commoner nor nobility. “Good,” he told Elizabeth. “I’m your husband, your chief aid, and the one who reminds you to eat.” A slightly lascivious grin appeared as he added, “and bathe.”
She’d blushed. Now she flushed again, this time from nerves, as she finally managed to get to her feet without falling. Emperor Rudolph, still weak but looking and sounding much healthier, nodded. “Congratulations, Duchess Elizabeth von Sarmas, and continue serving us as you have done so well.”
She took the heavy baton in one hand and curtsied. “As Godown wills and you command, your majesty, so may it be.”
He smiled. “Amen. You may go, Duchess Sarmas, and our thanks to you and your husband.”
She curtsied once more and backed two steps, far enough that she could kick the blasted train of her skirt out of the way so it wouldn’t kill her. Then she walked slowly away from the dais in the great mirror hall, every eye in court on her. She kept her chin up and head high. She’d earned her rank and no one could change that, no matter what they thought of her or her parentage.
She circulated among the other courtiers, avoiding Archduke Gerald Kazmer and Duke Charles Midland. It was too nice of a day to ruin by having to listen to Midland explain why Duke Grantholm needed her troops for the next year’s campaigns. Elizabeth made a point to speak with Marie Starland and smile at her. As she’d feared, vicious rumors had sprung up about why Marie had loaned Elizabeth her mare. At best they suggested that Marie wanted to make Elizabeth look bad, and the worst insinuated that Marie had wanted Elizabeth hurt in revenge for Jan Peilov’s death. Marie and Elizabeth agreed to ignore the rumors. They both knew better, as did their families and allies, and that was what mattered.
Prince Alois found her standing near Duke Grantholm and watching the others. “So, have you decided what to do with your new property?”
“Yes, your highness. A small summer palace, with a terraced garden. Nothing too ornate,” she assured him, “because the lovely views deserve something that compliments them, not competes with them.”
He smiled. “A wise choice, Duchess Sarmas, although not many would call a battlefield a lovely view.”
“It is a field of victory surrounding the city of the Babenburgs, your highness. And, if I might venture to say, it is a field of hope that we will continue to grow and prosper, even if we never again reach out to touch the stars.”
“So young, and yet a philosopher,” he teased.
She shook her head. “No, your highness, I am no philosopher. Just a woman trying to do her duty and to make a little sense of her world.”
She curtsied and he left her. Once enough time had passed, she escaped the reception. As soon as she was safely back at Donatello House, Mina and her other ladies helped Elizabeth get out of the layers of gown. “Ahhh,” she sighed with delight, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. Put that away carefully, in case I need it again. And the corsetry with it.” She changed into her winter dress for the masked street party later that evening and went to her office to do a little work. Lazlo had gone out to the Imperial archives, looking for plans for one of the Lander palaces Elizabeth had read about.
At last Elizabeth had time to study her new marshal’s baton. Like Duke Starland’s baton, black wood formed the core of the fifty-centimeter-long staff. It looked smaller around than Quill’s baton, and felt a bit thinner when she gripped it. Polished silver metal capped the butt end and blackened silver capped the head. The blacking had been cut through with engravings, and when she peered at them closely, she could see her name, and depictions of Vindobona and Esterburg. Two blackened iron rings held the caps in place. She slapped the baton against the palm of her other hand. The impact stung.
She sat back, still holding the baton, and smiled. Laurence had been given his chance, Godown had provided him opportunities, and the king had turned them down.
Now she was here, where Godown wanted her to be. All she’d wanted had been a home and a good marriage. Instead she had command of an army, assuming she could keep it funded, fed, and supplied, and a marriage that, Godown willing, had a happy future ahead.
Lazlo returned a few hours later and clucked at finding her immersed in paperwork. “I found what I think you wanted, my lady, but may I suggest a compromise?”
“What kind of compromise?”
He unrolled a sketch. “This is the Lander building, much like the one at Crownpoint in Peilovna, as it turns out.” The structure, longer than it was high, had a wall of enormous windows.
“This might be better,” and he unrolled a second sketch. Still long and relatively low, two and a half levels, the building sported multiple smaller windows, each with simple trim around them. “The window tax is by square meter, my lady, and these can be opened,” he tapped the smaller windows before pointing to the Lander windows. “These cannot, assuming we can find a glassmaker capable of making such huge panes.” He dropped his voice, adding, “Do you really want these reflecting the dawn light at Vindobona? Certain people might take offense at the display.”
“Hmmm.” Certain people would indeed take offense. “An excellent point, Colonel.” She considered the Lander building, “And the morning light would fade everything terribly.” As much as she liked the design, the times were not right for it—maybe some day, but not now, not yet. She rolled up the Lander drawing. “This one,” and she tapped Lazlo’s plans.
