The ducal plaza, quite luxurious even by day, was entirely magical in flickering torchlight. Magical and deliberate. The dim, sometimes flickering light left the stone of the walls a faceless, intimidating rampart of shadows while highlighting the twenty-one banners hanging from it. Long, thin banners spanning the distance from its castellated top nearly to the ground. They framed the 22nd, central standard, a capstone to the set. Sized the same, but hanging from the gatehouse above such that its hem trailed barely above the heads of those entering below.
They shaded from a pale red at the outside to the deepest crimson at the center and bore the grain sheaf and scythe heraldry of Obstergartenfeld, though papa had privately joked the current duke should use a whip.
The Duke's legitimacy laid out in one of the only coins that mattered.
Time. Twenty-two generations of it.
It was impressive. A statement no joke could undercut. Tightfisted slave-driver he might be, but his house had earned its place. As much as he was despised for his methods, not even papa would deny his successes. The grain and grapes he wrung from his Basics fueled the Empire’s war efforts. His wealth grew from cruelty but it grew honestly.
Ermina gazed upwards, wondering what that must be like. A small tug drew her attention. She stepped forward on papa's arm, following a baron and his wife - in a particularly fetching off-the-shoulder gown of yellow, tight-woven linen! - and began to march up the grand promenade.
A Hoplite, his breastplate, helm and shield polished and burnished to perfection, stood every five feet on either side of the 10-foot-wide marble walkway. Mirror-like, they focused light and attention on the guests walking between.
___
"Outdated popinjays." Guile opined.
"Hush, I'm telling this story." Ermina retorted.
___
The reflected light fell on her, emphasizing and outlining her new pale violet gown – a bit more modest than she would prefer, but papa would insist. Still, it was new and the crowd of city dwellers oohed and ahhed from the plaza’s edges.
All eyes were on them and it was glorious!
It was over all too soon as they passed through the gate into the palace proper, following papa’s lead and standing as straight as she could, unafraid of brushing against the duke’s banner.
And without giving it so much as a glance!
Then even that was quickly out of sight, out of mind. She heard the crack of the seneschal's staff of office. An invitation and a familiar refrain. One for the lower nobility, knights, baronets and barons proper. Two for the seniors, counts, dukes and princes. Three for the Emperor, may his light ever shine on the fields of Aclelia.
Crack. Announcing a baron and his wife!
Crack and another!
And finally, Crack! “Announcing Baron Theodric of Rivervald and daughter, the Lady Ermina!”
And then they were inside! The towering, expansive ballroom was as brightly lit as the plaza had been dim. Great burning braziers with bronze reflective plates behind them lined the spaces between the traditional two lines of columns.
Bathing the U of tables in bright, steady light. Though few indeed were yet seated. The room was sparsely filled with men clustered by blood ties or alliances around the outside, older women in a much more inclusive ring inside of them and finally the young in the very center.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Three rings tied together by an elegant dance of servants bearing platters of wine and aperitifs.
We stopped first to greet Baron Hargrave of –
___
“You're not going to list out however many nobles are you?” Leo whined. He did it with a calm, level voice. It was still whining.
“If you don’t have the names memorized, maybe I should!” Ermina fired back, but after a level stare, she glanced around the room.
Ethan tried to keep a supportive look on his face. Success would have been better.
She snorted. “Fine. There were about 40 guests, and we spent most of an hour rubbing elbows with them. A very exciting time for a young lady on her first major showing. But eventually, we found our seats. And they were rather farther down the tables than Father liked!”
___
The duke held Tycelus’s gift above his head, displaying to one and all the intact seal of green varnish. Then, with all the ceremony and grace a corpulent old man could manage, he applied the hot iron, scoring the neck quickly before wrapping it briefly in ice, then a final touch with the feather and the neck separated cleanly.
He ritualistically filled his own glass before passing the vessel to a servant. He didn’t even fill his mistress’s!
He was too busy talking for that. About fortune, fate and how position implied Tycelus’s favor. It, well, it did drag on. She let it pass by unheard and unexamined while trading looks with the youth across the way.
___
“What, now you don’t name names?” Ethan prodded her with a smile.
She ignored him with quiet dignity.
___
With filled glasses at last, they waited for the Duke to finish pontificating.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
___
“Is this revenge? You had to wait so you’re making us do so as well?”
“Yes! Now hush.”
___
“To fate, to fortune and to the Goddess! May she be kind.” The duke offered.
“May she be kind!” The guests repeated. Then one and all they drank.
And one and all they dry heaved. She’d never tasted anything even remotely as foul!
___
“What? I thought this was a good memory.”
“It is. Now at least. Then?”
___
It was the vilest vinegar mixed with the oil of raw olives. Coating the tongue and throat in a bitterness that refused to numb the senses. No, it made them tingle and struggle for survival. Searching for something, anything to distract!
And finding it to her great regret. In a taste so sour it was fit to spoil milk.
___
“I’d pay good coin to see the Duke drink that.” Andrew chimed in.
“As well you should! I did say it was a happy memory. He was fit to be tied. His face bore anger, disgust and a kind of disbelief. As if he couldn’t really believe this had happened to him.”
She chuckled softly and patted the jar lightly.
“And despite how that might sound, it wasn’t all deserved humiliation. We all drank it and there is a sort of bonding that comes from shared suffering.”
“I know it well.” Ethan agreed, though the battlefield was a far cry from a jar of bad wine. “But were you trying to convince us to drink this with that story?”
“No.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “And yes. No, not now of course. We haven’t the need. But at the right time, this ewer could end a war, cement our place amongst our neighbors or even gain us a personal favor from a senior noble. It's not something you sell, at least not for coin. You keep it until the situation calls.”
“Wine as a strategic resource?” Conner muttered, looking slightly skeptical.
“A goddess’s gift as a strategic resource.” She returned with a smile.
Now that. That was much easier to swallow.
___
“Any word on Baron Clovis?” Ethan asked sometime later.
“Messenger relay in just this morning. Scouts have eyes on ‘im. Should be just outside of Promise tonight.” Conner said, then pursed his lips to spit, before catching Ermina’s eye and thinking better of it.
Ethan swore softly. “What a time for an enemy to be honorable!”
“A mite awkward, but I’d not have it any other way.” Conner replied.
“Oh agreed. But it is a bit dangerous. And the farther north he gets, the more dangerous it will be. I’ll have to meet him personally, thank him for his diligence and send him on his way. I should bring you with me, Adelbert.” He offered, shooting the squire an amused look.
“No, you don’t bring the son of one of his enemies with you when trying to make nice.” Ermina shot back. “But yes, you will need to go personally. And you need to bring a gift of some value as well. But - Tonight?” and the weight in the single word spoke volumes.
Ethan gave her a lingering look, then squeezed her shoulder gently. “Not tonight. There will be good common wine and a send-off for the fallen. I can’t afford to miss it.” Every fighting man at the table nodded with a quiet finality. “And a night in our bed isn’t something I’m willing to forgo. But tomorrow morning. Early morning. I’ll be setting a harsh pace downriver.”
___
