by H J Peterson
“You?!”
Aki tried to slam the door in her face, but she was able to shove her way into the apartment before he could.
Ichirou stood up from the table in his studio. There was a meal of rice and dumplings spread out on it, one that was half-eaten; Aki must have come over for dinner. “H-Hiro? What are you doing here?”
“Yeah,” Aki asked as Hiro shut the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, you know,” Hiro snapped. “Are you working with the New Dawn? And don’t you dare try to lie to me!”
“So what if I am?” Aki asked, folding his arms over his chest defensively. “Since when do you care?”
“What kind of idiot-“
“Will both of you stop it?!” Ichirou ordered.
Hiro and Aki fell silent.
“Now, what in the world is going on?” Ichirou asked. “Why are you here? And why are you asking Aki about this New Dawn movement?”
“Two people died tonight because of it,” Hiro said quietly. “There’s a connection between them and Red Fist. And a few other gangs.” Hiro glared at Aki. “And I want to know if Aki has anything to do with these unholy bastards.”
The apartment fell deathly still. Aki didn’t say anything in those few seconds, but even then, she knew what his answer would be. As awful as it was.
“It’s not true, is it?” Ichirou asked quietly.
Aki didn’t say anything, still.
“Aki, please tell me it isn’t true,” Ichirou said. He had that look about him, now. That tired look that made him look seventy-five instead of thirty-five. The one that had made her work harder every day. The one that had brought Hiro such shame over the years as she went to school and he was forced to work to the bone just to keep them afloat.
“Ichirou, this country has taken everything we have, and given back nothing,” Aki said quietly, his voice dark. “The only way things are going to change in his country is if we change them. Are you honestly telling me that you don’t want to see those nobles get what they deserve? After treating us like dirt for so damned long?”
“And… the New Dawn… they’re the ones sending out the pamphlets, right?” Ichirou asked. “The ones talking about killing the nobility? Taking over by force?”
“But they-“
“This isn’t how you bring about change, Aki,” Ichirou said. “Look at your sister: she’s changed things, and nobody had to die for it. Things are going to get better, now.”
“I’ve looked at my sister,” Aki said. “I’ve looked at her for years, and you know what? I’m sick of it.”
Hiro clenched her hands at her sides.
“Aki-“
“Why is everything always about her?” Aki asked. “From the moment we got to this country, you’ve bent over backwards to make sure she has everything. You never tried to make me stay in school. You never kept me from working in a factory. What’s so special about her?”
“Aki, that’s enough!” Ichirou ordered.
“Hiro, you’re a traitor,” Aki went on. “You’re no better than the bastards who forced us to live like this-“
Hiro couldn’t hold it back any longer: she punched him in the face as hard as she could.
He stumbled back, putting a hand to his cheek.
“You think I’ve made our lives harder than they had to be?” Hiro asked as he looked back at her. A look to kill in his eyes. “Take a look in the mirror sometime.”
Aki looked like he was about to punch her back.
“I ought to take you in right now, but I’m not going to,” Hiro continued. “Consider this your final warning: get the hell out of this life. Believe me, if it comes down to it, I won’t hesitate.”
Hiro waited for her brother to punch her.
But, he didn’t. Instead, he got right in her face. “There’s a reckoning coming, Hiro. Pray you’re not in the way when it is.”
He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.
Ichirou sighed and sat back down. “Why do the two of you have to fight so much? The two of you are siblings, for the Enlightened’s sake.”
Hiro didn’t answer: she was still thinking about Aki’s words. There’s a reckoning coming. The same message as the Archangel’s letter, albeit with some different words. He was involved, that was for certain.
She had to stop this Archangel. Heaven knew the two of them mixed about as well as fire and ice, but she didn’t want to see him killed for… whatever this was.
“… He’s going to get himself killed for this Archangel, isn’t he?” Ichirou asked.
She looked back at her brother. “Not if I can help it.”
XXII. FRIEDRICH
Friedrich felt like he was going to be sick.
The day had come for him to ask for Count von Thurzó’s permission to marry Katalin. He was dressed in one of his finer suits in the forest green of House Eltz, with gold epaulets and buttons. His father was dressed in a similar fare, but as was normal for him, one sleeve was gone for his metal arm. That, and he didn’t look quite as afraid as Friedrich was certain he looked.
“You know, it isn’t too late for you to back out,” Eltz said as they waited for von Thurzó in the main hall of the mansion. “We could leave right now, forget about this whole mess, and find a woman deserving of you.”
“I’m not backing out,” Friedrich said with a whole lot less confidence than he wanted to speak with. “Besides, you’ve got it backwards: I don’t deserve Katalin.”
Eltz rolled his eyes, annoyed. “You know, most people don’t get married for themselves: they do it to help the family, and this certainly isn’t helping us.”
He thought back to that conversation he’d had with his father the night before. When he’d told him just how little his life mattered to him. The good of the house is always more important than the good of any individual member of it, he’d said.
“Other than the fact that you’re getting a Shaper for a daughter-in-law out of this?” Friedrich asked.
“You’ll want to hold your tongue if you want to marry this girl, boy.”
Before Friedrich could say anything he would regret, Count Tamas von Thurzó, himself, came to greet them. Just as Katalin had told him a few days before, he was looking like an average Vorbereicher noble, though it all certainly had a Magyaran flair about it. He had his gray hair and moustache combed and trimmed neatly and was wearing riding pants tucked into knee high riding boots, as was becoming very fashionable among Vorbereichers of all social classes. However, his tunic was very Magyaran: it was a military looking thing, bright crimson in color with all sorts of gold braiding all over the front and gold epaulets. It had a high collar, and unlike the tunics that had become all the rage in Vorbereich, this one wasn’t double breasted. Also, like the few Magyaran men Friedrich had seen in his life, he had a bit of a gut on him.
“Guten Tag,” von Thurzó said with a broad smile on his face. Friedrich was kind of surprised: when he first met Katalin, she’d told him that her father could barely speak Vorbereicher, and though she said he was making progress, Friedrich had expected that he would still be barely comprehensible. “How are you both, today?”
Eltz didn’t even try to force a smile. He simply bowed slightly. “We’re both very good, today; thank you. Thank you for honoring us by allowing us into your house and by gracing us with your presence.”
Good heaven, could Eltz force any more flattery to a Magyaran out of his mouth? Friedrich really had to keep himself from rolling his eyes or from laughing at it.
“Please, Lord Eltz: the pleasure is mine,” von Thurzó said as he held his hands out to his sides. He offered his hand to Eltz, and to Friedrich’s surprise, the two shook hands. He looked over at Friedrich. “It will be nice to finally sit down and talk to the young man my Katalin has been talking about.”
He gave Friedrich a big, hearty slap on the back, making him stumble forward a little bit. It looked like he wasn’t quite a
ssimilated to Vorbereicher society, yet: two men didn’t touch anything other than each other’s hands in Vorbereich, even if they were close friends or family.
“Now, let’s get to the kitchen: the staff has prepared a very nice lunch for us,” von Thurzó said as he led them away from the front door. “Friedrich, I’m told that you have an interest in Magyaran culture.”
“Oh, he does,” Eltz said. Friedrich was kind of questioning why his father bothered to come in the first place. “He’s rather fond of practicing Magyaran with your daughter.”
“Excellent!” von Thurzó’s smile was even wider, now. “I’ve had the cooks prepare some Magyaran food for you.” He looked over at Eltz. “I’m sure you’ll both love it.”
“Excellent,” Eltz said with the fakest smile Friedrich had seen in his life.
It wasn’t much longer before they reached the dining room. Of course, it was a little on the small side (the von Thurzós weren’t exactly the highest of noble houses) but it was still rather nice: the table was made out of mahogany, the plates and bowls were all made out of the finest porcelain, the silverware looked to be real silver, the cups were made of crystal: it looked like von Thurzó had pulled out all the stops in order to impress one of the most powerful men in Vorbereich.
“You have a very beautiful dining room,” Friedrich said as they walked in.
“Yes, it’s very… intimate.” Friedrich didn’t have to hear the forced compliment to know that Lord Eltz really didn’t like it.
Friedrich could feel frustration with his father beginning to rise in his stomach. Why couldn’t his father just be glad that he’d finally found a noblewoman he liked rather than be so focused on something as stupid as nationality?
The three of them all sat down at the table, with Lord von Thurzó on one side and Friedrich and Eltz on the other. Having his father sit next to him kind of surprised Friedrich. It looked like they found the one circumstance Eltz would choose sitting by his son over a fellow nobleman: if that nobleman happened to be Magyaran.
“I must say, Lord Eltz, it’s quite the honor to have you sitting at my dinner table,” von Thurzó said. “Your reputation is well known, even in Magyar.”
Eltz nodded. “Thank you for inviting Friedrich and me into your house.” He looked around at the dining room, as if he was appreciating it. Friedrich knew for a fact that he wasn’t: he was probably comparing the dining room to his own, just like everyone else did. “I must say: your dining room is very different from how I imagined it. I thought it would look much more… Magyaran.”
“You know, I really kind of hated the way this room looked when we first came here,” von Thurzó said as he looked around at the room. “However, it’s really kind of growing on me. Vorbereicher fashion has an interesting flair to it.”
“Of course,” Eltz said. “Why did you design this mansion after Vorbereicher fashion if you didn’t like the style, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Oh, I didn’t design this house,” von Thurzó said. “I was in business with a Vorbereicher viscount a few years back, and he rather struggled to keep up his ends of bargains. He put this house up as collateral at one point, so I got it when he failed to pay his debts. I’m not sure what happened to him, now that I think about it: I believe he ended up with his in-laws in Dirkham.”
Eltz got really tense when he heard that. Little did von Thurzó know, he’d just added insult to injury: not only was Eltz sitting in the home of a Magyaran, but he was sitting in a house that was taken from a Vorbereicher noble. It couldn’t have meshed with his notions of superiority.
“Will your wife or Katalin be joining us for lunch, my lord?” Friedrich asked before his father could say something to ruin his chances with Katalin.
“I’m afraid not,” von Thurzó said as the servants came in with the food. They all had steaming stew with them: it looked like goulash was on the menu for that afternoon. “Terézia and Katalin are both out shopping: it’ll just be the three of us, today.”
One of the servants spooned some goulash into their bowls. Though it looked and smelled delicious to Friedrich, he could tell that his father didn’t feel the same way: he was even looking a little green in the face, as if he was going to throw up if he had to eat it. Whether or not it was the heavy scent of paprika (which made Friedrich a little queasy the first time he smelled it) or the sheer fact that it was Magyaran cuisine, Friedrich couldn’t be too sure.
“Have you ever had Magyaran food?” von Thurzó asked.
“I’m afraid that I’ve never had the pleasure, before,” Eltz said with as straight of a face as he could manage.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke as they tried their first bites of stew. It was really spicy, but Friedrich didn’t think it was half bad: it was the sort of thing he would’ve liked having on a stormy day, or when it was especially cold out.
Eltz, apparently, didn’t feel the same way. He started coughing into his hand after he swallowed, his eyes watering slightly.
Von Thurzó didn’t seem offended by it: in fact, he began to laugh.
“I take it that paprika doesn’t treat you well,” von Thurzó said as Eltz continued to cough. The most powerful noble in Vorbereich began to turn bright red, though whether or not it was from embarrassment or from a lack of oxygen, Friedrich wasn’t sure.
“That’s really strong,” Eltz coughed. He took a few sips of water. “Is all Magyaran food that spicy?”
“Usually, yes,” von Thurzó said. He looked over at Friedrich as he took a second bite. “Now, I was told that you were the one that wanted to meet like this, Friedrich. What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
Friedrich nearly choked on his goulash. He’d been hoping that they would at least wait until they were done eating before they discussed that.
“Yes, Friedrich,” Eltz said flatly. “Tell Lord von Thurzó what we’re doing here.”
He swallowed, hard. “W-well, it’s about Katalin.”
Thurzó raised an eyebrow. “What about Katalin?”
Friedrich bit his lip as his heartbeat got a little faster. Dear heaven, did he really need him to spell it out, or was he more interested in getting him to come out with it?
“Iwanttomarryyourdaughter!” The words came out garbled, and Friedrich wasn’t sure that he understood himself.
Thurzó frowned, confused. “What?”
Friedrich sighed, trying to get his heart to slow down a little. He didn’t like that satisfactory look in his father’s eyes. He had to get control of his anxiety, or his father was going to win.
And this was something that he was really determined to win.
“I want to marry your daughter,” Friedrich said a little slower. He was still speaking a little fast, but von Thurzó seemed to understand that time. He sat back in his seat a little and began to scratch at his mustache as he considered the offer.
Friedrich felt like he was going to be sick. Please let him say yes; please, dear heaven, let him say yes!
“Why do you want to marry my Katalin?” von Thurzó asked. He seemed a little suspicious. “I would normally guess money or power, but seeing as you’re the heir to House Eltz, that probably isn’t the answer.”
Well, that wasn’t quite what he was expecting.
“Well, I love her, and I’m fairly certain that she loves me,” Friedrich said. “Love is the best reason to marry, isn’t it?”
“Do you really know if it’s love, though?” Yet another question Friedrich hadn’t expected from Lord Thurzó. “How do I know that you aren’t just going to throw away my daughter for an affair once you get bored of her, or if she can’t bare you the sons you want?”
It was a legitimate question, and though Friedrich had no intention to have an affair or anything, he didn’t really have an answer. What was he supposed to say to that? That he just knew? Something told him that von Thurzó wasn’t going to accept a simplistic answer like that, not when it concerned his one and only child.
Finally, Fr
iedrich sighed.
“I know that it’s love because I can’t imagine my life without your daughter in it,” he said. “And if I ever do something as disgusting as set her aside for another woman, you have my permission to kill me.”
For a few seconds, von Thurzó simply stared at him, as if trying to decide whether or not this young noble was telling the truth. Those few seconds felt like an eternity: had he just said the wrong thing? And what would his father do if he’d said the right thing and von Thurzó gave him permission to marry Katalin?
Well, it was too late to back out, now: it was out of his hands at that point.
Finally, von Thurzó started laughing. Friedrich didn’t relax: as far as he knew, that was a bad sign.
“I like this one,” he said. “Don’t look so sick: I’d be honored to have you for a son in law.”
Now Friedrich breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heaven: he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he’d said no.
Friedrich didn’t really speak for the rest of the lunch: his father took care of that as he (rather grudgingly) arranged for things, including when they were going to get married and how much money between the two of them they were willing to pitch in and for what. He couldn’t believe it: he was going to get married. His father was finally letting him get married after a long, hard struggle about who he would get married to.
Thinking back on all the things that had happened in his love life before that moment, though, it was just a shame that so much damage had been caused to a certain woman for him to get this far.
XXIII. HIRO
Hiro stared at the family picture on her desk, absentminded. The picture was horribly old: her father was alive in it, her mother’s eyes weren’t glazed over in insanity, Ichirou seemed care-free, Aki didn’t look angry, and Hiro was… well, Hiro was a six-year-old, judging by the pigtails and the perfectly straight bangs. The picture had to have been at least fifteen years old: her dad died on a troop transport ship heading back to Hanjai from what was then a thoroughly destroyed Vorbereich. The ship hit a nasty storm in the middle of the ocean, and the ship capsized. Lance Corporal Kunai Ikeda had not been among the survivors who stumbled off the rescue ship three weeks after the ship was due in port. After that, her mother kind of lost it, at which point Ichirou raised up the money to move them all to Vorbereich, all while leaving mom with her parents. The rest, as they say, was history.