by Alma Boykin
She threw herself into her work, pushing herself and her staff until Major Martin protested, “Your grace, we’ve done everything we can until we reach headquarters and have the information for our final reports.” She sulked for the rest of the day but she relented. The weather improved, turning cool and bright, and the Easterners made good time as they trudged along the Donau Novi, paralleling the river on the north side of the hills. Despite the spring’s rains, the late crops appeared good to Elizabeth’s eyes. Not much quinley had survived the cool summer, but the wheat looked excellent in the places where the armies hadn’t flattened or eaten it.
They resupplied at Donaupont and Karstadt, and collected messages and dispatches from Vindobona. “Tim got home safely,” she read to her staff and commanders. “His churigon re-broke the jaw and set it, so he’ll be able to chew. They removed another broken tooth, but the rest are healthy and he’s recovering well.” She looked up from the page. “I wonder if we are going to have to go back to using protective metal face plates, like the ancient pictures showed.”
Karl Grantholm made a face. “Ugh. I hope not, my lady. Metal faceplates in summer? Or worse, in winter, in the cold?” Even she shivered at the idea. She couldn’t grow a beard for insulation, as Karl Grantholm and T.G. Peilov had begun to do. Marlow Eulenberg just let his mustache grow, and she wondered how he could keep the thing clean when he sneezed. At least he’d passed the “hank of raw fleece” phase.
The Imperial army crossed back into Imperial lands three weeks after the fall equinox. Elizabeth bade each unit farewell in turn, overseeing the last payments and bonuses in person. She took pleasure in confirming several promotions, including Martin and Neruda, and Mou Murphy. She let Marlow do the honors on that occasion, preventing any possible collisions between herself and Jones’s men. According to the latest news from Vindobona, rumors had begun circulating that she’d put Jones in the center so he’d take the worst of the Bergenlander assaults. “Give me patience,” she’d groaned when she read the message. “Donatello Bend took the worst losses in terms of percentage.” She dreaded the visits she’d have to make once she returned to the Bend, and she debated riding straight on to Vindobona this time.
In the end she did her duty. Elizabeth met with the families of each man killed, giving them the full season’s money, and paid bonuses to the wounded as well. She comforted the grieving as best she could, and let the accusations roll off her as some wives and parents vented their anger. It left her drained as much as the long campaign had, and more than once Elizabeth wondered what would happen if she walked into the Donatello’s cold waters. It’s so low already that I’d just catch cold instead of drowning. This will be a year best forgotten, and as soon as possible. She also contemplated drinking herself into oblivion. The prospect of the hangover that would follow persuaded her to duck her head and bear the days as best she could.
She, Major Martin, Captains Neruda and Esposito rode into Vindobona in a snowstorm. She sent them on to their winter quarters. “Nothing personal, gentlemen, but I do not want to see you for at least a week. I’ll send word when I want to begin the campaign review.” Elizabeth had not sent word ahead of her departure from Donatello Bend, and she had to pound on the gate to be let into Donatello House. David and Mina apologized profusely, and she waved them away. “I sent no word. You are not responsible for my lack of attention.”
“Your grace, when should we expect Col. Destefani?” David inquired later that afternoon.
Elizabeth had no answer. She just shook her head and climbed the stairs to her room alone.
11
Aftermath
“Duchess von Sarmas, what news have you of Col. Destefani?”
She’d been dreading Dominic Montoya’s question even though she had an honest answer for it. “None since his return to New Dalfa, my lord. He reached there safely two weeks after the equinox. I have no other news.”
Montoya gave her a long look. “I ask because I have not received any word of when he will be returning to Vindobona,” the first minister explained.
Elizabeth shuffled the papers in front of her, tidying the pile as she sought for inner calm. “It is my… understanding that he has not been recalled from New Dalfa, but again, I have no news.” A servant offered a pot of chokofee and she nodded, holding the cup up. Her hands had stopped shaking at last, thanks be. It had taken two weeks this time, and another two before she stopped having minor tremors as she reviewed her field notes.
Montoya made a puzzled sound but didn’t press the matter. Elizabeth hoped no one else would. She’d gotten heartily tired of people trying to jolly her out of her gray mood, to the point of almost dismissing Mina Green when the maid suggested, timidly and with much hesitation, that “Perhaps my lady would like to wear something other than her uniform or a dark brown day dress.” Elizabeth had hissed at the woman to get out of her chamber and had slammed the door behind her, then refused to speak to Mina for two days. She didn’t deserve that, Elizabeth scolded herself yet again.
The council meeting passed without incident or problem, until Matt Starland caught her. “Elizabeth, have you received Archduchess Ann’s invitation to her winter party?”
“Yes. I just have not taken time to respond. If you see her, tell her I’m sorry but I can’t attend. I’ll send a formal refusal this afternoon,” she assured him.
His eyes narrowed and he gave her a searching look. “You do realize that the party is in your honor. Yours and Col. Destefani’s.”
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “No, I had not realized that. I will go by Clearwater House tomorrow and make my apologies in person, then.” It’s the only way I can talk her out of it before Emperor Thomas hears. I can’t imagine that he would be pleased to hear of Lazlo and I being honored when we are still officially in his bad graces. Elizabeth straightened up, a little surprised at the concern in Matt’s eyes. “Thank you for clarifying, Matt. I’ll take care of the misunderstanding.”
He glanced around for servants. The other nobles and councilors had already left, but three servitors worked, picking up the cups and chokofee pots, along with dirty dishes and the platter of left-over toasts. “Come with me,” he said, taking her elbow and tugging her down the hall to an empty reception room before she could protest.
“Did you have another head injury this summer? Because you are not acting like yourself,” he demanded.
“I was shot in the face with a pistol, but no, no concussions this year, Godown be thanked. I’m sorry, Matt, I’m just very, very tired.” She forced a little smile onto her face. “The years and the kilometers seem to have joined forces this winter.”
Matt gave her another suspicious look. “You’re no older than I am, Duchess von Sarmas.” He put both hands on her shoulders, peering into her face before releasing her with a little shake. “Go rest.”
She pretended that he was his father, and drooped like a scolded subordinate. “Yes, your grace,” and she stuck her lower lip out.
He snorted and pointed to the door, playing along.
The next afternoon Archduchess Ann’s maid ushered Elizabeth into Ann’s sitting room. Ann took one look at her guest and launched herself from the lounging couch, eyes wide, and grabbed Elizabeth’s arms. “Sweet St. Sabrina, you look terrible! Come, sit, before you fall over.” The white-haired woman all but dragged Elizabeth to the padded, low-backed bench. “Gerta, tea and meat toasts, please.” After the young woman left, Ann, took Elizabeth’s hands and rubbed them vigorously. “What is the matter?”
Elizabeth tried to stay formal and restrained. You don’t need to burden Ann with your problems. “Duke Starland told me about your winter party, and I wanted to give you my apologies in person. I will not be able to attend.”
“Why not? There’s nothing at court and there’s no saint’s feast that day. I know, because I checked everyone’s calendars. Not that I can do anything if someone else decides to die, mind,” she sighed, sounding exasperated.
“Who
had the bad timing?”
“Old Count Bierski, of all people. I think he did it out of spite. And that doesn’t answer my question.”
Elizabeth tried again. “I’m not ready for a celebration. Thank you very much for the thought, but it wouldn’t be right for me to attend.” She tried to withdraw her hands. She got one free but Ann leaned on the other one, pinning the hand to the couch.
“Stop this. What is going on? No one’s seen you out of uniform since your return. You and Lazlo are refusing every invitation. You’re either riding, or in a meeting, or locked in Donatello House with Lazlo.” Ann leaned closer, worry plain on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Lazlo’s not at Donatello House. He’s in New Dalfa,” Elizabeth corrected without thinking.
Ann sat back, releasing the captive hand. “Oh. Drat Matt, he should have told me.” She threw her hands up. “Men. So when is he coming home? We’ll reschedule.”
Elizabeth got up and collected her hat. “He’s not coming back. Thank you, your grace, and I apologize for the misunderstanding. I’ll see myself out.”
Hands gripped her shoulders and Ann turned her around. “Lazlo’s not coming back. What happened?”
“It’s not really something I can talk about.”
To her horror Ann jumped to the wrong conclusion. “He’s asked for a separation?” Anger and incredulity warred on Ann’s face. “How dare he? After all that you have been through together?” If Lazlo had appeared in the doorway at that instant Ann probably would have brained him with a fireplace poker.
“No! No, Ann, he’s not asked for a separation. The last I saw of him he was fine, he’s not asking for a separation. Although it would be easier if he had,” and she clamped a hand over her mouth, horrified by the slip. “I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear that. I need to go.”
Ann held her shoulders even tighter. “Tell me. What in St. Sabrina’s name is going on, Elizabeth?”
“I’m sorry. It is probable that Lazlo will be ordered to remain in New Dalfa permanently, in light of his work this past spring and summer. That being the case, I do not think a celebration in our honor is appropriate.”
“If that’s the case, I suspect Lazlo will resign his appointment first,” Ann snorted.
I don’t want to tell her. How can I put this so she’ll leave me alone? “It is unlikely that he will be permitted to return to the Empire if he resigns. Ann, please, just let things be. I’m not up to dealing with this right now.”
Ann dropped her hands to her sides and took two steps backwards. “No, you’re not. Go and rest, Duchess Sarmas, and we’ll discuss matters later.” It felt as if a wall had appeared between them, and Elizabeth wanted to burst into tears.
“Thank you, your grace.” She curtsied and eased past the very confused maid, careful not to brush the woman’s heavy tea tray.
As the days passed without any news, Elizabeth settled into her usual winter routine of riding and work in the mornings, and work or study in the afternoons. She went to dawn service as usual and advised people about horse and mule purchases when asked. Otherwise she remained in seclusion at Donatello House. The tension ate at her heart and mind, especially after several council sessions and a court session passed without Emperor Thomas making any comment about Lazlo’s assignment or future. Midwinter passed and finally Elizabeth petitioned for a private meeting with Thomas and Count Montoya.
“Your majesty, I request permission to go to Donatello Bend until it is time to begin preparing for the spring campaigns.”
Her request must have surprised them because the men exchanged strange looks before Emperor Thomas asked, “Why, Duchess Sarmas?”
“I am not needed here at the moment and I wish to catch up on business that I have been unable to attend to.” I want to go where people stop asking questions I can’t answer. I want to go where I don’t keep listening for Lazlo. I want to go where I don’t see you.
Thomas frowned, his eyebrows drawn so close they looked like a single furry line across his wrinkled forehead. “You have permission, Duchess Sarmas. It would be better if you waited until after Winter Fair, but if you are concerned about the weather, you may leave sooner.”
“Thank you, your majesty. I will leave in three days. The staff will remain at Donatello House, should it be needed.” She curtsied and was dismissed.
She selected guards who had family at Donatello Bend and brought only them with her, despite Mina’s and others’ protests. Elizabeth pushed as hard as she could without hurting the horses and mules, reaching Donatello Bend in two weeks thanks to good weather and healthy beasts. Once there she set herself to work going over the manor records, looking into the state of the breeding herds, and riding when the weather permitted. Emperor Thomas had vetoed the shahma meat works and so Elizabeth wrote to Count Peilov and others, asking about pasture rent. Or would it be better to sell half the herds, take the tax bite, and concentrate our efforts on selling breeding stock instead of general fleece and meat? That might work better and I hate being beholden to people for grazing space. She made a note to see what Ann thought of the idea.
Two weeks before the spring equinox, Emperor Thomas sent orders for her to return to Vindobona. This time she sent word ahead to both Donatello House and to Bellevue. Spring seemed to be coming early, in which case she wanted Bellevue opened and ready for her. The spring sun released a warm, earthy smell from the still-bare fields as she and her escort rode east and south. The first of the lambs and foals had already arrived and she had to smile as she watched the young creatures trying to stand, or making their clumsy way beside their dams. The trees had not yet leafed out, but a few dogwoods and redstems bloomed, while white and purple blossoms carpeted the woods.
The sunlight improved her mood, as did having made her decision. If Emperor Thomas decreed that Lazlo would remain in exile, Elizabeth planned to resign her position and properties and retire to a convent, not this year but the next. She couldn’t take full vows without Lazlo’s permission, but Archbishop Laurence agreed that she could resume her postulant status. Just having made the decision took weight off her shoulders, and she discovered that she could smile again. The spring ride further buoyed her spirits.
She rode into Vindobona without any fanfare or undue attention. A few people touched their cap brims or dipped little curtseys and she acknowledged the greetings, but there were no cheers. No one threw rotten produce or mud-balls, either, which came as a bit of a relief. She and her men rode up the high street, taking their time. There’s no reason to rush, and no reason to irritate the people in the street by riding through, either. They always find a way of getting even when a noble abuses them. Ooh, what’s that? A glint of metal in the window of an antiquary’s shop caught her eye and she made a note to come back and see what he had for sale. The crowds thinned and the riders entered the row of town palaces. The gate to Donatello House stood open and she rode in.
Yet another new manservant took Square’s reins. Elizabeth thought he looked vaguely familiar, but he’d drawn his hood up against the little chill in the wind and she shrugged. Probably someone’s brother or cousin, since everyone knows I prefer to hire people known to my staff. She dismounted carefully, mindful of a new ache in her knees. As she turned to walk into the house, a familiar, longed for voice asked from behind her, “Are you going to at least say hello, my love?”
Heart pounding, she stopped. Elizabeth twisted her neck, looking over her shoulder to see Lazlo, thinner and worn, but Lazlo all the same, approaching and pushing back the hood of his coat as Master Simms led Square to the stable. “Elizabeth?” Her world began to spin and he broke into a run, the last thing she saw as the world turned black.
For the second time in her life she awoke in her bed to find a very worried husband chafing her hand. “Love?”
“I’m awake. What happened?” Why are you here? How did you get here?
“You fainted.”
She blinked at him. “I fainted.”
He nodded
and helped her sit up, then held her as she burst into tears, clinging to him and burying her face in his waistcoat. He patted her back. “Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, love, it’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m home to stay.”
“Are you?” she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
He nodded and rummaged around in his waistcoat pockets until he found a more or less clean handkerchief for her. “Here. Before you upset Mina any more than you already have. To be honest, from what she’s told me, you’re damn lucky she hasn’t left already.”
She hung her head. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize.”
“Do that, the sooner the better. I did not expect to come home to find Donatello House practically in mourning, you in hiding, and Ann Starland ready to skin both of us.”
“I’m sorry.” It seemed to be all she could say. “I didn’t,” she took a deep breath to settle her stomach and nerves. “Love, I didn’t think I’d be staying here much longer.”
He flinched. “You can’t go into the field. None of the passes are open yet, and the rivers have just started rising. There’s no way anyone can be moving an army already, not even the Turkowi.”
“Not that. Love, I,” she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was going to ask Emperor Thomas to allow me to retire if he was not going to permit you to return. I’ve already obtained permission from his reverence to return to the postulancy after this coming campaign season if you had to stay in—” She stopped as he rested one finger on her lips.
“Is that why everyone was in mourning? You thought… Oh, Elizabeth, my love.” He held her close again, rocking her awkwardly, stroking her cropped hair.
She sniffed again. “I didn’t know what his majesty would do after you took command of the Sea Republic armies, love. All fall and winter passed without any word from him or you, even when I gave him the opportunity to tell me, and so I decided to force him to tell me.” With his arms around her it sounded silly and foolish.