Out of the Darkness

“Of course he should,” Talsu said. “But what do you want to bet he was right? What do you want to bet he’s still just where he always was, except now he’s making things hot for people who got in bed with the Algarvians instead of for people who wanted us to get our own rightful king back?”

Slowly, one at a time, Gailisa, Traku, and Ausra nodded. Talsu’s wife said, “Ausra’s right. That is terrible. It isn’t the way the world’s supposed to work.”

“Do you know what the worst part of all is, though?” Talsu said. This time, his family shook their heads. He went on, “The worst part of all this is, none of you argued with me. No matter how terrible it is, you think it’s pretty likely, too, the same as I do.”

“It shouldn’t be this way,” Gailisa insisted. But then her courage wilted. “It always seems to be, though-here in Jelgava, anyhow. The people who have a lot keep grabbing more and more.”

“That’s the story of this kingdom, sure enough,” Traku said. “Always has been, just like you said, Gailisa. Powers below eat me if I think it’ll ever change. And it’s likely the same way everywhere. When Mezentio’s buggers were holding us down, they weren’t shy about grabbing everything they could get their hands on.”

“From what I saw of the Kuusamans, they’re different,” Talsu said. “Their officers and men seemed to be friends, and the ones with the higher ranks didn’t ride roughshod over the ordinary soldiers. Come to think of it, I even had one regimental commander like that, back when we were still in the war.”

“What happened to him?” Gailisa asked.

“Colonel Adomu?” Talsu said. “About what you’d expect-he actually went out to do some real fighting, so he got killed pretty quick. I never knew another officer like him: not in our army, anyhow.” The Algarvians had had a fair number of that stripe, too, but he didn’t care to say so out loud. He didn’t want to praise the redheads, not after everything they’d done.

“Supper’s ready!” his mother called, and that gave him something happier to think about.

Three

"Bauska!” Marchioness Krasta shouted from her bedchamber. “Powers below eat you, Bauska, where have you gone and hidden?”

“Coming, milady,” the maidservant said, hurrying in-and panting a little, to show how much she was hurrying. She dropped Krasta a curtsy. “What can I do for you, milady?”

“At least you sound properly respectful,” Krasta said. “Some of the servants these days…” She made a horrible face. The servants didn’t come close to giving her the respect she deserved. They all took their lead from her brother and that hateful cow of a farm girl he’d brought home with him. There were times when Krasta almost wished the Algarvians had managed to hunt Skarnu down. Then he wouldn’t have had the chance to rub his virtue in her face.

Bauska’s answering smile was bleak. “Well, milady, we’re in the same boat, you and I, aren’t we?”

“I should say not,” Krasta answered indignantly. “Your snot-nosed little brat has an Algarvian papa, sure as sure. One look at her would tell that to anybody. Viscount Valnu is father to my child.” She firmly believed it these days.

“Of course, milady,” Bauska said. The words were right. The tone called Krasta a liar-oh, not quite blatantly enough to let her bound up and slap Bauska’s face, but it did, it did. The maidservant went on, “And even if that’s so. .” She broke off, not quite in the nick of time. Even if that’s so, she didn’t say, everybody knows you opened your legs for Colonel Lurcanio for years and years.

Krasta tossed her head. “So what?” she said, as if Bauska had made the accusation out loud. But the rest of her impassioned defense was silent, too. What if I did? The Algarvians looked like winning the war. Everybody thought so. I was better off with a redhead in my bed than I would have been without. I wasn‘t the only one. I wasn’t even close to the only one. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It had been a good idea at the time. Krasta remained convinced of that. Once she got an idea-which didn’t happen all that often-she clung to it through thick and thin. But she’d never expected times to change so drastically. Taking an Algarvian lover didn’t look like a good idea any more. What it looked like these days, in a Valmiera no longer occupied, was something very much like treason.

With her own sandy-headed little bastard, Bauska couldn’t very well say that. She had to count herself lucky that she hadn’t had her head shaved and her scalp daubed with red paint, as had happened to so many Valmieran women who’d given themselves to Mezentio’s soldiers. With a sigh, the maidservant repeated, “What can I do for you, milady?”