Jan ca’Ostheim
“.
. . OUR TROOPS WERE EASILY a day’s march past Il Trebbio’s
borders before we had any sign that we’d been noticed. We did have
a small skirmish with a company of Holdings chevarittai. Two of
them were killed by our war-téni, and they turned and fled after
that; none of our own people were seriously harmed. Given our last
discussions, after a day there I brought the battalion back over
the border. From everything we’ve learned in the last several
months, Hïrzg Jan, it would appear that the Holdings borders are
rather porous, and Il Trebbio is certainly one of the weaker
points. Kraljica Allesandra doesn’t have enough—”
Armen ca’Damont,
Starkkapitän of the Firenzcian Garde Civile, halted his report to
Jan as the door to the room burst open, the doors slamming hard
against their stops. A trio of children entered in the wake of the
disturbance, trailed distantly by one of the staff servants with
another, smaller, child in her arms. “Vatarh!” Kriege, Jan’s eldest
son, was the first into the room. He stamped his foot, glaring back
at his older sister. Caelor, a year younger than Kriege, stood
beside his brother, nodding vigorously and echoing the glare. “We
were playing Chevarittai, and Elissa cheated! It’s not fair!”
The nursemaid rushed
in, looking harried, and bowed awkwardly to Jan and ca’Damont with
Eria, Jan’s youngest, now in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Hïrzg,” she
said, not looking up. “The children were playing fine and I was
dressing little Eria, and there was an argument and they were
running to find you . . .”
“It’s fine,” Jan
said, grinning at ca’Damont. “Don’t worry yourself. Now then,
Kriege, what’s all this about cheating?”
“Elissa cheated,” Kriege repeated, scowling so fiercely
that it was nearly comical. “She did.”
“Elissa?” Jan said
sternly, his gaze moving to his daughter.
Another child might
have looked at the floor. Jan knew that Caelor would have, with
even the hint of a rebuke, and even Kriege looked away now. But
Elissa gazed placidly back, glancing once at ca’Damont’s thin face
marred and disfigured with the ridged memories of old battles, then
fixing on Jan. She brushed back brown-gold strands of hair that had
escaped her braids to flutter around her eyes. “I didn’t cheat,
Vatarh,” she said. “Not really.”
“Yes she did,” Kriege interrupted, stamping his foot again.
“She lied.”
Elissa didn’t bother
to look at Kriege. Her regard stayed with Jan. “I did lie, Vatarh,”
she admitted. “I told Kriege that I’d help him if he attacked
Caelor’s keep with his soldiers.”
“She said she’d use
her war-téni on her next turn and help me,” Kriege interrupted
again. “And she didn’t. When it was her turn, she attacked
me instead and I lost all my keeps and
most of my chevarittai. She cheated.”
Jan glanced again at
ca’Damont, who was stifling his own grin. “Is that true,
Elissa?”
She nodded. “It is,”
she said gravely. “You see, Caelor had the most keeps and soldiers
left on the board, and Kriege and I had about the same. I knew I
couldn’t beat Caelor by myself, so I told Kriege that I’d help him
because I knew Caelor would take lots of his soldiers and Caelor
would lose enough of his so that he couldn’t attack me, and then,
when it was my turn, I could take most of Kriege’s keeps and
capture enough soldiers that I’d probably win the game.” She
glanced at her brothers. “And I would have, too, if Kriege hadn’t
gotten mad and knocked the pieces all over the floor.”
Ca’Damont’s snicker
was audible, and he turned his blade-scarred face away for a
moment. Jan had to fight to hold back his own amusement, though it
was tempered by just how much Elissa was like her great-matarh
Allesandra. Jan could well imagine her doing the same as a child;
it was what he’d watched her do as an adult.
“So . . .” Jan said
to her, “you offered your brother an alliance that you didn’t
intend to keep so you could win? Is that right?”
A nod. Jan looked at
the two boys. “I think your sister has just taught you an excellent
lesson,” he told them. “In war, sometimes a person’s word isn’t
enough. Sometimes your enemy will lie to you in order to gain an
advantage. And there’s more to war than simply moving your soldiers
about. You should remember this. Both of you.”
“But she cheated!” Kriege insisted, stamping his foot
again.
Jan stroked his
beard, trying not to laugh. “What do you think, Starkkapitän?” Jan
asked ca’Damont. “Should I punish Elissa for her
cheating?”
“No, my Hïrzg,”
ca’Damont answered, and Jan saw Elissa’s face relax slightly—so she
had been worried about what he might
do. “But I would say that there also is a lesson for her from
this—that when one gives her word, others will be upset if that
word’s not kept, and sometimes their reaction may prevent one from
gaining the advantage they’d hoped to gain. Now no one will ever
know which one of you might have won the game.”
Jan clapped ca’Damont
on the shoulder. “There, you see,” he told the children. “You have
it from the Starkkapitän himself. He knows war better than any of
us. I hope you’ve learned well, so when one of you is Hïrzg . .
.”
“Let’s pray to Cénzi
that isn’t for many decades yet, my husband.” The voice lifted up
Jan’s head, and he saw Brie standing in the doorway and smiling in
at the scene. He went to her, kissing her and embracing her
briefly. She smelled of jasmine and sweetwater, and her hair—once
the same color as Elissa’s, but darkening now—was soft even in the
tight Tennshah braids that were currently so popular. If her figure
had become heavier after bearing their children, well, that was
like the scars on ca’Damont’s face: a sign of the sacrifices she
had made.
Rance had told him
that it was Brie who had sent away Mavel cu’Kella, and why. After
his initial irritation, he was pleased: it saved him the trouble of
doing the same.
“What’s going on
here?” Brie asked. She looked at the children, at the servant
holding Eria, at the nursemaid. “Rance told me you were still in
conference, and we’re to be at the temple for the Day of Return
blessing in a turn of the glass.” She shook her head, though the
expression on her face was indulgent and serene. “And none of our
children are dressed yet.”
“I’m sorry, Hïrzgin,”
the nursemaid said, curtsying. “It’s my fault. I’ll get them ready.
Elissa, Kriege, Caelor—come with me now. Quickly . .
.”
Brie hugged each of
them as they passed (Kriege still frowning and flushed with anger,
Elissa with a tight-lipped smile of triumph, Caelor as always dour
and pensive). “I should take my leave also,” ca’Damont said, bowing
to Brie and Jan. “I’ll have my scribe write up the full report for
you this afternoon,” he said to Jan. “And we’ll see what Ambassador
ca’Rudka has to say when he arrives. I’m sure word will have come
to him on his way here. Hïrzg, Hïrzgin . . .”
He bowed again and
left them. As the doors to the chamber clicked shut, Brie went to
Jan and hugged him again, tilting her face up for his kiss. She
leaned back slightly in his arms, plucking at the collar of his
shirt. “You’re wearing this to the
ceremony?”
“I was considering
it, yes. It’s comfortable.”
“You look so handsome
in that new red one, though.”
He smiled at her.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to change to the red, just to please
you.”
She kissed him again.
“Armen had no trouble in Il Trebbio?”
“Less than I
expected, actually.”
She nodded, her head
against his shoulder. “The children have never seen their
great-matarh, Jan. They only think of her as that awful woman in
Nessantico who sometimes sends presents. I think you should
consider what Sergei wants to offer her.”
“She’s the one responsible for the estrangement,”
Jan said. “And Rance agrees with me that there should be no treaty
with the Holdings. If she wanted peace, she shouldn’t have
supported Stor ca’Vikej in West Magyaria, and she shouldn’t be
letting his son hang around the court of the Holdings. She stuffed
the mattress on which she lies; if she finds it uncomfortable,
well, she’s the one responsible.”
“I know,” Brie
whispered. “I know. But I still wish . . . Children should know
their relatives, and not as enemies.”
“Then let her give up
the Sun Throne entirely, rather than letting Sergei propose this
nonsense of naming me as A’Kralj.”
“You put her on the throne, my love.” The rebuke
wasn’t as harsh as it could have been, and she softened it by
touching her hand gently to his cheek. “I know. You did what you
thought was right at the time.”
“I was young and
foolish,” Jan said. He opened his arms, releasing her. “And I don’t
want to talk about this. Not now.” He grasped her hand and kissed
it. “Let me have my domestiques de
chambre find this red shirt you like so much, and we’ll go
to the temple to make our appearance . . .”
He heard the sigh she
stifled, but she smiled up at him and stroked her hand down his
chest, stopping just at his belt. “Don’t call them just yet,” she
said. She raised up on her toes to kiss him again as her hand
remained where it was. “There’s still time, isn’t there, my love?”
she asked.
He laughed. “As much
as we like. They can’t start without us, can they?”
He kissed her again,
more urgently. He felt her body yield to his, and that drove away
any other thoughts for a time.
