by Alma Boykin
Or perhaps not. He rested his chin on her head for a moment, then sat back, releasing her. “His majesty had rather uncharitable things to say, but at last agreed that, given the situation and the necessity of not alienating the Sea Republics along with the Bergenlands and leaving the Empire alone against Laurence’s ambitions, I had his retroactive permission, so long as I swore never to do anything of the like again without his explicit consent first. It was an easy agreement to make, love.
“Now,” and he stood up. “Your maid has a hot bath for you, and clothes, and as much as I hate to be the one to inform you, you smell just like Square the mule. Unless you want to hear the same from Ann Starland when she arrives for a late dinner, you’d better do what Mina advises.”
Elizabeth worked her way out of the deep, soft mattress. “Do what Mina advises,” she repeated back, catching sight of the person in question bearing down on them, a very determined look in her eyes.
“Yes. I am merely your husband and a man. I defer to her expertise and judgment, especially when she threatens me with a scrubbing brush.”
“I did no such thing, Colonel Destefani,” Mina protested.
He caught her hand and lifted it, revealing a large brush. “I’ll be in my office, trying to find where everything is.” He fled, leaving Elizabeth to Mina’s not-so-tender attentions.
“My lady smells of horse.”
Elizabeth had been hoping to wash anyway, if it were warm enough, and she began untying her neck scarf and undoing the loops-and-knots on her uniform shirt. “Mina, there are worse things in life to smell of than horse.”
The older woman considered her mistress’s words. “Perhaps, my lady, but not if my lady is to… Oh, her grace the archduchess will explain. And Col. Destefani brought you lovely new things, my lady.”
As she undid the laces on her bodice, Elizabeth asked, “Archduchess Ann?”
“Of course, my lady.” With that Mina gathered Elizabeth’s clothes in her arms and carried them out of the room. Elizabeth sighed and began washing.
“ …And of course you need a new gown, Elizabeth and you are not wearing dark blue or dark brown.” Ann continued in this vein for some time. Elizabeth found herself with an appetite for the first time in months and ate more of the hearty marrow stew and fresh bread. Lazlo liked marrow stew.
Lazlo seemed reluctant to let go of her hand, and every time she set it on the table he’d pat it, or cover it with his own. Was he being possessive or just glad to see her?
At last Ann wound down. “But of course this is just a small event, nothing like the court will hold for you next week.”
“That wha—” Elizabeth coughed and almost choked on her food. “Wha—… that will be held at court next week?”
“The formal announcement and presentation at court that will be held next week for both of you,” Ann sighed. “The message was sent to you last week, or so I was told.”
Lazlo spread his hands and shrugged, then pulled his left hand back just in time to avoid hitting the bread basket. “Sorry. Yes, please,” he told David, who put more bread on his plate. “I arrived yesterday evening and have not looked at my lady’s messages.”
“And I arrived this afternoon, more or less,” Elizabeth told Ann. “So what announcement and who will be presented?” She guessed, “Tim Albinez’s son?” He’ll have to be the face of Albinez, literally, from now on unless Countess Francia is willing.
Ann rolled her eyes. “Your promotion to Imperial princess and Lazlo’s new rank of duke, of course.” Oblivious to her hosts’ dismay, she rattled on, “And there’s some property, near the Dividing Range I think, which is good because the shahma are eating us out of pasture space and we need to move at least half the flocks to somewhere else.”
“Ah, good that you brought that up, Ann, because I wondered about selling a large part of the flock and concentrating on breeding for blood stock instead of just numbers. We could sell the live animals for those interested in improving their flocks,” Elizabeth launched, grabbing the distraction with both hands and glaring at Lazlo before he tried to stop her.
He spread his hands again, as if to say, “I’m staying out of it,” before reapplying himself to his food.
The ladies talked shahma until Ann left. Elizabeth saw Ann off, then went to the library and sagged into her chair, ears numb. Someone came in behind her and she ignored him. A calloused hand appeared a few centimeters in front of her nose, waving a sealed Imperial document. The pages bobbed up and down. “If you want me to read it, you’ll need to move it farther away,” she warned. The paper retreated three centimeters at most, still waving up and down. “Stop that, unless you want me carriage sick.”
Lazlo let her snatch the pages from his fingers. She broke the seal and unfolded three ornately written documents. One bore Lazlo’s name. “This is yours,” she held it out and he took it. She read hers, rubbed the bridge of her nose, held the page a little farther away, and reread it. “I’m too old for this.”
“Too old for what, my lady?”
“Learning to answer to ‘your highness’ and ‘princess.’ No new duties, thanks be to Godown, but I will rank with the Imperial offspring. The property is east of Kossuthna Major, between Kossuthna and the Dividing Range, in the foothills not far from the Starland border. It is more of a hunting place than anything, although Ann’s idea of…” She looked up to see Lazlo covering his face with one hand. “Love, what’s the matter?”
“Emperor Thomas, in his generosity, wishes to raise me to the rank of Imperial Duke, with the privileges and responsibilities of the rank. But no property, thanks be, because I’m sure Ann would cover it in shahma first and ask permission later.”
“I suspect she would. She seems to have latched onto the beasts.” Elizabeth pushed out of the chair and went over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder as she half-embraced him.
At last he stated, voice dull, “I don’t want this.” He set the page on the table and turned, taking her in his arms and resting his head on her shoulder. “I want you, and to do what I’m good at, and to serve Godown. I don’t want ducal rank.”
She held him, worry gnawing at her nerves. He’d gone pale and sweaty and looked ill. He’s just tired is all. Please, Godown, may he just be tired. “Col. Destefani, go to bed. That’s an order.”
He gave her a ghost of a smile. “You can’t make me—I outrank you.”
“Not here. Not unless you want to deal with fifty thousand hungry shahma, led into the city by Archduchess Ann.”
“You win, your grace.” He kissed her and left.
Drat and dog breath. That’s not what I had hoped for our first evening together, if we ever had another evening together. She looked at the letters once more and declared, “I’m going to bed.”
Lazlo looked better the next morning, but he ate little. “The headaches leave me queasy. I’ll be fine by noon.”
“Headaches?” I don’t remember him having sick headaches before, not without having had a great deal of alcohol the previous night.
“Yes. They started as I was on the road to New Dalfa. They come every few weeks or so, more often this winter than last summer or this spring.” He ate a soft roll and frowned at the chokofee. “This is very weak.”
She sipped again. No, it tasted the same as usual. “How do they make it in New Dalfa?”
“They double brew it. Once the usual way, and then half is simmered again to bring out the flavor.” He looked at the pot and back to Elizabeth. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
As if we don’t have anything else to worry about. She had an appointment at a dressmaker and at the wig shop, plus Mistress Mattison for a new hat. Archduchess Ann wanted more information on the market for shahma bloodstock before making a decision, and they had to draft a proposal for his majesty, since Donatello Bend belonged to the crown. Elizabeth needed to meet with her military staff in person to look over the recommendations and plans for this year’s fighting season. And she had discovered four
requests to inspect animals for the army and for private buyers on her desk. “Have you found everything that was supposed to be in your office?”
“No. A few small items are missing: an old prayer book, some Turkowi trinkets I’d claimed after the battle at Korly River, and a bundle of letters.” He drank more chokofee. “But I have not tried to re-sort everything from the shelves, so I may find them jammed back in a dark corner.”
“Duke Clellan’s men had no idea how to properly search a house. It really is no wonder they couldn’t find what they were looking for, even if it had been here.”
He held up one hand. “Wait. What do you mean Duke Clellan’s men searched the house?”
“They thought I had heretical materials and Lander weapons in the house. I told you in a letter.” Which it seems you didn’t get, or you forgot, judging by the steam pouring from your ears.
“I— Am— Going— To— Horsewhip that bastard,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “How dare they come into my house and search my property for…” the words faded into an incoherent growl.
David, the chief footman, spoke up. “You’re too late, Colonel, sir. His wife’s done it.”
Elizabeth blinked hard at the news. “Ah, what do you mean, David? The last news I heard claimed that he was at his estates, with her, on a religious retreat.”
“Well, your grace, sir, not to be telling servants’ tales, but,” the dignified servitor came closer, lowering his voice. “It seems Duchess Clellan gave her husband such a tongue lashing that he almost fled her. She was very put out with being barred from court and from all court functions, your grace, and even more angry at the loss of his majesty’s service bonus once his grace was no longer first minister. Rumor has it she’d spent it already. I can’t say for certain, but the staff at Clellan House is a great deal smaller than such a building warrants, your grace, sir.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say. Lazlo smiled, a large, unpleasant smile that bared his wide, yellow teeth. “I believe Godown has taken my justice for me,” he observed. Then he finished the chokofee and stood up. “Back to the office.”
It only required working until noon to sort through the invitations, favor requests, offers of first refusal on horses, and petitions that littered her desk. Several proved to be for Lazlo, and she set those aside. The requests for favors she burned, especially if they were from courtiers seeking places for their sons. Two requests for daughters to be admitted as officer cadets she set aside. I will interview them, but I doubt either will pass the men’s standards. If they can’t do that, they can’t serve. There’s enough dead weight in the officer ranks as it is, Godown knows. Two invitations she dropped into the fireplace’s maw. One she read over again, uncertain how to respond. “I’ll ask Ann,” she decided.
“If you do, be prepared to spend the afternoon,” Lazlo’s voice warned. She glanced up and found him leaning against the doorframe. “Love, why is everything piled on the far edge of your desk?”
“Because it’s easier to read them if I prop the pages up, especially the ones from the Imperial chancery. They’ve gone to using smaller writing, in order to save space.”
He made an interested noise before going about his business. Elizabeth sorted everything down to the truly critical, the best-not-to-offend, the no-but-politely, and the blunt refusals. She got up, added an out-of-date army order to the fireplace and poked the fire into brighter life. Donatello House stayed cool and she preferred a warmer workspace. “David?”
He poked his head into the room. “Yes, your grace?”
“I’m going out. Please see that the fire burns out and that the ashes are removed.”
“Very good, your grace. Shall I tell Col. Destafani of your departure?”
“Yes, thank you.” If the dressmaker wants to put me in yellow, I am going to have the vapors. Whatever those are. Maybe I should faint instead?
Elizabeth returned three hours later grumpy, hungry, and followed by a laden donkey. “Yes, take those to my quarters and have Mina see to them, except the heavy box. That goes in my office. Then someone needs to return the donkey to Master Chatham on the high street.”
She stopped by her office to confirm that the document ashes were gone and discovered something new taking up the end of her desk. A polished rectangle of inlaid wood stood on three legs, tilted slightly backwards. A smaller strip of wood across the front of the main piece held up a sheet of paper exactly the same way that she’d been propping up documents on her paper piles. She sat and studied the arrangement. This won’t send pages and books pouring off my desk if I brush them or push too hard. Oh, this is lovely.
Lazlo coughed from the doorway. “I see you found the document stand.”
“Yes! This will be so much better than what I’ve been using.”
He walked into the room and held out a small leather case. “These might help even more. You unfold the plain pieces and tuck the curved bits behind your ears.”
“I what?” She took the case and opened it to reveal two clear glass disks in a wood and metal frame. “The plain pieces go behind my ears?” That makes no sense.
He took the thing from her hand. “Allow me.” He unfolded the wire bits and perched the contraption on her face, so that the glass hung in front of her eyes and the curved pieces hooked on her ears. “Try reading.”
She held up a page. He clucked his tongue and moved it closer. The words sprang into focus. “Oh!”
“The Sea Republic craftsmen have rediscovered how to grind lenses, consistently, without it costing the entire Imperial treasury.” He sounded smug. “I have a larger one on a stick, for maps. But they are fragile, so you can’t wear them in the field or if you are riding.”
She snorted, removed the lenses and returned them to their case. The case she added to the contents of a desk drawer. “I only have trouble reading, love.”
“Ah, while you were out a message came from the palace. We are to call on his majesty this evening to confirm the details for next week’s ceremony.” He sounded very unhappy.
She got up from the desk. “This evening? Oh, pickles, my dress won’t be ready until…” He wasn’t laughing. “What’s wrong?”
He looked down, then rolled his head back and forth, stretching. “Oh, I just had other plans for the evening and for you.”
She smiled. “Well, it is said that anticipation improves some experiences,” and she raised one eyebrow as she sidled closer to her husband.
He reached around her in a half-embrace. “True, but at some point anticipation must be gratified.” He kissed her cheek. Her stomach growled and he laughed, releasing her. “Sometimes sooner rather than later.”
After Elizabeth ate and sorted the rest of her purchases, Mina and another maid tugged and rustled her into a “proper” dress, a new one that Lazlo had brought back from New Dalfa. Elizabeth looked down at her now remarkable bust. “Ay yai yai, this is… this style will never catch on. I can’t believe they wear anything like this so far north.”
Mina snorted, then draped a pale blue scarf around Elizabeth’s shoulders and set about tucking the ends into the top of the bodice. “My lady, you have not see what the younger set are wearing. Empress Agatha had to issue orders about how low the bodice cut could go, and how much of the breast has to remain covered.” She stepped back and studied her work. “Much better, your grace. Suggestion is better than flaunting.”
Suitably bewigged, laced, and otherwise fluffed, Elizabeth accepted David’s hand into her carriage. Countess Albinez had replaced the interior before returning it to Elizabeth, and no trace remained of what it must have looked like. Elizabeth preferred not to imagine. Lazlo settled in facing her and they rode in silence to the palace. He looked especially handsome in his formal Imperial uniform and her old envy surged anew. It is still not fair. Not fair in the least.
This time, guards waved the carriage into the inmost courtyard of the palace. A footman helped Elizabeth out and she saw that a few less electric lights burned on t
he delicate wires along the walls. Someday, someday we’ll make the night as bright as day once more. Lazlo took her arm and they walked along the richly decorated corridor, admiring the ancient pictures hung on the wall, pictures of early Babenburgs and delicate landscapes. “That’s new,” she observed, pointing to a view of Tivolia from the former ducal castle.
“We didn’t own Tivolia before,” he reminded her. He corrected himself, “No, not own: protect and administer Tivolia.”
She shrugged. “It’s a lovely painting.”
“It is. The artist has a true gift,” he agreed and they continued on.
Two servants opened ancient wood and metal doors and a voice called, “Imperial Duchess Elizabeth Antonia von Sarmas. Imperial Colonel Lazlo Kirlin Destefani.” She inhaled, taking a deep breath, and realized that hadn’t been a wise thing to do. With her free hand she tucked the scarf end back into place as discreetly as possible while matching Lazlo’s pace into the audience chamber.
Emperor Thomas and Empress Agatha stood on the low dais, just as his father and mother had stood twenty plus years before, watching Elizabeth come into their presence. Lazlo released her arm and she curtsied deeply to the man whose family she’d sworn to serve. “You may rise,” Thomas called, his voice a touch deeper than his father’s had been. Thomas resembled his father in color and height, but shared his mother’s rounder face. The uniform that had hung loose on his terribly thin father fit the son’s lean strength to perfection. Empress Agatha’s rich brown hair and fair complexion made Elizabeth wonder if that’s where her share of physical beauty had gone, if Godown had given others a double portion by taking from her. Oh stop that, she scolded for the thousandth time. Godown gave you a quick mind and a strong, healthy body. Think of what Duchess Marie Starland suffered with each birth!
“Be welcome, Duchess von Sarmas, Col. Destefani,” the emperor invited. The couple stood at parade rest, drawing a smile from the emperor. At least, that’s what Elizabeth hoped the curve on his lips was. Thomas’s eyes remained cool. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your pending elevation, Duchess Sarmas.”