by Alma Boykin
The next morning she rode to the imperial palace to attend a morning tea reception with Princess Ildiko, Lady Miranda Starland, and some of the other court ladies. Lady Miranda would be married in late spring, and Princess Ildiko planned to accompany her to the Poloki court in Lvarna. Elizabeth would travel with them, along with several ladies’ maids, other servants, and guards. As she’d dressed for the tea, Elizabeth had wondered why she’d been invited. Maybe to make Miranda look better, she’d speculated, then gave herself a mental swat for such an unkind thought. It certainly had nothing to do with her dashing sense of style. Solid colors, plain fabric, any trim must be no more than one centimeter wide, no skirt shorter than mid-shin, no bare shoulders or bust, she’d recited as she tied the neck of her shimmy closed, then fastened the loop and knot on the over blouse. Not that simple clothes are any less expensive than fancy ones, since I like good material. Still, I’m so tired of all-over drab. She did like her new boots, though, and she’d paused, lifting her skirt and pointing her foot so she could admire the polish on the gray leather.
A footman showed her into an overwarm, crowded room, decorated with portraits, paintings, and so many small decorative items that she wondered how the shelves stayed up. Noble women of all ages, all richly dressed, fluttered and chatted. Lady Miranda and Princess Ildiko sat by the fireplace, surrounded by their ladies. Miranda’s dark red dress went very well with her dark hair and skin. Miranda had inherited Lady Marie’s brown eyes. Like her brother, she sported Aquila’s prominent jaw and nose, and what looked distinguished on Matthew did not favor his sister. Not that Elizabeth had anything to boast about, she knew, even if her reddish-blond wig did improve her coloring. Her acceptable light green eyes perched over a most generous nose that led to a crooked mouth and no chin.
Princess Ildiko could have been her mother’s twin, small but perfectly proportioned, with a tiny waist and generous bust. She wore her dark brown hair partly loose, as befitted a single woman of rank, and a dark brown gown with white embroidery. Envy is unbecoming, Elizabeth reminded herself as she caught sight of Ildiko’s beautiful slippers and started lusting after a pair.
Elizabeth waited until the other women had been presented before approaching the princess and princess-to-be. “Your highness, my lady,” she murmured, curtsying. “Allow me to offer my felicitations for your coming nuptials, Lady Miranda.”
Miranda nodded graciously. “Thank you, Lady Sarmas.”
Ildiko’s lips pursed and her crescent shaped black eyebrows drew together, halfway between a frown and a pout. “Is it true that you will be traveling to the Poloki court with us?”
“I have been told that I am, your highness, but his grace Duke Starland may change his mind. And the situation on the borders may require me to remain here,” she told Ildiko.
The princess sniffed. “I see.” She lifted her fan and leaned over, whispering to the pale, plump lady beside her. Elizabeth curtsied again and backed two steps before getting out of the way. Ildiko’s lady-in-waiting clattered a set of stone prayer beads as she studied Elizabeth, her nose wrinkled and eyes narrow.
Elizabeth glanced down to see if she’d tracked something in from the stables. No, no manure, and I bathed three days ago. Oh well. She’d said something upsetting, or so she guessed. The other ladies tugged their skirts back as she passed, and she found a seat by the window, in a draft but out of the way.
“The poor dear, being sent so far away,” an elderly matron in a soft blue-gray gown whispered.
The woman beside her nodded and fluttered a lace fan. “Indeed. Lady Marie is most distraught to see her daughter wed to a barbarian. And to be sent to the Poloki!”
“I have heard,” the grey clad woman murmured, “that Ildiko’s hand is being offered to one of the patricians of the northern city-states.”
The lace fan fluttered even harder. “No. She’s only sixteen! His Majesty surely knows better. Poor Queen Margaretha must be terribly concerned.”
Elizabeth accepted a small cordial from a servant. She kept her peace as she wondered, So what? Women leave home when they marry, especially noble women. That’s the price for our privilege. She stayed quiet, watching the others and admiring their dresses.
“Lady Sarmas?” The plump lady-in-waiting appeared in front of her chair. “Her highness wishes to ask you a question.” The announcement caused a cascade of whispers and sideways looks from the others as Elizabeth returned to the two princesses.
“Your highness?”
Ildiko tipped her head back, looking down her nose at Elizabeth. “How far did you travel to reach the Empire?”
“I do not know, your highness. Over two months’ travel, but I’ve not tried to measure the distance.”
“Then how did you know where to go?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I pointed Snowy east. I knew that once I reached the Donau Novi and turned north, I’d be here.”
“And what of your escort?” The small woman demanded, eyes almost invisible because of her frown.
“Snowy went where I pointed him, more or less. He is a mule, after all,” and she laughed.
That was a mistake. “You travelled alone!” Ildiko recoiled and Miranda hid behind her fan. “You came from Frankonia alone? No decent woman can do that.”
“Godown protected me, your highness.”
“No proper woman travels so far, let alone without a guardian,” Ildiko announced to the room. “You’re no better than that creature Ann Starland.” A chorus of agreement met her words and Elizabeth knew that she’d just been rejected by every lady in the room. It hurt far worse than she’d ever imagined. Part of her wanted to defend Ann Starland, part wanted to tell the women exactly where they could put their assumptions and insinuations, and the other part of her wanted to run from the hostility and disgust surrounding her. She chose departure, before she spoke her mind and sank to Ildiko’s level.
So be it, your highness. I hope you never have to flee your homeland and all that you know. Elizabeth curtsied and backed a pace, then pivoted and left the room without waiting to be dismissed. There was no point in staying where no one wanted her. She kept her composure and acted polite to the servants, hiding the choking pain in her heart. On the way back to Donatello House Elizabeth concentrated on watching traffic and keeping Braun quiet. She did not want to deal with an upset horse in the busy roads around the palace. But once inside the gates at Donatello House, she turned Braun over to the stableman and retreated to her quarters.
“No,” she snapped at one of the maids. “I need no help. Leave me.” She took off her new clothes, put on a worn, comfortable wool gown, curled up on the bed, and cried into the scratchy blanket until her head ached and her eyes burned. It shouldn’t matter that they rejected her. But it did, and she wept. “It’s not fair,” she wailed into the rough fabric. “I just want to do what I’m supposed to, and find a nice husband, and settle down, and waaaahhhh!”
That afternoon, and for the rest of her stay in Vindobona, she shadowed Aquila Starland, listening to him, Count Montoya, Prince Gerald André, the Archdukes Lewis and Gerald Kazmer, and the Destefani brothers as the men discussed tactics and planned for the next campaign season. If the men heard of her confrontation with the ladies of the imperial court, they said nothing. One last invitation from Lady Miranda arrived at Donatello House, and Elizabeth returned it with regrets, “due to prior commitments.” No, Lady Miranda. I won’t be attacked a second time. If Miranda wanted to apologize, there would be sufficient time during their journey to Lvarna in the spring.
4. Moving North
The thick canopy of dark green leaves absorbed the light from the spring sun, leaving the ground in shadow and blocking Elizabeth’s view of the sky. She appreciated the shade, especially in late afternoon, when the horses’ and mules’ hoofs churned up the dust and no wind blew between the old trees. But the closed-in feeling also made her nervous. Anything could hide in the forest: raiders, bandits, dardogs, giant wild cats. Storms could blow in without w
arning, the leafy canopy concealing the changing light and skies. For the first week in the forest, she’d jumped at every new sound, imagining Turkowi and pseudo-boar behind every bush and stump. Even Archduke Lewis and Matthew Starland had flinched the first time a crimson screamer bird called from its hiding place overhead. After three weeks of travel everyone else had adjusted to the bird and animal noises and relaxed as much as was safe: the threat of Turkowi or other raiders kept the soldiers, and Elizabeth, alert.
At least I’m not in the carriage, Elizabeth thought for the hundredth time, thanking her deity yet again. Lady Miranda Starland, her maidservant Leigh Cooper, Princess Ildiko Babenburg, and Lady Martina Graff rode in the lushly appointed vehicle most of the time, staying out of the weather. A second carriage carried their other maidservants and baggage. It looked confining, and the idea of swaying back and forth for hours at a time made Elizabeth’s stomach churn. At least she got to see more and to breathe more fresh air, when it wasn’t dusty. She wished Lazlo Destefani had come with her, but training the soldiers at Donatello Bend demanded more and more of his attention.
After a while she noticed that the road seemed to be climbing. Ah, I wonder if this is the southern edge of the ridge between the Poloki lands and the Donau Novi drainage area? The map shows it about here, if I remember the distance right.
“Not fond of the forest?” Miranda’s fiancé, Prince Ryszard Sobieski-Pilza laughed from beside her. The pale, blond Poloki man wiped his hand under his nose, removing some of the dust along with the sweat.
“No, your highness, I’m not. I’m used to seeing more than a few meters ahead.”
“This is not as bad as some parts of the northern forest,” he assured her. “Once you get away from the road and clearings, you can gallop without tripping. Up on the other side of the plains,” he waved his hand, “the roof is not so thick, and unless the forest burns, it’s all brush, like so.” He leaned over, holding his hand level with the top of his boot. “Black boar like to hide in it.”
She shivered. Ryszard and their guides had warned them about black boar, and everyone who could carried pistols. The wagon drivers had men sitting with them and carrying loaded muskets, just in case. “Like pseudo-boar, but bigger; a meter at the shoulder and more at the crest. Sharp teeth and will eat anything. The spines on the tail carry poison, and some of the guard hairs on the crest are barbed. And they charge faster than a horse can run,” Ryszard had explained as they entered the forest. “You can’t get them out of their burrows, which is why the Elector of Stahl uses it as his crest.” The city-state on the Northern Sea was purported to have impregnable walls and a secret defensive weapon. Elizabeth decided she’d just as soon not find out if the stories were true.
The afternoon sunlight grew brighter. No, she realized, the trees had begun thinning out. More brush appeared in the openings, and everyone peered into the forest, listening and searching for hints of motion. After another kilometer or so they rode onto the crest of the ridge and the guide called a halt.
The guide and Prince Ryszard took off their hats and bowed in the saddle to the panorama that spread out before the group. Knee-high green grass spread north, east, and west as far as Elizabeth could see, rippling in the wind. A few soft clouds drifted in the pale blue expanse overhead. The sky curved over the grassland, touching the ground far, far in the hazy distance. A few darker streaks wound across the plain, marking where streams and a river made their way east or north, to the Tongue Sea or Northern Sea. “Ah, room enough to run,” Archduke Lewis sighed.
“Eh, only if you know where the holes are,” Ryszard warned. He pointed with his whip, “See the pale streaks? Those are trails and should be safe, but stay ready to fall.” He gave Elizabeth another unhappy look. He did not like her sidesaddle and thought it was both unsafe and impractical. In the interest of peace she’d agreed to change to her war saddle once they reached the grasslands. “Two days and we reach Lvarna,” he added.
The guide rode back to the carriage. “Last time you can find cover, my ladies,” he advised them. Elizabeth took the hint and rode Braun off the road and well into the woods. She dismounted and took care of her needs, being careful to avoid unfamiliar plants and those with soft, fuzzy leaves. Lady Martina, Princess Ildiko’s lady-in-waiting, had learned the hard way about stinging nettles and Elizabeth could barely imagine trying to ride, even sidesaddle, with blisters there.
They rode until the sun touched the horizon. The breeze made the heat almost bearable, and Elizabeth understood why she’d been warned to take linen and cotton instead of wool and leather. The sun’s touch weighed as heavy as her armor, and she wondered how much worse the so-called grass deserts east of the Turkowi lands must be. Maybe that was what had pushed the Turkowi west, she speculated, her mind drifting with the clouds. Famine had started more than one war, or so she’d read. Not even true famine, but just the threat of it spurred some of the chaos after the Great Fires.
She ducked as someone tried to tap her on the hat with his whip. “Daydreaming?” Lewis inquired.
“Not exactly, your grace. Comparing the grasslands with others and wondering about what drought would do.”
The lean man studied the land around the caravan. “It would turn this into a tinder box. Imagine lightning striking all this dry grass.” He swung his whip hand out, spooking the packhorse beside him. “Or a campfire getting out of control.”
“I’d rather not, your grace.” Ever since seeing a small forest fire from a distance, she’d become hyper-cautious about campfires.
They camped in the open that night. She lay in her blankets near the other women, staring up at the countless stars. Elizabeth studied the black arc of the heavens and felt very small. Holy Godown, she prayed, keep us safe, guide and guard us. We are as nothing in Your creation, one little dot in the endless sky. What had it been like to travel the stars, she wondered? What landmarks, or starmarks, did the Landers use to navigate by? She recited the star-shapes: Gerald’s Bridge, the northern cross, the spindle, Ilara’s Wheel, the Foamy River flowing from northwest to southeast across them all. Will we go back out there? Not in her lifetime, that she knew; but perhaps later, when her children’s children grew grey. She rolled onto her side and dozed off.
A very tired, warm, and hungry caravan of travellers rode up to Lvarna just after noon the next day. Prince Ryszard and the other Poloki had insisted that they push the pace of the march, although they would not explain why, other than weather. Elizabeth, riding Snowy astride, blessed the mule’s unusual running walk. She’d been able to keep from having to trot for most of the morning, unlike the others. Two of the men had offered her coin on the spot to trade mounts, and she’d refused all offers. You are the best treasure ever stolen from Frankonia, she thought at the mule during the noon pause. And he was only six or so years old, just entering his prime. “You are such a good mule.” He lowered his head and she scratched along his crest and just behind the base of his ears.
“He is a spoiled mule, my lady,” Miranda’s maid, Leigh Cooper, sniffed.
Elizabeth knew the argument well. She shrugged and gave Snowy another hard scratch. “He has been a good mount and is a valuable animal. I treat him as he deserves, Mistress Cooper.”
The young woman eased closer. “It is said that his pace is so smooth that his owner can have relations while riding,” she half-whispered, glancing around to see who might overhear her accusation.
“Since he was bred to be a fine lady’s mule, it certainly is possible. His gait also allows me to shoot on the run. But I value his fighting skill far more than his gaits, Mistress Cooper.” She refused to rise to the bait.
Matthew Starland walked up and grinned, shaking his head. “Bragging about the killer mule again, Elizabeth?”
She bowed towards him. “No, my lord, merely observing what made him worth his price.”
“If his grace’s experiments in mule breeding come even close to replicating Master Snowy, I’d say he’s beyond price.” Matthe
w and Elizabeth both ducked as Snowy shook his head, sending slobber everywhere. “Even more, if you could sell him for what he thinks he’s worth.”
Elizabeth laughed. When she turned back to Mistress Cooper, she saw that the woman had returned to the ladies’ carriage. Matthew glared at the blue-painted vehicle from under his hat brim. “I see you’ve met Mistress Cooper.”
“Yes, my lord. She is a skilled handworker.” Leigh had made or embroidered much of Lady Miranda’s bridal wardrobe, and Elizabeth suffered more than one pang of jealousy at the little bits that she’d been able to see. She’d scolded herself and had recited extra iterations of the litany of hours to keep her envy at bay.
“That she is,” he agreed, still looking at the carriage. “Would that she guarded her tongue as well as she guards her charge’s virtue.”
“She is tired, my lord, as are we all.”
He snorted. “You are too charitable, Elizabeth. My lord father warned you about that. Too charitable and too trusting,” he repeated. With that he left. She tightened Snowy’s girth, gave him a firm knee in the ribs when he tried to inflate, and snugged the leather strap again.
Musicians, courtiers, and riders on horses that made Elizabeth forget her promise to shun the sin of envy rode out of Lvarna to meet the new addition to the Poloki royal family. Elizabeth faded into the larger group, letting Matthew Starland and Archduke Lewis lead Princess Ildiko and Lady Miranda ahead. Prince Ryszard had already galloped on, exchanging greetings with his elder half-brother Crown Prince Imre Sobieski-Corbin. Elizabeth and the others soon had their hands full when the herald trumpets sounded, sending some of the horses and mules into near-panics. “You are a rude mule,” she hissed, terribly embarrassed as Snowy tried to drown out the musicians, braying in protest at the chorus of sackpipes.