Revenant Eve

by Sherwood Smith

  Seating arrangements mean something in court circles, and there was Mord in the place of honor at Jaska’s right. At Jaska’s left, his sister. Then Captain Danilov, an empty chair, and Irena, who was on Mord’s other side, leaving a spot for Aurélie between the captain and the countess, and opposite Jaska. It was a perfect arrangement, as equal as one could get, and yet not neutral.

  Aurélie sat, and Jaska spoke: “It is said that German is the language of empire, but French is still the language of civilization, so we are exhibiting our civilized selves tonight.”

  It was another perfect touch, because the best French speakers there were Jaska, Mord, and Aurélie.

  If Aurélie hadn’t been told who Jaska was, I’m sure she would’ve figured it out fast, for the servants bowed to him whenever they came forward to offer foods or take things away, and everything was prefaced with Durchlaucht—“your highness.”

  I could see Jaska eyeing her covertly, a hint of apprehension in the slight quirk of his brows. He was clearly waiting for the anvil to drop.

  But Aurélie gave no sign that anything was different. He led the conversation firmly in safe channels, mostly music, weather, the roads. During a break, the Countess fired her first shot across the bow, asking where Jaska and his mystery guest had met.

  Jaska said, “I first became acquainted with Doña Aurélie in Paris. Come, I know Domnu Balik’s chief pride is his new fortepiano in the big salon. Would you like to hear some of our music? By the time we reached Vienna, I venture to say that we had become a very fine trio. You shall judge.”

  When a prince asks if you would like, you say you would like.

  And so the rest of the evening was musical. A rough start, as the three hadn’t played for a while, but as always, by the end of the first song, they found their rhythm.

  Also as usual, the attention gradually shifted to Mord. They finished with a gorgeous adaption of Bach’s Flute Sonata in G Minor, the violin counterpoint entirely extemporaneous. Mord spun the melodic line into enchantment.

  The company parted around midnight, everyone in a thoughtful mood. When they reached the landing again, Aurélie looked inquiringly at Margit, who pointed and said, “That’s your suite.” And in a lower voice, “I’ll send Viorel. I brought her for you.”

  “I don’t need a maid,” Aurélie whispered back.

  Margit’s brows rose, and she said, “Viorel will pack for you in the morning, then.”

  Aurélie thanked her, wished her good night, and slipped inside.

  She was crossing the outer room, moving from lamp to lamp when a soft knock sounded from outside.

  I heard it immediately, and I think she did as well, for she sped to the door. Jaska was there, alone.

  “May I come inside? Only for a moment,” he said.

  Aurélie backed up, her face in shadow, his dimly lit by the one remaining lamp. “I wanted to apologize. I intended to tell you before we reached Riev. I didn’t think my sister would come herself when I asked her by note to send clothing.”

  “They missed you.”

  “Margit did. I owe her an apology for that, and I’ll go to her next. Am I forgiven for my sin against you?”

  Aurélie looked at him with a troubled expression. “In the words of my grandmother’s priest, it would a sin of omission, not commission. I think I can understand your not telling me who you were. And you are forgiven.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and looked around. If he was waiting for her to disclose her background, he waited in vain. Finally: “You’ll be comfortable here?”

  Aurélie laughed. “You’re asking someone who’s slept in horse stalls and on unswept attic floors?”

  Jaska gave her a quick smile, a questioning glance, and wished her a good night.

  She blew the last lamp out and walked into the bedroom.

  The next morning, Aurélie was up early adapting the riding habit. By the time they set out, she had it fitting perfectly.

  There was little interesting conversation on the ride until the last day. Aurélie was silent, especially as Irena tried to monopolize Jaska by talking to him in Dobreni. Margit hung back, neither aiding nor deflecting Irena’s assumption of the place at Jaska’s side.

  The evening before they descended into the valley of Dobrenica, they spent as guests of a baron whose name was familiar, but I didn’t know any of his descendants except by sight. Word had definitely gone on ahead. They arrived not only to a magnificent feast that lasted for hours, but the local choir trooped over and performed a surprisingly good rendition of Praetorius’s “Nun komm der heiden heiland.”

  The obsequious attention to Jaska and the bowing and studied professions of delight that he was at last returned safely to his homeland were a pretty good indication of what lay ahead.

  Next morning bright and early, Jaska declared that he wanted to reach Riev by nightfall, and so anyone who did not wish to rise early had his leave to depart at a more leisurely time. By sunrise they were all there, Irena looking disgruntled.

  Eighteenth century roads being vastly different from 20th century ones (especially as experienced from the back of a horse instead of in a car or train) kept me from recognizing the landscape. Not all the villages had signs, and though a couple of them looked familiar, that could have been because they resembled one another.

  I finally got my bearings when the cavalcade rounded a forested bend, topped a rise—and there, on the mountaintops across the broad expanse of the checkerboarded valley, was Tony’s castle, silhouetted against the morning sky.

  Not Tony’s, of course. He wouldn’t be born for two centuries.

  Aurélie gave a gasp and pointed.

  I almost spoke, then Margit said, “That is Mount Dhiavilyi, the duchy von Mecklundburg.”

  “The castle?” Aurélie asked.

  “It’s called the Eyrie, as you might expect. ‘Eagles’ nest.’ Fischer von Erlach rebuilt it for them after he finished the royal palace.”

  Jaska glanced back. “Later this morning we should reach Antonius Summit. From there you can see all six of Dobrenica’s highest peaks.”

  A little before noon the horses plodded the last of the steep road to the Summit under a fast-clouding sky. Irena complained about the rain, ostensibly to Margit but in a loud voice, and when Jaska did not respond, she addressed him directly. “Jaska, we ought to ride down the Paduzal Valley road. Baroness Vezsar would welcome us.”

  “Irena, I believe we can make it to Riev, but please. If you’re more comfortable visiting the baroness, don’t feel obliged to ride on.” Jaska’s voice changed timbre, from politeness to anticipation. “Here we are.”

  For a timeless moment everyone halted. All around the horizon rose the mountains, majestic and mysterious.

  Jaska’s voice was husky as he said, “Here to our left, the closest is Mount Tanazca. Above it, at the westmost reach of our border, is Mount Adeliad. You can see Riev on its slope. Our northernmost point is Mount Domitrian, the duchy of the Ysvorods. To the east is Mount Corbesc, and south of that is the highest of all the mountains, said to be the crown, Dsaretsenberg—you hear the German word for mountain in the name?—and south of it, across the valley, is Mount Dhiavilyi, with the Eyrie atop.”

  Jaska stilled, his manner alert. I looked about, but within my limitations saw and heard nothing extraordinary. Mord also stilled then peered intently down the tree-covered slopes below us.

  “Piotr,” Jaska called.

  Captain Danilov brought his horse alongside Jaska’s, his manner also intent. Jaska bent toward him and said in Dobreni, “You and I both know who that must be, and can guess at how many are with him. Can you flank them?”

  “I’ll take half down into Paduzal. I know the old bandits’ path. It should do.”

  “Go.”

  Captain Danilov clucked to his horse and rode back down the column, peeling off half his troops. Soon we heard the thunder of hooves rapidly diminishing.

  Mord edged up. “Do we need arms?” He glanced t
oward Aurélie.

  Jaska said, “I’d rather avoid the…let’s call it the appearance of expectation. This is probably going to be a matter of maneuvering. I want to keep it that way if I can.”

  Margit had stiffened. She turned an ironic eye on her brother. “What about us?” She indicated the women.

  “He’ll know you’re with me,” Jaska said, and Margit looked away quickly, making me suspect that her twin had missed an important cue.

  “He?” Aurélie asked.

  I was thinking, Big surprise. The von Mecklundburgs are trouble now, too. So imagine my surprise when Margit said in a flat voice, “Unless I’m completely wrong, this will be Benedek Ysvorod, Duke of Domitrian.” And another sneaky look Jaska’s way.

  Oh, yeah. There was a cue, all right.

  But Jaska was busy positioning everyone. He motioned the remainder of the guards forward, placing riders at either side of the three women, plus three behind them, and the remainder in pairs, directly behind him, weapons in reach but not brandished.

  The only sounds other than the horse hooves were the sough of foliage, the twitter of birds, and the sudden crash of a chamois through the underbrush, briefly visible, tense and graceful as a ballet dancer in the middle of a leap, and then gone downstream as we passed over a mossy old bridge.

  Jaska increased the pace and looked around with an intent air that made it clear he was going to try to pick the ground before the inevitable encounter. It wasn’t too long before we heard the echoing thud of hooves clattering over a bridge and saw subtle golden smears of dust smudging the forest growth here and there below.

  Then they appeared. It looked at first like an army but quickly resolved into nineteen riders: twelve in uniforms of green with silver facings and cuffs, six in servants’ liveries—although each carried a cudgel and a long hunting knife—and at their head, a tall, saturnine guy in his early to mid-thirties, dark hair swept back from a high brow, hazel eyes narrowed. He wore elegant hunting clothes and carried a musket, two silver-chased pistols, and a beautiful swept-hilted sword in a saddle sheath. He was a Ysvorod, so I expected to find precursory signs of Alec, but the only resemblance was in the quantity of that flowing dark hair. This duke’s, however, was chestnut brown and not the almost-black of Alec’s.

  He pulled off his chapeau bras and bowed low over his horse’s withers, diamonds glinting in his cravat. “I see I am not the first to welcome you home, your highness.”

  “What’s he saying?” Aurélie whispered.

  I told her, not bothering to whisper since only Mord could hear me.

  She seemed to assume that I’d know Dobreni. I continued to translate as Jaska said, “As you see. Will you join us, Benedek? I would rather not subject the ladies to the rain if I can avoid it.”

  “It is this very rain that concerns me,” was the amused response. “I wish to offer shelter to you and your party. Trapetra Castle is a short distance away. Baron Szontos bids me extend his hospitality to you, and as always,” the sardonic voice deepened with amusement, “I am your very obedient servant.”

  Jaska lifted his head, listening, then said, “And how is the Baron? I am lamentably behind in the news.”

  “He flourishes, your highness. And exhorts me to extend his welcome to you and your esteemed party. Princess Margit, well met.”

  Margit gave a stiff nod.

  “Countess Irena, what a delightful surprise to find you here.”

  She flushed as she gave him a haughty nod.

  “Who is this lady?”

  “Donna Aurélie de Mascarenhas, on tour of Europe. We met over music.”

  “How very…civilized. The gentleman?”

  “Domnu Zusya, who preserved my life.”

  “Then this is the hero! Chevalier de Vauban spoke his praises when the ransom was being raised to free you from the Prussians.”

  “Behold, he is here in the flesh,” Jaska said.

  “Permit me to interrupt this interesting conversation with a repeat of the Baron’s invitation. We can continue more comfortably at Trapetra Castle. As you mentioned, there are signs of rain. My concern is for the ladies.”

  “Why are they talking so?” Aurélie whispered under her breath.

  “Nobody can move until Jaska does. If they stay with the safety of etiquette, it hides the implied threat. If the duke makes an overt attack, then he’s committing lèse-majesté. I think he wants to coerce them to this castle under the guise of friendship.”

  “Why?”

  “We will find out.”

  “…when your servants catch up,” the duke was saying, a smile curling the corners of his mouth, “I can send one of my servants here to guide them to the castle.”

  “Servants, yes,” Jaska said. “Do you always ride with six manservants, Benedek?”

  “Regretfully, I must admit that I am a creature of comfort,” the duke replied.

  I remembered a stray fact that I’d learned from Honoré de Vauban, Hippolyte’s descendant and a kind of gentleman archivist: There was once a law that Dobreni nobles could ride around with no more than twelve men-at-arms. Any more was strictly against the law.

  For just this reason.

  “…you observe that my servants carry no more than the stout stick and hunting knife permitted the common man traveling the mountain roads,” Benedek said politely.

  “One wonders why they have need of such things when protected by so many fine men at arms. Or do they question the prowess of said men?” Jaska returned in the same polite voice.

  The rain drops were larger, rustling the treetops. Jaska settled back as if prepared to discourse for the rest of the day—then the faint but unmistakable rumble of hoofbeats sounded underneath the soft hiss and patter of rain.

  Benedek’s expression quirked into a rueful smile. He knew instantly what had happened and, indeed, betrayed no surprise when Captain Danilov and his twelve horsemen appeared directly behind Benedek’s gang.

  Some of the Ysvorod men at arms betrayed surprise and dismay as their horses were shouldered out of the way. Captain Danilov rode forward, his shako regimentally correct, his manner parade-ground sharp as he politely saluted the duke with a touch of a finger to the brim of the cap. He had just divided the Ysvorod party.

  Then a full salute to Jaska, after which he bawled as if a hundred men rode at his back, “Sal-UTE!”

  All twenty-four of the King’s Guard snapped off formal salutes, underscoring who had the upper hand.

  “Permit us,” Benedek said with mocking suavity, “to augment your guard of honor.”

  Jaska inclined his head as if he were in the middle of a ballroom or at a diplomatic affair.

  The ladies’ hats were now pretty sodden, but no one complained as the horses were once again put in motion.

  THIRTY-SIX

  THE RAIN CAME DOWN HARD for about half an hour, then lifted. From the grim way people carried themselves, however, the cold wind wasn’t much improvement on the wet.

  Rain was intermittent as they rode up and down the hillsides of Mt. Tanazca, the smallest of the mountains. How it hurt me to see again the tumbled hush of the slopes matted with primeval leaves, pine needles, chestnuts, and pinecones, the lancing beams of light dancing from between the canopies of green.

  Oh, to be able to breathe that air! To see Alec again, our footsteps crunching as we walked hand in hand over ancient animal paths, he pointing out this site of an old song, that place he and his teenaged companions had run from the Russians after sabotaging a weapons dump. I am home, I kept thinking. And yet I was two hundred years distant.

  They reached the outskirts of Riev as the sun crowned Mt. Adeliad behind them. Up a steep road, with me taking in as much as I could, and grateful that Aurélie was curious. I didn’t dare ask her to turn her head for the same reason I didn’t want to mention the future, but I kept thinking, I’m back, I’m here, Aurélie’s here. They are nearly a couple, they don’t need me anymore. So where is the danger to Dobrenica?

  O
n the right we passed a familiar half timbered, half stone building—Zorfal! In the future it would be the popular place to go for the twenty-somethings and younger, especially the Vigilzhi. Now it was clearly a guardhouse, as men in uniform came and went, the dye-jobs on their blue coats not always matching.

  Up the hill, I gazed to the right, over the plateau where the nobles and wealthy now live. And there was Mecklundburg House. And then Ysvorod House! I recognized the roof, though the rest was hidden by a stone fence around which a couple of guards patrolled. In the future, more fine houses would fill in the spaces between those walled semi-palaces, semi-fortresses. There were a lot more trees, almost a woodland.

  When we reached the road leading to Ysvorod House, Benedek urged his horse forward. “With your permission, your highness?” he asked, doffing his sodden hat.

  Even with his wet hair hanging like worms around his rain-washed face, he was strikingly handsome. I noticed Margit giving him a narrow look as Jaska lifted a tired hand, then checked the gesture, and with a bow toward Irena, said to Benedek, “Hertsa’vos—” the honorific for a duke “—will you do me the honor of escorting Countess Irena in safety to her home?”

  It was a polite order. Irena inclined her head. “Good evening,” she said. “Will you convey my best to her majesty, and inform her that I shall wait upon her on the morrow?” Last she gave Aurélie a polite nod, which was returned.

  Benedek bowed elaborately to Jaska and Margit from the back of his horse. He raised his gauntleted hand, and his followers peeled off, following him and Irena. Aurélie gazed after Irena’s straight back in the middle of all those guys.

  Up St. Katarina Street we rode. There on the left, instead of the Vigilzhi command center, was a beautiful medieval convent, fruit trees visible above its high wall. On the right, another walled fortress in the grand Renaissance style. This was the Riding School, which would become a library, a smaller Vigilzhi station, and a grand opera house.

  A left turn, and there were the buildings that would be the bank and city administration, their fronts on the great square below the palace. Way off to the right was the spire of St. Peter’s Cathedral, still dominating the skyline, and beyond, the roof of the temple with its rose window lit from within: the men had to be inside, attending evening prayer.