by Alma Boykin
Well, István thought, there was the obvious: True-dragons could not circulate in the general public anymore, outside of certain very circumscribed places and times. The town house had not been designed with True-dragons in mind, and Aunt Claudia was a very robust example of the type. She’s enormous. Three meters long and three around, pink-and-grey with crimson talons and eyes. Claudia would scare the staff into uselessness. And that was before she sashayed into a room surrounded by a cloud of her perfume, although István suspected that widowhood and the war had curtailed that quirk. Her last letters had been in black on pale blue paper, unscented. “What would her children and House say?”
Barbara gave him one of those patient looks he’d come to recognize, which translated as “you have not been paying attention, have you, dear?” She set down her cup. “Her children would have no objection. They are trying to force her into a Stift against her will now that her husband is gone. It seems the cities of the Plain have even less room for her kind than do the mountains.”
The prospect of anyone forcing Aunt Claudia into a convent foundation against her will made István laugh.
“It is not funny in the least, my lord. They have the law on their side, especially since her husband’s will locks her out of any inheritance lest it go to her House.”
István’s laughter turned to hot anger. “He what? He married into the House because by tradition a female cannot act as Head in her own right. His Headship was based purely on marriage, not birth or training. They can’t disinherit her. The others won’t stand for it.”
Her frown stopped his tirade. “They can and have. It was out of spite, to punish her and the House for not telling him about her before the marriage contracts had been signed. He invoked imperial law in the will and left everything to his heirs. She’d given him sons and he turned them against her, as you should recall.”
“I didn’t.” As he thought about it, he remembered hints in her letters about difficulties with her children, and something at one of the accessions he’d attended, a rumor of dissention. “I’ll speak with Agmánd and with the staff at Kassa about it. And with Mother.” Because his mother would not tolerate having a caretaker imposed upon her without having been consulted, even if Aunt Claudia came on foot, bonnet in forefoot.
Which is as likely as France and Britain suing for peace. He rubbed his forehead and let himself sigh. Barbara gave him a curious look over her teacup. “Aunt Claudia’s situation. I wonder if any of the people who arranged it would have believed it might turn out so poorly.”
“What exactly did happen, my lord? I recall hearing whispers, and hints of rumors, but no one ever explained things to me.”
“That is because it is not the sort of thing one discusses with ladies of quality, especially unmarried ladies of quality,” István said. He decided to give Barbara an edited version of the story—highly edited. “She and Martin had an arranged marriage. They corresponded before the wedding but never met in person. And no one who knew about Aunt Claudia said or hinted to Martin that his intended was not human. I’m certain there were comments about her being plump, and occasionally nervous, and being a Healer, but nothing that would have prepared him for meeting her in person two days before the wedding. He’d never seen a True-dragon before, as it turned out.”
Barbara paled. “Oh no.” Her hand went to her throat. “He did not react well, that much I do know.”
István chose his words with great care. “No, my love, he did not. And under law he could not refuse to marry her. Unhappiness resulted.” Well behind very tight shields, István admitted, I am amazed that he was able to do his marital duty with her at all, let alone five times at least. Which makes me wonder if things transpired that I really, really do not care to even speculate about. All bachelor jokes aside, the prospect of being ordered to have congress with a True-dragon that he’d never met, or even known existed, turned his stomach. The arrangement had hurt all involved, including the House, although István knew that the House did not view the situation as ought but a sad necessity. Claudia had made the best of it, but woe unto those who arranged the match.
“Unhappiness is a mild word.” Barbara shook her head. “Matters will not end well.”
“No, love, they will not, not for another generation at least, I suspect. But their House made a choice and now must deal with it.”
She made a sound but did not comment. They sat in comfortable quiet, listening to the birds and watching the sun on the leaves of the trees. At last he stood and helped her out of her chair. The young True-dragon appeared as if out of the very planks of the floor. She waited until István and Barbara opened the door to the house, then set to work tidying up the trolley and dragging the chairs back where they normally stayed. István considered stopping to watch, but decided against it. The reptile was glancing at him nervously enough as it was. She’d probably break something from sheer nerves if he lingered. He caught Barbara’s little smile and followed her inside without looking behind him.
István combined business and leisure for the next two weeks, looking at the state of the House’s lands and discussing the problem of a suitable companion for his mother with Mistress Nagy, Barbara, Agmánd, and a few other trusted and discreet associates. Lady Marie appeared to feel better, and had fewer memory lapses. She slept better as well, according to Magda. Five times, servants came up from Eger with the post and any papers or messages for Count and Countess Eszterházy. Nothing of great import demanded his attention, and István observed that he’d started to become accustomed to life at Nagymatra, to the slower pace and rhythm.
And then one morning, just after dawn, the Power shook him. He’d lowered his shields in order to speak with the larger House when the Power burst in, leaving him gasping. Something to the northeast, something enormous, moved. Where, István tried to ask, bracing for a disaster at the edge of the House’s lands.
Galicia.
Should he? István took a deep breath to settle himself and to calm down enough to truly focus. He rubbed the jade on his watch chain and reached through the House to touch House Habsburg. He brushed a strong mind, caught a hint of shock and anger and determination, and a glimpse of a military map. Then the link failed, and he fell back into himself. He sat where he was, eyes closed, breathing and trying to will away the headache and fear. Neither one would help him, although he’d certainly earned the headache. He forced his muscles to relax, one at a time, until he could think clearly, and the dull throbbing receded into a mild burning that he could ignore. Only then did he open his eyes to find Agmánd, Lady Marie, Hans the huntmaster, and several other House members standing around him.
«What is it, my lord?» Hans asked, ears tipped back and whiskers stiff.
“Something in Galicia. I suspect I will be called to Budapest or Vienna very soon.”
Three voices, including Lady Marie, chorused, «The Russians.» Hans adding, «We saw the map.»
István tried to call up the image and got a stab of pain for his efforts. “Probably. They appear to be slow learners.”
Two days later, the messenger from Eger brought the imperial summons with the post. István looked at the page and bowed toward distant Vienna. “I am called and I will obey,” he whispered. Then he thanked God that he was no longer on active duty or in the first tier of reserves. The Russian bear had awoken, and woe betide any stood in the way.
Military necessity delayed the formal all-House meeting until mid-July, despite the urgency. István, now in Kassa, read the news, read the omissions within the news, and prayed. The Russians had pulled a miracle out from under their hairy hats, just as Archdukes Thomas and Rudolph had feared, attacking along a line, a hundred kilometers and more, from Brest-Litovsk to Chernowitz to Lemberg. The first night and day of the attack, they knocked the Austrians back ten kilometers, then another eighty, threatening Lemberg once more. But somehow, somehow, the Austrians held, bowing into a pocket but not breaking. István remembered well his own meetings with the Russian Army:
the chaos and explosions, night lit bright as day, men vanishing into fragments and powder as shells exploded on the ground around him, horses and men screaming, and that damn Galician sand jamming their rifles.
As soon as he reached Vienna, István invoked both military and House rank, and—assisted by a pass from Archduke Rudolph—gained access to the army training academy and its collection of dispatches and reports. The large stone building, a former arsenal and barracks, backed up to the city wall not far from the Freyung and the Schottenkirche. There he read over the daily summary reports of the battle in the over-warm, under-lit, cramped library. The Russians had timed it well, István had to admit, striking the same day that the French and British pounced on the Germans in the Somme again. The imperial high command was not entirely certain yet, but it seemed as if the army had lost eighty thousand soldiers and over a thousand officers, as well as artillery and supplies. Despite the surprise, the Russians’ apparently excellent preparation and secrecy, and the rapid retreat, the Austrians had managed to hold a line. Not a retreat, a flight, and I suspect there are going to be a spate of retirements before St. Martin’s Day. He knew quite well that someone’s head would roll, probably more than one someone.
But the Imperial Army had held, István knew, heaving a silent sigh and prayer of gratitude. They’d lose the crops in Galicia again, but not the army. The losses hurt, even hurt badly, but this time the army held. In that way, 1916 was not 1914. Archduke Thomas’s suspicion had proved correct. The Conradian claque that had agitated for revenge attacks on Italy should go quiet now, at least until the recapture of Galicia and parts of Bukovina. That is, if they are smart. General Otto Berndt had managed to stop the retreat and hold most of Galicia, and without needing German assistance. That alone is worth a great deal, István thought, leaning back a little against the hard wooden chair and considering matters. The stronger the empire stood, the less leverage the Germans had against her.
Two sweltering days later, he learned more. Attired in his cavalry uniform once more, complete with leopard skin, István presented himself at the green and white sprawl of the Hofburg Palace, just inside the city wall. The Habsburgs had reigned from the ever-growing complex for almost eight hundred years, something that made István feel even smaller than usual as he crossed the inner courtyard and followed a servant up to a long receiving chamber that was all white and mirrored surfaces. A different servant, also in breeches, with a tailcoat straight from the eighteenth century, took his hat. István felt very much out of place until a familiar voice called, “Hela, Steven, nice pelt.”
István turned to see a tall, blond man in a cavalry colonel’s uniform striding up to him, hand out. “Felix,” he said. They half embraced, formality and ranks be damned. “In the same number of pieces, I see.”
Duke Felix Starhemberg de Este nodded. “More or less. I was minding my own business, fighting off Russians, when the call came. Thanks be, my second in command is better than most, and I could come without worrying about finding Cossacks in my train.”
István glanced around for listeners before asking under his breath, “That bad, Your Grace?”
The laughter in the blue eyes faded a little, and István noticed a touch of grey in Felix’s luxurious mustache. “That bad. If we hadn’t had those four divisions behind us and a defense in depth?” He reached down and patted his saber hilt. “We’d be back on the San and begging the Germans for artillery.” Then he smiled again. “But the Germans are good for some things. The Bavarians passed us what they saw at that Verdun mess in February, and His Grace Archduke Thomas and His Majesty decided to try some of the new techniques.”
“Bavarians? Oh, yes, Your Grace.” Now István remembered. His majesty’s cousin-in-laws through Emperor Franz Josef’s wife’s family. Noise at the head of the room uprooted his recollection of family trees, and István and Felix walked up to meet the other House Heads. That no courtiers stood waiting to direct and observe suggested just how much Josef Karl had shaken the formality of the Court. István counted heads and almost staggered.
Blessed Saints István and Erzsébet, where are the others? István and Felix, and Count Kristofer von Aleman-Dietrichstein, were the only young male House Heads present. István recognized Dowager Countess Windischgrätz and Lady Leona von Brixen, Guardian of Brixen in Tirol, and a few others, but most of the gathered House leaders should have retired years ago, if the grey hair and bent backs told truth. Prince Wetzel Rozemberk peered over the glasses perched precariously on his muzzle and nodded to István before returning to his discussion with a blond, barrel-chested man who stood, arms folded, radiating hostility. A total of perhaps twenty men, women, and True-dragons stood in clusters talking quietly, or just watching each other with varying degrees of wariness. Despite their common rank, not all Heads shared brotherly affection for each other.
Precisely at two p.m., a footman pounded the floor with the butt of his gilded staff. “His Imperial Majesty Josef Karl. His Grace Archduke General Thomas von Habsburg. His Grace Archduke Rudolph von Habsburg.” The House Heads spread out and bowed as a broad-shouldered man in a white uniform tunic and dark red trousers walked into the room and mounted the throne-dais. He bore a less ornate version of the usual imperial crown on his head and wore no decorations but his Order of the Golden Fleece and his former infantry unit’s insignia. István noted a touch of silver at the edges of the emperor’s reddish-brown hair. Archduke Thomas followed three paces behind at the Emperor’s right hand, taller and square, his waist as broad as his shoulders, his hair long ago reduced to a grey fringe. He wore his field grey general officer’s uniform with ease of long service. Archduke Rudolph came third, wearing a dark brown cutaway coat, a slightly unfocused look in his dried-blood eyes. His Majesty sat under the double eagle of his House and gestured. “You may rise.”
István stood. Felix Starhemberg was on his right side and Prince Wetzel on his left. The True-dragons sat on their haunches, bringing their heads up even with the humans and HalfDragons, except for Wetzel, the smallest True-dragon in the room. Several long, silent minutes passed as Josef Karl looked from one House Head to another. István’s skin began crawling. The air felt like it would in the moment before lightning struck. His majesty growled, “You know why we have summoned you.”
“Because of the situation in Galicia, your Majesty?” Prince Arnaulf von Taxis-Este ventured.
“Among other places, yes.” Josef Karl paused. “Galicia is a problem now. The empire will be a greater problem in the future. General?”
Archduke Thomas cleared his throat. “It is said that fortune favors the prepared, but the Lord also helps those who plan for the worst, Your Majesty. We were very fortunate in that some of my staff visited the Galician Front in May and noticed the Russian sappers at work. I say fortunate because the officers in charge of that area had not informed us of the development, ‘lest they irritate the Russians by attacking them.’ ” He stopped to let the ripple of groans and forefeet-over-eyes pass. “That was our warning, confirmed by air observers. General Berndt was able to prepare just sufficiently to hold things and begin pushing back. I must give General Brusilov credit, Your Majesty. He kept his plans a secret, something I had not thought the Russians could ever manage.”
The Emperor nodded and gestured for his oldest relative to continue. “As it stands, we can regain what we lost, although it will be slow going, as you can imagine. The Germans are now asking us to attack the Italians in order to divert the French from their—that is, the French’s—attack in the Somme.”
“We feel it is in the empire’s best interest not to grant the Germans their request at this juncture,” Josef Karl said. István noticed Lady Brixen’s shoulders tighten, then relax. Apparently that was not exactly the news she wanted to hear. Or perhaps she had feared to hear of a new offensive out of the Tirol, since her uncle and cousin had been deeply involved in the defense against the initial Italian attack the previous year. Graf Johann von Hohen-Drachenburg, another mountaineer,
nodded once. “We have a bit of a Marshall Radetsky in my honored uncle,” the Emperor added, smiling a little. “I do not care to spread him too thin.”
“Your Majesty, meaning no offense to His Grace,” Prince Arnaulf began, “we need a Prince Eugene.”
Josef Karl snapped, “And Karl Phillip Schwarzenberg as well, but the Holy Church frowns on necromancy and raising the dead unless it is done by God Himself, as you may recall.”
Arnaulf twitched at the Emperor’s words, and István exchanged glances with the people beside him. What was that about? Or did he want to know? Probably not.
“The Army and navy are doing as well as can be expected, often better. However,” Josef Karl leaned forward, one fist clenched where it rested on the arm of the throne. “However, we are not pleased to hear about dissention and accusations of disloyalty by House members, and House Heads, against whole nations of our imperial subjects.” His eyes shifted color to soft rose-gold, although they remained otherwise human. “You, we, are the true nobility. We are born to lead, to govern the peoples under our care, through the grace of God. That means all peoples.” Lady Brixen and Felix Starhemberg both nodded. Her land included Italians and his held a goodly number of Croats, as István recalled.
«I wonder who said what and where.» Wetzel said into István’s mind alone.
Or so he thought. Archduke Rudolph looked straight at the True-dragon as the Emperor said, “It does not matter. We have heard the tales of treachery, of army units surrendering wholesale to the Russians to take up arms against us. We have also heard of family turning against family, simply because one is Croat and the other is German. Or Bohemians threatened with eviction for not speaking Hungarian.” The Emperor glared at Duke Zoltan Széchenyi.
“Your Majesty, everyone knows that the Slavs are—”
“No, you are!” Josef Karl’s voice dropped, so quiet that István struggled to hear him. Fire danced in the rose-gold eyes. “You swore an oath to House Habsburg to abide under our hand, to serve our justice, to honor our laws, and to respect all our citizens, did you not?”