The Lady at the River's Edge

6 - Words of Truth

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

The late morning sun winked through the passing windows, forcing Erzsebet to squint as she marched down the corridor to the eastern solar. The fluttering of her eyes nearly matched that of her heart.

Deep breaths. It was only a social call, a courtesy. The countess Magdalena wished to speak with her, to sound out her potential daughter-in-law, nothing more.

Nothing more–that was terrifying enough! What if the countess wanted repayment for her son's injury? As distinct as she seemed from her husband, it would be no surprise if they shared opinions on their firstborn. Whether Magdalena hoped to be repaid by blood or marriage, Erzsebet dreaded the negotiations.

Deep breaths. She was nearly there.

She had slept well at least, her first restful night since she'd heard the palatine would be coming. After Janos' apology, her mind saw fit to grant her reprieve from its endless worrying for a few hours–but with a new dawn came new anxiety.

It struck her then that Benedek might be present for this coming meeting with his mother, and she wondered whether that would be a comfort to her. She had seen so many sides of the young lord in so short a time, she could hardly grasp him as an individual–would he be the proud, confident lordling or the honest, vulnerable young man? Would he be affable or distant, charming or hostile? Heaven forbid that his father was there as well!

These uncertainties were set aside as she came to the door of the solar, already open and inviting. Neither of the Benedeks could be seen within, only the lady Magdalena and two of her attendants. Morning suited the countess far more than the firelit gloom of the banquet hall; her face was lined with age, but the sun brought a lively glow to her cheeks, effulgent and vibrant. She rose as Erzsebet entered, gracing her with a kind smile. "Thank you, sweet girl, for coming at my request. I'm sure my invitation arrived with its share of dread."

"Not at all!" Erzsebet lied. "I regretted that we hadn't the chance to speak at the banquet. Your invitation was most timely."

"I'm so glad to hear it," said the countess, though her eyes hinted that she knew the truth of it. She gestured to the cushioned divan couch. "Please, sit, be at ease. Would you take tea? I can have Scepa bring biscuits, if you like."

"Nothing for me, thank you." She trusted neither her hands nor her stomach, but she could manage sitting still and looking proper. "But please," she added as she lowered herself to the couch, "do not abstain on my account."

"Perhaps I'll indulge then," Magdalena said, her eyes flaring with the glee of minor transgression. She called over her shoulder, "Scepa, bring us some wine, if you please." She then turned back to Erzsebet and winked. "She'll bring two glasses, but you needn't partake. Appearances, you know. What a tale, the old countess drinking alone before noontime!"

Giggling, Erzsebet shook her head. "You made no mention of wine. I might join you after all–for appearances, as you say."

"Ah, I like this girl!" Magdalena announced to some invisible audience, chuckling as well, and in their shared mirth Erzsebet felt a bit more at ease. "You have some fire in you," the countess added. "That's good. You seemed so rigid in the welcome hall, I worried you were little more than a pretty bird, trained to sing on command and do little else."

The servant, Scepa, delivered the wine, setting a bottle and two glasses on the low table between them, then began pouring.

"Not so, my lady," Erzsebet answered evenly. "I was merely in the grip of absolute terror."

The servant jerked, stifling a snort or a gasp, spilling wine onto the table. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, immediately mortified. "I'm so sorry, milady, I'll get a rag, just a moment." She scuttled off, leaving Erzsebet and the countess staring at each other. After a silent moment, they both burst out laughing.