The Lady at the River's Edge

16 - Tangled Roots

The last of the palatine's house shuffled out through the main gate an hour after sunrise, but Erzsebet had been breathing easier ever since dawn, when the noble wagon was first to depart. Word of their departure came from a page, as Erzsebet hadn't come out to watch them go; were it up to her, she'd never see them again.

She would have liked her father to order the gate shut behind the last of them, but he would not abandon the common folk of the castle town below. If an attack came in daylight, he would wait until the last moment, giving refuge to as many of his people as would come. A noble choice, Erzsebet allowed, though it left her feeling utterly exposed.

Soon after the news had come, her family gathered and broke their fast together in her mother's solar, her parents and Antal and herself–Ilona had been too tired after her night of excitement, and had been taken back to her room. The meal was an awkward affair, her father half-dead from exhaustion while Erzsebet felt little better. Her mother kept fussing over clueless little Antal, distracting herself from the pall of dread that hung over them all.

After a long stretch of silence, her father looked up and cleared his throat. "Perhaps," he ventured, "you and Ilona should sleep in the eastern tower tonight. You'll be doing the same, darling?"

His wife nodded, still bent over trying to persuade her son to eat his greens.

Erzsebet's first instinct was to refuse, but across the early morning hours her father's words had sunk in. There truly was nothing she could do to help in an attack; she would only be in the way, a distraction and another weight upon the count's shoulders. She nodded, determined to ease his burden rather than add to it. "I'll tell Ilona, make it seem like a fun little game."

His relief was palpable, matched only by his ever-present fatigue. "Thank you, my flower." He had said nothing about her disobedience the night before, though surely he had seen her still there after the younger Benedek appeared.

Back and back, her mind had been drawn to the lord. Rebuking his mother, withstanding his father–she did not dare to hope the young man would persuade the palatine not to attack, but she also couldn't help but feel something had shifted in the structure of their household.

"Perhaps you should get some rest after the meal," her mother said, glancing over at the count. "You have been working yourself too hard."

He looked sorely tempted for a moment, but then shook his head. "There is still too much to be done."

The countess clicked her tongue. "You halve the guard shifts to give them rest, but allow none for yourself?"

"They need it more, after last night–"

"What?" Erzsebet asked. "You cut the guards? But what if–what if they're needed?" She looked around the small room; the servants had been sent out, and Antal was too young to understand, but still she felt uneasy speaking of the attack.

Not so her mother, it seemed. "If they come during the day," she explained, "we'll see them coming, and have more than enough warning to muster our forces. But they won't come in daylight, they'll wait until nightfall, and it is then when our forces need to be rested and sharp, with no one sleeping at their post." She turned a pointed look at her husband. "And that includes their commander!"

"I will be fine, my love," the count assured her, though by her scoff she seemed little assured. "Perhaps around noon I shall find time to rest a bit."

"If you do not make the time, you'll never find it." With that, the countess turned back to her son, picking a lentil from his collar.

Erzsebet and her father shared a look, and he gave a tired smile, then pushed his plate away. "I must be off–enjoy the rest of your meal, my loves." He strode around the table, planting a kiss on each of them in turn. Up close the ravages of his fatigue were even more troubling, despite his warm smile. Erzsebet hoped he got his rest–her bed called most strongly to her, and she had been sleeping far more of late than had her father. Once he was gone from the room, she felt little urge to stay and listen to Antal's cooing or her mother's coaxing, and so took her leave as well, earning little more than a glance from them both.