by H J Peterson
“Where’s your father?” Viktoria muttered under her breath as they walked through the house. “I swear, I just saw him. He better be dressed, now, or I swear, I’ll-“
“Mom, I think you might be a little tense,” Friedrich finally said. “You need to relax, before you kneel over or something.”
Viktoria turned and gave him a look, as if he had something crawling out of his ear. “How am I supposed to relax? You’re going to get married, and not only are we behind schedule, but you’re having a terrible hangover and your father’s missing in action. I’m not going to be relaxed until this whole affair goes on without a hitch!”
So, she wasn’t going to relax. Ever. He liked to think that his wedding would go perfectly fine, but what the papers were saying at that point made him think otherwise. Anti-aristocracy protests had gotten even worse in the city proper of Königstadt, especially in the slums of Vergesse. Rumors were starting to spread that there would be armed revolution in the streets at some point, something that even Friedrich–a man who didn’t know the first thing about the military and combat in general–knew would end with a lot of bodies in the streets. Lord Eltz had told him that the Königstadt Guard’s reserves would be protecting the wedding alongside men from the guards of House Eltz and House von Thurzó, but none of that had helped to calm his nerves. Friedrich didn’t usually count himself among the pessimists, but that day was different. With every tabloid in Königstadt talking about this wedding, there was no way that the Archangel or one of his other minions wouldn’t try to leave their mark on that day.
So, no: nobody would be relaxing that day.
Before they could discuss any of that, however, they turned a corner and saw Eltz standing there, speaking to a man dressed in the deep crimson of the Königstadt Guard. His father was dressed in a black suit of his usual cut and a green, silk scarf. His graying, receding hair was combed back, a dueling cane was in his hands, and he had his usual, sour look on his face.
Well, at least he was acting normally.
“Dieter, please tell me that you’re ready to go,” Viktoria said as they walked towards him.
“As ready as I can possibly be,” Eltz sighed. He looked at Friedrich, frowning. “Friedrich, are you alright? You look sick to your stomach.”
“I’ll be okay,” Friedrich said. He couldn’t help but notice that he almost sounded as unwell as he felt. He didn’t like it all that much. “Dries and Anton gave me too much liquor last night and I… don’t feel so good.”
“Of course, you don’t,” Eltz said. He looked at Viktoria. “I guess we should get going, then: I’ve heard awful things about what traffic is going to be like.”
“Then, let’s hurry and go,” Viktoria said. She looked over at Friedrich. “You have the ring, right?”
Friedrich could feel his cheeks starting to turn bright red. No: he did not have the ring. Of all the things he could’ve forgotten, he’d chosen that.
It was a sign: it had to be, right?
“Friedrich, are you trying to kill me?” Viktoria said, putting a hand to her forehead. “You two get to the carriage: I’ll be right back.”
She went down the hall towards Friedrich’s room as fast as she could with full skirts and heeled shoes, and Friedrich and Eltz made their way to the carriage in the most awkward silences he’d ever experienced.
“Now, Friedrich, I want you to be honest with me,” Eltz said once Viktoria was out of earshot. “Are you really this sick from the alcohol, or are you this sick because you’re worried that you’ve made the wrong decision?”
“Dad, I don’t care what you say,” Friedrich said. “I’m going to marry Katalin today, and that’s that.”
“I’m not trying to get you to back out,” Eltz said. Funny: Friedrich almost thought that his father was being genuine. “You’ve just never… faired well under pressure. And getting married is a lot of pressure.”
“I’ll be fine,” Friedrich said.
Eltz pulled a flask out from inside his coat. Of course, he had some bourbon on hand: he always did. “So you don’t need a little sip of this? I’ll give you some if you need it.”
“I don’t need any more alcohol in my system,” Friedrich said. He looked up at him. “Why are you so concerned about my well-being all of a sudden, anyway?”
“Because I remember how nervous I was about my wedding,” Eltz said quietly. “I nearly threw up when I married Viktoria: it didn’t help that her father couldn’t stop staring at me like he wanted me to drop dead at the altar, nor did it help that I almost passed out at the altar.” He looked over his shoulder, at where Viktoria had gone. “And on top of all that, my mother and her mother stressed the two of us out to no end, with their obsession with perfection.” He looked back at Friedrich. “Sadly, it seems that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree in that department.”
Friedrich found himself doing a double take of his father. He was being serious; he was actually trying to relate to him, like a normal father. Something was wrong with his father. Eltz must have been terminally ill or something: it was the only explanation he could think of.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Friedrich finally asked.
“Because you’re stressed as hell, and you need to stop,” Eltz said bluntly. “This is the day of your wedding, Friedrich. Enjoy it.”
Yes: his father was terminally ill. What was it? Tuberculosis? No, probably not: he wasn’t coughing all that much. Heart defect, maybe? He didn’t know.
“Th-thank you,” Friedrich said as he began to rub the back of his neck. “So, should I eat breakfast, then?”
“Unless you want to pass out at the altar and kill your mother in embarrassment, then yes,” Eltz said. He looked over at him. “Then again, you also have a hangover: with how weak your stomach is, you’re almost guaranteed to throw whatever you eat back up.”
And they were back to business as usual.
It wasn’t long after that that the two of them came outside, by the carriage house. True to form, Chayim had gotten the carriage out and was in the process of hitching two horses to it when they came out, while one of the scullery maids was hopping out of the carriage. Friedrich assumed that it was because she’d just delivered breakfast.
“Good morning, my lords,” she said, bowing her head. “Lady Totefels has requested that I bring your breakfast to the carriage. I hope that it pleases you.”
“What has the cook made for us?” Eltz asked.
“Breakfast sandwiches, my lord,” the maid said. “Warm rolls with poached eggs, bacon, and a side of potatoes. Master Novak has also included a salt and a pepper shaker to add to your food as you wish.”
Eltz nodded. “Go find Captain Maddox and tell him to come here, and tell Master Novak thank you. I believe that the captain is in the guards’ quarters.”
“Yes, my lord.” The maid bowed again and quickly headed to the house to fulfill Eltz orders.
“Maddox is still here?” Friedrich asked as the two of them climbed into the carriage. Sure enough, the small table attached to the other door was propped up and set, with china, silverware, and everything. Personally, Friedrich had never enjoyed eating in the carriage: it was a little difficult, to say the least.
“Of course, he is,” Eltz said as he settled in his seat across from him. He began to inspect the food, a skeptical look on his face. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
Friedrich looked down at his own meal. It looked and smelled so good, but he didn’t eat it, at first. Would he even be able to hold it down if he wanted to? “I guess I just thought that he would be securing St. Janika’s with the rest of the men, is all.”
“That’s what the Königstadt guard reserves are doing,” Eltz said. He took a bite out of his sandwich, washing it down with even more bourbon. It wouldn’t surprise Friedrich if his father managed to get tipsy by the time they arrived at the church. “Maddox, as your personal guard, will be at your side during the ceremony.”
Finally, Friedrich picked up t
he sandwich and took a small bite, forcing it down. Hopefully, he wouldn’t really throw it all back up like he thought it would.
It wasn’t too long after that that the rest of his little wedding party arrived. A very frazzled Viktoria came to the carriage, carrying the small, wooden box that Katalin’s wedding ring was in, with an unusually well-dressed Maddox right behind.
Maddox frowned at Friedrich as he took his seat next to him. “Are you alright, my lord? You look a little ill.”
Friedrich didn’t respond, at first: he was a little shocked that Maddox had actually referred to him as a lord. He hadn’t done that since the night the manor was attacked, nearly a month ago. Of course, though, Eltz was hardly ever around there when the two of them were together.
“I’ll be okay, Friedrich finally said. “I just had a few too many drinks with Dries and Anton last night, is all.”
Maddox nodded in understanding. “Sounds about right. Last night was… interesting. They can’t hold their liquor.”
Eltz gave Maddox a look, raising his eyebrows in an apparent question. Maddox’s cheeks turned bright red, and he bowed his head in apology.
“I-I’m sorry, my lord,” he said quietly. “Forgive me: I shouldn’t be so bold when speaking of other lords.”
“The way you speak is not my responsibility,” Eltz said with a flippant flick of his wrist. He looked over at Friedrich. “What do you think of the way the captain of your guard speaks, Friedrich? Do you approve of the tone that he uses to speak of men so far above his station?”
Everybody’s eyes turned to Friedrich to see what he would do. Eltz seemed to challenge him, Maddox had that same pleading look in his eyes as he had in that courtroom, Viktoria was wide-eyed, not wanting to watch her husband and her son fight and ruin a day that was supposed to be so happy; Friedrich hated that his father had decided to force him into that position.
He sat up a little, trying to look a little bigger than he felt. “I do approve, actually. Captain Maddox simply spoke the truth as he saw it. I won’t punish him simply for having an opinion.”
Eltz’s expression turned sour, as if he’d just licked a lemon. Before he had the chance to chastise him, however, Chayim came over to the door and bowed.
“The carriage is ready, my lord,” Chayim said, standing up straight, again. “Are we waiting on anything else, sir, or shall we get going?”
“We’re ready,” Eltz said. “Do hurry, Chayim: I’d rather not be late.”
“Yes, my lord.” Chayim closed the carriage door. The cab rocked a little as he got onto the driver’s seat, and with a sharp snap of the reigns, the carriage slowly began to move, rolling down cobblestones away from Eltz Manor. They were on their way.
XLVI. ADELRIC
Adelric and Hiro sat on the platform of the metro station, waiting for a train to arrive. They’d spent the better part of the morning at Medvye’s, getting the bombs for the Überhaus ready. Klara had left about an hour before they did, heading downtown to St. Janika’s for the protests. “Get down there as soon as you’re done here,” Klara had instructed them before she left. “Make sure you’re there before it starts.” That had been about an hour before then, and they had another half an hour before the wedding was set to start.
Hiro had been quiet from the second they set out, and in all honesty, it kind of worried Adelric. Yes, she wasn’t exactly a talkative person in the first place, but this was different. Something was on her mind, and the angst practically radiated off of her.
“Yumi, is… something bothering you?” Adelric finally asked.
“Why do you ask?” Hiro asked. No annoyance, no sarcasm.
“You’ve been quiet,” Adelric said. “You didn’t even tell me that I was just being weird when I asked you just then if something was up.”
Hiro didn’t say anything, at first: she just dug her hands deeper into her pockets, hunched her shoulders a little more.
“I just… I’m not looking forward to going to St. Janika’s, right now,” she said.
Adelric frowned. He didn’t follow: why was she just now apprehensive about this-
Wait.
“That boy you were dating, the one who lived with his parents, whose father broke it off, who couldn’t figure out how to wear his suit collars,” Adelric said as the realization came to him. “That was… him, wasn’t it.”
He could see her fists clench in her pockets.
“I’m sorry,” Adelric said. “This can’t be easy.”
“That was a long time ago,” Hiro said. “It’s about time that the two of us moved on.”
Why did she sound more like she was trying to convince herself of that than she was trying to convince him?
Suddenly, Adelric’s thoughts went back to Zanetti, that beat cop that he was fairly certain had a crush on Hiro. He still hadn’t been able to figure out whether or not she knew how he felt about her.
“What is it?” Hiro asked.
Adelric frowned. “Huh?”
“You look like you want to ask me something,” Hiro said bluntly. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Adelric said as the train pulled up to the platform.
“No,” Hiro said bluntly. “You don’t get to pry information out of me, then not answer me when I ask you a simple question.”
Adelric didn’t respond as they got onto the train: he was trying to think of what he could say to Hiro about Zanetti that wouldn’t end with her punching him.
“… you know that Zanetti kid?” Adelric asked.
Hiro frowned. “Enrico? What about him?”
So, they at least knew each other. “Are the two of you… friends?”
“Yeah: he was the only one who didn’t care about what I was back during-“ she stopped herself. Adelric could only assume that she was talking about her time at the academy. “Anyway, why do you ask?”
Adelric didn’t say anything.
Hiro gave him a look. “You’re joking, right? You don’t actually think…”
“He really seems to like you,” Adelric said. “He got really worried while you were… gone.”
“So did a lot of people,” Hiro said bluntly. “He doesn’t think that way about me.”
“Alright,” Adelric said. “Sorry for asking.”
They were silent for a few seconds as the metro train rumbled down the tunnel.
“You… really think he feels that way about me?”
Adelric looked at Hiro, frowning. Her tone had flipped like a switch: she was looking down at her feet, now, a slight smile on her lips.
Wait: is the feeling mutual?
“Yeah,” Adelric said.
She smiled a little more.
That odd moment didn’t last much longer than that.
“Next stop, St. Janika,” the announcer called out. “Get off here for transfers to lines 1, 6, 10, and 15.”
The look on Hiro’s face darkened, suddenly all business. “We’re here.”
XLVI. FRIEDRICH
Friedrich was going to vomit.
He became more and more sure of that as the carriage rumbled down the road, nearly to St. Janika’s. Somehow, he’d managed to get all of his breakfast down, and the more time that passed, the more sure he became that he would lose the contents of his stomach within the hour. He was as miserable as he could possibly be, and it took all of his willpower to not beg Chayim to stop the carriage and let him out so he could just go ahead and throw up.
And nobody in the carriage seemed to notice, thank heaven. Nobody, except for one person.
“Friedrich, are you going to be okay?” Viktoria asked. “You really aren’t looking too good.”
No, I’m not okay: we need to pull this carriage over now! “I’m okay. I think I’m just a little motion sick from eating in the carriage, is all.”
“Do you want Chayim to pull over for a second?” Viktoria asked, her frown deepening.
Yes! Pull this stupid thing over! “I’ll be fine, mom. Really: it isn’t that big of a deal.�
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Just as he said that, the knot in his stomach tightened in apparent defiance of him, trying to get him to give up and vomit on the street somewhere. Friedrich wasn’t going to give up, though: he wasn’t going to let a little stomachache ruin his wedding day-
His stomach clenched hard enough to hurt, but not quite enough to make him spill his breakfast. Oh, hell!
He looked out the window of the carriage, hoping that looking at the road might help him not feel so sick. It didn’t. “H-how much longer until we get to St. Janika’s, do you think?”
Eltz looked out the window at the crowds around them. Some of them were reporters, other were protesters with picket signs and anti-aristocracy slogans, and the rest were police officers, trying to get the protesters to disperse. “Not too long, I don’t think: I give it five minutes.” He looked back at Friedrich. “In a rush to get married, are you?”
That, and I want to know how much longer I absolutely have to hold this in. “I guess.”
Friedrich looked out the window and took a deep breath, hoping that it would keep down the bile rising up in his throat for a little while longer. Five minutes: he just had to keep from throwing up for five more, lousy minutes.
All he could do was pray that he could manage it.
After the longest five minutes of his life, the carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of St. Janika’s, Königstadt’s oldest Magyaran Gerechtist cathedral. Friedrich had marveled at the building the first time he saw that church, admiring the detailed masonry and the intricate stained glass, all of which depicted various people and scenes from The Word of God and The Servants of God, the two volumes that made up “The Holy Book”, but at that moment, he wasn’t feeling that same wonderment. Instead, he found himself looking at the small alleys on either side of the cathedral, places that were isolated from the press that swarmed the front of the church like flies to a week-old carcass. He needed to get to one of them, before he vomited in the carriage, or, even worse, in front of the press.