rix_scaedu

I wrote this in response to aldersprig's prompt "The night after the wedding."  It follows on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.

“So, where are we going?”  Archduke Dionysus was holding hands with his wife in the back of the official car while the chief bridesmaid, the senior groomsman and an interpreter sat opposite them.  There were a driver and a security man in the front of the car.  The interpreter was along because the chief bridesmaid had only a few words of Terrencian and the rest of them in the back of the car spoke about that much of the local language.  In fact, the best language the four of them had in common was Russkiy but none of them spoke it fluently, unless the senior groomsman was holding out on them.

“To propitiate the lesser gods on behalf of the bride and groom.”  The chief bridesmaid spoke directly to Dionysus, a fact which impressed him.  He had no idea what she did for a living but the bride’s friend with a conjunction for a given name handled the etiquette of needing to rely on a translator with an ease too many people he dealt with lacked.  “It’s one of the duties of the best man and the chief bridesmaid in our culture.”

“What are the lesser gods and how are you going to propitiate them?”  That was the Archduke’s wife, Countess Francesca.

“The lesser gods are what’s left of the religion we had before the Church arrived up here,” explained the chief bridesmaid, And.  “They’re the little gods who look after roads and rivers, that sort of thing.  We propitiate them by giving them wedding cake,” she indicated the napkin wrapped parcels in the flat basket on her lap.

“I thought the Church would have put a stop to that sort of thing,” went on Countess Francesca with a puzzled expression.

“They tried to, of course,” agreed And, “but the second bishop, Bishop Ioannes, tried to tell King Ragnar that his only heir was the son of his marriage, which would have disinherited his six older, acknowledged sons.  Then the bishop made the mistake of saying the boy would automatically be the next king which angered all the other Ruhtigs because the King was elected in those days, not inherited.  The Church had to concede ground or get kicked out of the country in a vicious fashion.  That incident is why we do church differently to other people.”

“It sounds very political,” commented Archduke Dionysus.

“Oh, it was,” agreed And, “and it has been every time it’s come up since.”  She looked out the window as the car came to a stop.  “Ah, we’re here.”  She waited for the security man to open the door and then she led the other four out of the car.

They found themselves on a street corner.  There were trees planted down the street on their right but not the one on their left.  The amount of street lighting said that the neighbourhood didn’t see much night time pedestrian traffic.  The street names were marked on a sign post at the corner and the buildings around the intersection were dark.

“Why here?”  That was the senior groomsman who’d taken a quick look around and didn’t seem to like what he saw.

“Rune let me pick where to do this because she doesn’t have a place that’s particularly significant to her and this is where I was found.  This is where I come from,” And pointed at the sign post, “and that’s where I get my fancy-sounding, double-barrelled surname from.”

“You were abandoned?”  Countess Francesca was horrified.

“Yes,” agreed And, “before I was found.  Let’s do this.  One piece for the little gods.”  She walked to the corner of the building and set down a wrapped piece of cake up against the brick.  “The rest…”  She turned and walked, heedlessly and carelessly in the opinion of at least two of the men in the group, towards two homeless men camped at opposite ends of a loading dock door.

“I should go with her,” said the senior groomsman and he broke into a lope to catch up with her.

Archduke Dionysus asked the translator, “What’s she saying?”

“Excuse me sir, one of my friends got married today.  Would you like a piece of wedding cake?”  The translator’s expression didn’t change.

“But why?”  Countess Francesca asked as And moved on to the second man.

“It came out of feeding the beggars at the kitchen door on the trenchers and other remains of the wedding feast,” the translator was smiling now.  “These days it’s traditional to hand out twelve pieces of cake that have a token wrapped up with them.  In this case the token can be redeemed at any bank, but usually it’s for a meal at a café or a night in a hotel.”

“So this is charity?”  Archduke Dionysus seemed more comfortable with that.

“It’s part of gaining the little gods’ grace and favour for the bride and groom, yes,” agreed the translator.  Down the street And had moved on to an alley mouth, shadowed by the senior groomsman.  She handed out three more pieces of cake, listened to something one of the men said and then walked over to a parked car to knock on the window.  Four pieces of cake went in through the window.  And looked around, saw three men heading towards her from another alley across the road and met them halfway.  Having handed out all the cake, she started back to the car and the archducal couple.  The senior groomsman fell into step beside her and started talking.

When they returned to the others it became clear that he had resorted to Russkiy to express his feelings on the subject of her behaviour.  Archduke Dionysus thought they both had better accents and vocabulary than they had been able to demonstrate earlier when they’d been worried about being correct and polite.  And sounded like a proletary from the northern soviets while the senior groomsman had the soviet soldier’s accent.

“You could have at least told us what you were doing,” he was saying.

“So you could stop me?  That would have defeated the purpose of this trip, wouldn’t it?”  And was swinging the empty basket vigorously.

“So we could keep you and the Countess safe,” he said firmly back.

“I don’t need keeping safe,” she snapped back.  “I know what I’m doing, and here I was thinking I might have walked you back to your hotel after the car drops us off.”

“I’m not the one who needs protection.  It would make more sense for me to walk you home.”  That reply was stiff.

“But I’m the one who knows where your hotel is compared to everything else,” she retorted.  “I’m sure that with your three guns and whatever it is down the back of your neck, we’d be perfectly safe, even on the streets of the Terrencian capital.”

“My three guns?”  He looked at her sharply.

“We grew up in an orphanage three blocks in that direction,” And pointed.  “I could pick when someone was carrying a weapon by the time I was thirteen.  If you behave and you’re nice to me, I might show you where I carry my knife.”

I wrote this to aldersprig's fifth numbered prompt, "Rune."  It follows on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 2 and is folloed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.

The car pulled up outside the cathedral with the rear door exactly on the end of the red carpet.  The precisely placed trooper crisply opened the door and Constantine Sjeldnjar emerged, unfolding his full length to the cheers of the crowd.  Ignoring them he turned his beautifully suited and white haired person in place to help Rune emerge in her turn, the previously disembarked bridesmaids darting forward to help her with the skirts and train.  When her skirts were straight, Rune took her father’s arm and with the bevy of bridesmaids and flower girls proceeded in loose order along the red carpet to the cathedral steps where they were greeted by the rector.  Rune expected him to spout some religious homily but instead he smiled kindly, welcomed her warmly and advised, “Just remember to keep breathing and you’ll be fine, Your Highness.  Keep it slow and down to your diaphragm and you won’t get into trouble.”

“Thank you.”  Rune smiled at him from behind her veil.  “Do you get many fainting brides?”

“Groomsmen are more of a problem,” the rector admitted, “but I shouldn’t keep you or the Archduke will think you’ve changed your mind.” 

The bridal party went up the steps and in through the doors.  They paused there to get into their formal order, flower girls deployed to the front and bridesmaids arrayed behind, then the bride’s father gave a nod to an attendant who spoke into a neat little phone or radio and then a fanfare of trumpets and other horns rang out.  The bridal party started down the aisle.

“Her Highness has just entered the nave of the cathedral,” a commentator told the television audience.  “She’s wearing the same veil of Bruniton lace that Queen Galina, her grandmother, wore for her wedding.  That’s being held in place, as you can see in the close up, by the Princess Gudrun coronet – one of the four made for the daughters of the last elected Sjeldnjar King and kept in the Sjeldnjar vaults ever since.  We had thought she might wear the Princess Dagny coronet she wore in her official portrait but Ruhtig Algernon has obviously given the first Sjeldnjar princess since those times her choice of the four Sjeldnjar coronets.  Her dress-“

Rune was spared the commentary but she was feeling very glad of her veil.  Everyone was looking at her, but at least they all looked pleased.  Old friends from the orphanage and newer work friends on her right.  On her left were a lot of military-looking men and their wives who should be the groom’s friends.  Beyond them she could see dignitaries and beyond them again the Imperial and Royal families.  The Emperor, Queen, Empress and her grandfather all smiled benevolently.

Then she saw him at the far end of the aisle, beyond the congregation.  Steady and solid with his broad shoulders and neat, unfashionable beard.  Dressed in a dark but beautifully cut suit livened up only by his tie and a Terrencian order he would have gotten for being an Archduke who’d reached his majority alive.  He smiled and he was the only solid ground for miles, and she was going towards him.

This is the second piece I wrote to kelkyag's first prompt "Rune & Franz."  It is followed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 2.

Rune had spent the night before her wedding in the spare room of her parents’ apartment, the only night she had ever spent under their roof.  After an early breakfast she had jogged to the back entrance of the Sjeldnjar townhouse and slipped in, completely avoiding the press camped out the front of the building.  Once inside she’d gone straight to the suite she called ‘the wedding ready room’ in her head to shower and then submit to hairdressing and makeup.

He bridesmaids and flower girls arrived from wherever they’d stayed for the night and were submitted to the same routine of beautification.  Heiress-presumptive to the throne, Princess Silvana, age seven, was the youngest of the bevy of flower girls that were going to precede Rune and her father down the aisle.  Rune’s friend from the orphanage, And, tried to explain to the Terrencian bridesmaids why her name was a conjunction.

Rune simply tuned it out as background hum and floated through the morning.  She didn’t even look at herself in the mirror until they settled the antique silver Sjeldnjar coronet on her head to hold the veil in place.  It was like the formal photograph, someone had worked magic and she actually looked like a princess.

Archduke Franz had won the argument over what his half of the wedding party was wearing and only his brother and best man, Archduke Dionysus, was in military uniform.  The groom and the other groomsmen were wearing dark, tailored suits without a medal or decoration in sight.  Franz thought he was doing fine until he ruined his tie three times and one of his former squad mates took pity on him and tied it for him.

All too soon it was time to get in the cars to be driven to the cathedral.  One of the groomsmen, Berthold joked, “If you’ve changed your mind, we can take the drivers and make a break for the border in the cars.”

Franz looked around.  “No,” he declared.  “If I miss this appointment it will just upset her.  To say nothing of annoying my uncle and her aunt.  I think we should go to the cathedral.  Besides, Berthold, if we don’t go to the wedding, you won’t get to dance with the bridesmaids.”

“There is that,” conceded Berthold as he opened a car door.  Then they were in the cars and on their way.

The official negotiations were done and the political deal had been struck.  Now the two people who were going to have to make the public, symbolic front- end of those agreements work were meeting in a conference room.  Archduke Franz had one of his uncle’s negotiators at his side while Vordamma Princesza Rune sat opposite him with a man who seemed like a family solicitor beside her.

His Imperial and Royal Highness had a list both of issues and of things that simply needed to be decided.  The first one was, “Where will we live?  I had expected we would get a larger apartment in the Schloss Leopoldsberg but the treaty specifies that we will live in this country.”

“Yes.”  Rune acknowledged the treaty’s provisions.  “That’s a requirement from my father’s family.  Unless something surprising happens, I will be the Sjeldnjar Ruhtig and our child will follow me into the position.  It’s unacceptable for the future Ruhtig to be raised as a foreigner.”  A slight hesitation then, “Might I ask why the Leopoldsberg and not one of the palaces in the capital?  Do you prefer the countryside?”

“It’s less occupied by family and retainers and everything else that revolves around the Emperor.”  He shrugged.  “There are days when I can imagine that the whole place is mine.  I like it that there are very few people around to question my comings and goings.”  He smiled at her and added, “I like your hair, by the way.  That cut’s very fetching.  You shouldn’t cover it up.”  The other two men looked at Princess Rune’s bare short, dark hair and the solicitor raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” she smiled back and added, “I don’t yet have an opinion on beards.  My Uncle Algernon has offered us the wing of the Sjeldnjar townhouse with the nurseries.  As I’m the only member of my generation in the direct line, the implication seems to be that we should fill them.  If you don’t want to live in the city, I’m sure we have other options.”

“I would like to see the townhouse before I make a decision.”

“That’s probably wise.”  She nodded in agreement while the solicitor made a note.  “What’s next on your list?”

“Occupation.  Now-.”

She cut him off with a gesture and started talking.  “I’m glad you brought that up.  I’m resigning my position and I expect you to resign from any and all military and/or intelligence positions you now occupy.”

“Archduke Franz holds no military positions,” inserted the diplomat seated at the Archduke’s side smoothly.  “Your Highness’ request is unnecessary.”

“Indeed?”  Rune opened the folder in front of her, picked up the black and white photograph that sat on top of the papers inside and placed it right way up in front of Franz.  “Just so neither of us can put the other in an uncomfortable or difficult position if we talk in our sleep.”

The diplomat looked at the six Imperial Nachtjäger soldiers in the picture.  He’d seen it before in an article on Imperial assistance to one of the remaining satrapies.  “I don’t see what-.”

“Thank you Hermann, I’ll take this.”  The Archduke put his finger on the photo and pushed it back towards the Princess.  “Where did you get this?”

“The picture?  It was published in an international current affairs magazine two years ago.  The connection?  It came up during the security assessment of my foreign husband-to-be.”  Rune pushed the picture back towards him.  “I’ve pencilled your squad mates into the guest list, not that I have names, as I assume you’ll either be inviting them or they’ll be among your groomsmen.  Would a partner and an average of three children each be about right?  If you want to invite them personally, I can arrange for you to receive the requisite number of blank invitations after you firm the numbers up for me.”

“Your Highness?”  The diplomat was getting a little worried that this was about to be undiplomatic.

“This,” the Archduke told him tersely, “is that ‘there are no friendly foreign intelligence services, just the intelligence services of friendly countries’ thing they tell you about.”

“Yes,” the Princess agreed with him, “it is.  The other thing I’m trying to say, Franz, is that I don’t see why you should lose your friends on top of leaving your home and losing your job.  I don’t see why your friends,” she indicated the photo again, “shouldn’t come to the wedding.  There are quite enough unrelated people on the guest list that I’m sure neither of us know,” she finished tartly.

Franz sat back and folded his arms.  “What do you think I’m going to do with myself?”

“I have no idea,” Rune admitted, “but I’m out of a job too.  I thought we might be able to work it out togther.”

Archduke Franz was exploring the back streets of a foreign capital on foot, alone and at night because he was bored.  He had spent two weeks shuttling between the Embassy and the palace to be trotted out when his Imperial Uncle’s negotiators wanted to point out that the ninth in line to the Terrencian Imperial Diadem was really quite a good deal.

Quite a good deal if you discounted his penchant for slipping off without security and his taste for a bit of rough, both of which he’d probably gotten from his secondary education at a military academy that had been not much more than an expensive reform school.  Not that this princess they were offering up didn’t have her secrets, no-one had heard of her a year ago and then she’d just been inserted into the succession, the peerage and the order of precedence by a small notice in the Royal News column of the better newspapers.  These Northerners were known to be a bit strange, of course.  There was no record of her parent’s marriage but then, as the Archbishop back home had commented to his Imperial Uncle and his parents, the concepts of legitimacy and illegitimacy of children didn’t translate into their language.  To top things off, all he’d seen of his proposed potential bride was an official portrait in formal gown and coronet.  Interesting that no-one he knew had been able to lay hands on any other pictures of her.

Tonight’s wanderings had a point.  He’d heard something he wanted to check out.  If the street map he’d looked at was right then what he was looking for was about here, he looked at the narrow streetscape with interest, but first, “You’ve been following me for at least three blocks, why?”  He’d spoken to a piece of shadow above an awning.

The shadow straightened, swung round to drop over the edge and hung by its fingertips for a moment, then dropped neatly to the ground.  The dark clothing might have been unisex but the wearer was female.

“You might be marrying one of our princesses.  When you go wandering alone at night we have a chance to found out more about you.”  She was shorter than him, athletic in a practical way, with fair northern skin and a dark, knitted cap covering her hair.

“I want to find out more about the princess no-one’s ever heard of.”  He smiled, a conversational move rather than a real pleasantry.  “I understand the Lovvey Street orphanage might be worth my attention.  It’s just around here, isn’t it?”

She looked at him with interest.  “It was.  It burned down about eight years ago.  Arson.  Everyone got out.  I hear the fire alarm went off sooner that it should have if the fire had set it off.”

“Interesting.”  He was looking at the office building that now occupied what was probably the old orphanage site.

“What I find interesting is that you’re a Terrencian Archduke who’s never seen in military uniform.  Not once, not ever.”  She had been careful, he noted, not to get within his arms’ reach.  Her body language said she would either fight or run if she had to.  The street lights showed a strong but elegant nose in proportion to her face, one his maternal grandmother would have described as ‘a nose of character.’

“I’m a Terrencian Archduke who’s about to return to the Terrencian Embassy.  Might I escort you home on my way?”  He crooked an elbow as an invitation to her to take his arm.

“Thank you, but no.”  She kept her distance with a polite smile.  “Your Imperial and Royal Highness could be hiding all sorts of aliases behind that fine and unfashionable beard – so short, tidy, easy to take off and quick to grow again.  I don’t think I want you to know where I live, and you are known to carry to a knife,” his eyes narrowed as she spoke, “three recorded uses - two to free accident victims from entanglement but in the third, Archduke Sigismund’s attacker didn’t get to draw another breath.”

“That was rather the point.”  He let himself shift his stance and look like someone who had the musculature he did, a thing he normally avoided.  “He did try to kill my father in front of me.”

“I know,” she nodded in acknowledgement, “but I still don’t want you to know where I live.”

I wrote this to kelkyag's second prompt.

“So, why ‘Rune’?”  Constantine asked that over coffee between just the three of them.  It was something that parents would normally know but because of their abnormal circumstances neither he nor Dagmar knew why their daughter had the names she did.

“Lovvey Street Orphanage used to name the unnamed babies who came in from a copy of the Limned Book,” Rune replied then drank from her coffee cup.  “When I was left there, the next unused word on the page was ‘rune’ so ‘Rune’ I became.”

“I was told,” commented Dagmar, “and my mother was told, that you were going to a foster family.  I was even told I couldn’t have you back because you were so settled with them.”

Rune and Constantine exchanged a look.  “Rune’s not so bad,” that young lady went on, “I refused to change it when you gave me the chance to, after all.  My childhood best friend’s name is a conjunction and one of the bigger boys’ name was a third person neutral pronoun.”  She drank more coffee.  “He isn’t by the way, neutral I mean.”

Her mother was diverted for a moment.  “How do you know that?”

“Observation.”  Rune shook her head.  “Don’t get me wrong, I like him but I’ve never felt sufficient desire to fight my way past the current lovely so I could paddle in those waters.”

“So,” her father sipped on his coffee, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

“No.”  She held the cup with both hands.  “Apparently now I’m too scary or something.  In some ways it was less complicated when I didn’t have a family.”

“You’re going to be the Sjeldnjar Ruhtig,” pointed out Constantine.  “That’s a big deal.”

“Too big a deal apparently.”  Rune looked pensive and her mother looked thoughtful.

“Anyway,” Constantine judged it an opportune moment to change the subject, “Rune, we were wondering if you would object if we, your mother and I, began to live together.”

“Why would my opinion be of any relevance?”  She looked at them both.

“Children often have views on their parents’ personal and sex lives,” pointed out Constantine while Dagmar took refuge behind her coffee cup.

“I don’t think it’s any of my business,” said Rune in a practical tone.  “I mean, obviously, I’m grateful that you had a sex life at the time I was conceived, but aside from that it’s nothing to do with me.  If you want to live together and you’ll both be happier, better and better off  together than apart, then go for it.”

Lara Knutsson whose locker was next to Rune’s was the first one to say anything about her rings.  After some consideration Rune had taken her gloves off almost as soon as she entered the building.  It was a normal thing to do so she didn’t think it could be considered flaunting her newly acknowledged status whereas keeping the gloves on until she reached the locker room could be considered hiding her new silver rings from comment.  Agents were supposed to be observant so she hoped that Lara wasn’t the first one to actually notice them.

“Those are new,” was the older, blonde woman’s comment.  “Are we allowed to ask or is it too fraught and sensitive?”

“My father tracked me down.”  Rune looked down at the rings that Constantine had first tried to give her without explanation at Solstice.  “I think he might have made these himself.”

“You’ve got notable relatives then?”  Solnje came from a noble family and she was used to people knowing it.  She had found ways of making that background useful in her work.  Her little black book of contacts was becoming well known around the headquarters.  “Will you be changing your name?”

“We’ve decided that I’ll just be adding my father’s family name onto the end of what I’ve already got.”  Rune divested herself of coat, hat and scarves.  “My mother thinks that’s a good idea and it means people who know me shouldn’t get totally confused.”

“Both your parents have come out of the woodwork then?”  Lara’s tone showed her approval of that.

“Apparently putting me aside wasn’t their idea at all.  Someone with a lot of influence in my mother’s family was pushing an agenda.”  Rune started swapping her street clothes for PT gear.  “I’ve been told some of the details but I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” Lara nodded, “The reasons people do things can be passing strange.  Strange enough that over twenty years later it seems incredible that they did them.”

“So will you be trying to get an invitation to the Spring Presentation Ball?”  That supercilious question came from Agent Vordamma Carolinia Vorstayka, a member of the latest intake of agents who hadn’t quite realized that no-one was as impressed by her family background as she was.  She insisted on the title and hadn’t yet realized that she wasn’t the only one in the room who had one.

“No,” Rune allowed while she tied up the laces on her running shoes, “I won’t be trying to get an invitation.”  Not, she thought to herself, when Grandmother has already told me that I’m going, whether I want to or not.  “I’ll see you all in the gym.”

At the end of the PT session they came back to find a member of the maintenance staff finishing some work on the door of Rune’s locker.  “I timed that well,” he acknowledged the sweaty women cheerfully, “I’ll just finish packing up and get out of your way.”

“I thought you were just adding on the surname.”  Rune was looking at her locker door, equally appalled, frightened and excited.

“I was told to do it the old fashioned way,” the overall-clad man told her happily, “which means all the old version had to come off.  I’ll come back when you ladies have gone to your desks and redo the lettering.”

“Thank you.”  Rune was subdued.

Lara watched him leave, then looked Rune, looked at the locker door and then looked back at Rune.  “He’s ruled up for three lines,” she commented.  “I can see two to cover your name, especially with a surname tacked on the end of what you’ve already got, but three suggests you’ve come into a title and it’s going on there.”

“Well, yes,” Rune admitted quietly, “I don’t want to make too much of a fuss about it.  I’m a bit worried about what he means by ‘the old fashioned way’, though.  I really only wanted to put the surname on.”

The ‘old fashioned way’ turned out to be black-outlined gold lettering that read ‘Vordamma Princesza Rune Greymalk Sjeldnjar.’  Written over a copy of the crest her grandmother had granted her.  It was beautiful work.

Rune wanted to go back to her desk and hide in her file cabinet where no-one would find her.

Skeld was waiting for her out the front of the Headquarters building when she arrived.  He looked...awkward.  Looking at him, standing there in his winter coat with his duffle bag over his shoulder, made her feel awkward too.

"Hi." He spoke first, taller than her and standing on the step above her.

"Good morning."  She had, perforce to look up at him.  She wore a knitted cap over her dark hair while he had a fur hat with ear flaps over his lighter brown crop.

"I hear we're cousins.  I mean, I, we all got letters from the Royal Household this morning."  Skeld paused and went on apologetically, "The phones are running hot all over the family."

"Boris and Mikhail Sjeldnjar got letters about it from Uncle Algernon yesterday," Rune offered apologetically.  "Apparently there's a protocol to the timing of all of this."

"Of course there is," Skeld nodded.  "The throne and crown are surrounded by protocol to keep them in their place and doing their job properly.  To keep our portion of the world running smoothly.  Royalty is constrained and harnessed to the service of the state, then rewarded by privileges for behaving.  It's when royalty forget that those are privileges and not rights that we get in a mess.  You and I, Cousin Rune, are mostly well out of that."

"Skeld," Rune looked at him in surprise, "What did you say that 'very ordinary degree' of yours was in?"

"I haven't."  He smiled at her.  "But it was political science, theory and history."

"Just how ordinary a degree was it?"  Rune looked up at him with interest.

"You'll have to get into the family gossip net and talk to my mother to find out that."  He laughed.  "She'd love to tell you."  Suddenly he sobered.  "Rune, I said we're mostly out of the protocol and stuff.  You're an unencumbered Princess; your mother was offered up as a match to the Terrencians, twice; and there are talks with them due again...shortly.  Don't be too free with your heart just yet."

"I can't live outside the country," Rune walked up the steps until their faces were level.  "Would an Archduke live here?"

"Not Rudolph, Ferdinand or Josef,"  Skeld said thoughtfully, "the ones after them in the succession might.  Speaking of which," he grinned, "Svensson always reads the paper before PT.  I want to see his reaction and Rostov's when they find out.  See you later."  He turned and went up the rest of the steps two at a time.

Rune looked bemused for a moment and followed him into the building, wondering what the reaction was going to be in the female locker room.

“Here, give me back that drink and sit down,” ordered Caliburn firmly.

Rune sat on a sofa.  The brown patterned fabric had signs of wear but it was soft enough for comfort and firm enough that she wasn’t going to keep sinking into it forever.

Caliburn sat down beside her and handed back her drink.  “Now, have some of that.”  While she obediently sipped he went on, “Connie, come and sit beside her – you’re her father, you can’t just stand off and make comments.”  He paused.  “Well you could, but from my observations it doesn’t work well.”

As Constantine made his way over to the sofa, Algernon said brightly, “We can have the Assembly check their database to see if your mother’s on file.”

“There’s no need for that,” protested Constantine, “I know who her mother is.”

“Yes,” agreed Algernon drily, “but you’re not sharing.”

While Sebastian got himself a drink, Caliburn gave his two older brothers a disgusted look before turning back to Rune and asking, “So what were you planning to do today before we burst into your life?”

“Go home to my flat, shower, eat some of the ham and pickled chicken I cooked yesterday, sleep, get up and go back to work.”  Rune sipped some more of her plum cordial.

“We’ve cut into your sleeping time, haven’t we?”  Algernon changed his focus with disconcerting speed.  “If it’s no more of an inconvenience to you, you could sleep in one of our guest rooms after we eat – it would save you the travel time back to your flat.  Caliburn could drop you back at work on his way to his thing he’s got on tonight.”

“I could,” agreed Caliburn readily, then added, “I’m certainly a safer driver than Algernon.”

“As is my chauffer,” concurred Algernon, “but really, if-.”

A man dressed in the same livery as the porter opened the doors to the room wide and announced, “Your Grace, the meal is ready.”

“Then let it be served man, let it be served!”  Rune thought the exchange between the servant and Algernon was some sort of ritual, but then Algernon went on, “Krulhorn, please have one of the bathroomed guest rooms made up for Damma Greymalk to sleep in this afternoon.  So she doesn’t have to dash home after eating to rest before going back on duty at six this evening.”

Yes, your Grace,” Krulhorn replied, “it will be done while you are at the table.”

“Thank you, Krulhorn.”  Algernon smiled genially.  “Come everyone,” he turned to his brothers and Rune, “let us go and eat.”

Algernon escorted Rune to the dining room, the two of them leading the way for the others.  Runes suspected that they were progressing, as if they were in a historical novel, and thought it seemed sad for only five people.  Five settings were arranged comfortably around the end of the long dining table.  Algernon handed Rune into the seat on the right hand of the head of the table while he took the position of primacy.  Constantine sat beside Rune while Sebastian and Caliburn sat opposite them.

The meal itself was in removes instead of courses and of traditional Solstice fare.  The first remove was fish, all of it smoked, salted, fermented or dried.  There were no soups on the table but there was pie, terrine, a kitchen-sill salad with tiny brined fish pieces and a whole, thinly sliced smoked salmon.  When all of that was removed, the meat was brought in.  Rune thought that whoever did the cooking was being frustrated with so few people to feed.  When everything had been served there was baked ham, smoked venison sausages, corned beef, pickled chicken and pickled duck, all accompanied by root vegetables prepared in various ways and no less than eight jellies, preserves and sauces.

"Don't hold back if you want seconds," advised Algernon, "we'll be living off leftovers for most of the week, as you can see.  Which accompaniment would you like with your ham?"

Rune was almost nodding off in her chair by the time the sweet dishes were brought in and she was so full she had to wave off anything more than a thin slice of apple pie and a spoonful of rice pudding.

"We'd better make good with that offer of a room," Sebastian observed from across the table.

"I'm sorry," Rune apologised, "I can't seem to keep my eyes open."

"You've been up all night," Constantine reminded her, "and now we've stuffed you full of good food.  It's probably past time for you to be in bed."

"Krulhorn will get one of the maids to show you up," Algernon announced, pressing a call button under the table.

Krulhorn appeared almost immediately.  "Your Grace?"

"Damma Greymalk is falling asleep in her seat," Algernon told him.  "Please have one of the maids take her upstairs and settle her in so she can have that afternoon's rest we promised her."

"Certainly, your Grace."  Krulhorn turned to Rune, "If you would care to come with me, Damma?"

"Thank you, yes," Rune went to stand up and found that Constantine had risen and pulled out her chair for her.  "Thank you, sir."

"You could call me Father," he pointed out a touch sadly.

"I don't want to become familiar and even fond," Rune replied in the same tone, "and then find out I've only crossed and confused paths with the right girl."

"I am certain," Constantine said firmly.  "I've had a number of years to confirm my opinion, after all."

"I haven't and I'm not."  Rune looked up at him, firm rather than defiant.

"Later, children," Algernon intervened, "when Rune is rested and we have more time.  Please my dear, go with Krulhorn."

Krulhorn led Rune from the room and handed her over to a maid at the bottom of the main staircase.

"I'm sorry to be taking you away from your Solstice feast," Rune apologised to the maid, whom Krulhorn had introduced as Beatrice.

"They're clearing the fish remove now," Beatrice smiled at her.  "We had five sorts of herring alone, so it will take a while.  Cook would like to put more dishes on the upstairs table, but there is a limit to how much the four gentlemen and yourself can be expected to eat.  There are more of us downstairs - there's not just the gentlemen to look after but the house and the grounds too.  Cook's still finishing off our gravies, so I doubt I'll miss out on anything."

Beatrice showed Rune to a room that was the size of her flat’s living room, eating nook and kitchen combined.  The size of the room didn’t bother her, she’d been in larger hotel rooms and her own flat had been picked for convenience to public transport and an eye to building her savings.  “The bathroom is through here.”  Beatrice crossed the room and opened a door.  “If you need anything washed so it’s clean to put on again when you wake, you can put it in this laundry bag,” she held up a cloth bag that could have held everything Rune was wearing, “and we can put it through the washer and dryer, and then press it for you before you wake up.”

Rune did a mental inventory and said apologetically, “There are a couple of things I’d love to have washed out actually...”

“There’s a bathrobe here for you, Damma, and wardrobe space for anything you want to hang up,” encouraged Beatrice.

Ten minutes later Rune was washing off under a hot shower, Beatrice was taking her socks and briefs downstairs to be washed and the rest of Rune’s clothes were hanging up in the wardrobe.

Fifteen minutes more and Rune was fast asleep in the oversized double bed.

Beatrice woke her, shaking her gently by the shoulder.  “It’s five in the evening, Damma.  You need to get up.  Your breakfast is waiting for you.”

“Yes, right, of course,” Rune sat up, thrown by being woken up by a person, being in a strange bed and wearing a strange nightshirt.  Then she remembered where she was and why.

‘Breakfast’ was a curious but delicious meal of leftovers, specifically ham with potato pancakes.  Constantine and Sebastian sat with her while she ate, drinking coffee and making polite conversation.  Algernon turned up just as she was finishing, asked her how she’d slept and then added, “I’ve been arranging a few extra details for the Assembly’s testing.  Nothing that will concern anyone, unless they want to tamper with the samples.”

“You expect interference?”  Constantine’s question and look were sharp.

“I think suitable precautions will remove the possibility of doubtful results, that’s all,” replied Algernon with an air of self-satisfied inscrutability.

Caliburn entered at that point, obviously dressed for a polite, civilian evening party.  Algernon raised an eyebrow at him, as did Sebastian – but the opposite eyebrow.  Constantine just smiled.  Caliburn surveyed his brothers’ expressions and grinned back at them.  “So, Rune,” he turned to her and she received a friendly smile, “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, thank you sir.”  She stood readily and pushed her chair back before anyone could do it for her.

“Come along then,” Caliburn nodded, “I’ll get you to work on time.  I warn you,” a wider grin, “Cook has packed a lunch box of leftovers for you.”

Caliburn’s private car was a sleek, low slung, dark green roadster.  The way it handled, she was sure it was probably over-engined, the powerful headlights burning through the darkness.  If Caliburn hadn’t been driving to the conditions Rune might have been frightened.  Instead she tried to make conversation.  “Thank you for dropping me at work.  I hope I’m not taking you out of your way.”

“Not at all,” he smiled at the windscreen, “I’m grateful.  It’d be even more nerve racking without your company.  I’ve been invited along to a Solstice dinner to meet someone’s parents.”

“Oh?”  Rune smiled encouragingly.

“I keep running through reasons they won’t like me in my head.  I think ‘cradle snatcher’ is the one most likely to stick.” Rune made an encouraging noise.  “Yes.”  Caliburn flashed a smile at her while he checked his blind spot.  “He’s only in his early forties, so that could be a valid complaint.”

That made Caliburn’s love interest about twenty years her senior and the Major General himself was about twenty years older than that...  “That should make him old enough to know his own mind then, sir.”

“I hope so,” Major General Caliburn Sjeldnjar sighed as he cornered the car, “but parental opinion can be a powerful force.”

“So I’ve been told, sir.”  Rune looked straight ahead through the windscreen.

“I’m sorry,” Caliburn apologised, “that may have been maladroit of me.”

“No, sir, I don’t think it was.”  It was Rune’s turn to smile him.  “I really don’t get the whole family relationships thing sometimes.”

“Then that’s something we’ll have to work on with you when the test results come back, won’t we?”  They stopped at the last traffic lights before Run’s drop-off and he turned to give her a warm, avuncular smile.

In the privacy of her own mind, as she smiled back, Rune thought, “I hope he really is my uncle.”

******

The duty roving section of the security detachment that guarded the Royal Family in residence at Landislav’s Palace had a problem and it was getting worse.

Caliburn entered at that point, obviously dressed for a polite, civilian evening party.  Algernon raised an eyebrow at him, as did Sebastian – but the opposite eyebrow.  Constantine just smiled.  Caliburn surveyed his brothers’ expressions and just grinned back at them.  “So, Rune,” he turned to her and she received a friendly smile, “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, thank you sir.”  She stood readily and pushed her chair back before anyone could do it for her.

“Come along then,” Caliburn nodded, “I’ll get you to work on time.  I warn you,” a wider grin, “Cook has packed a lunch box of leftovers for you.”

Caliburn’s private car was a sleek, low slung, dark green roadster.  The way it handled, she was sure it was probably over-engined, the powerful headlights burning through the darkness.  If Caliburn hadn’t been driving to the conditions Rune might have been frightened.  Instead she tried to make conversation.  “Thank you for dropping me at work.  I hope I’m not taking you out of your way.”

“Not at all,” he smiled at the windscreen, “I’m grateful.  It’d be even more nerve racking without your company.  I’ve been invited along to a Solstice dinner to meet someone’s parents.”

“Oh?”  Rune smiled encouragingly.

“I keep running through reasons they won’t like me in my head.  I think ‘cradle snatcher’ is the one most likely to stick.” Rune made an encouraging noise.  “Yes.”  Caliburn flashed a smile at her while he checked his blind spot.  “He’s only in his early forties, so that could be a valid complaint.”

That made Caliburn’s love interest about twenty years her senior and the Major General himself was about twenty years older than that...  “That should make him old enough to know his own mind then, sir.”

“I hope so,” Major General Caliburn Sjeldnjar sighed as he cornered the car, “but parental opinion can be a powerful force.”

“So I’ve been told, sir.”  Rune looked straight ahead through the windscreen.

“I’m sorry,” Caliburn apologised, “that may have been maladroit of me.”

“No, sir, I don’t think it was.”  It was Rune’s turn to smile him.  “I really don’t get the whole family relationships thing sometimes.”

“Then that’s something we’ll have to work on with you when the test results come back, won’t we?”  They stopped at the last traffic lights before Run’s drop-off and he turned to give her a warm, avuncular smile.

In the privacy of her own mind, as she smiled back, Rune thought, “I hope he really is my uncle.”