Look Beyond What You See

“Go away, Dmitri,” I grumble for the fifth time, burying myself further in my bedcovers. “Still tired. Not going.”

“I’m not leaving without you, and you are going. Even if we weren’t both required to be at luncheon, anyway, they’d summon you as soon as I mentioned that letter,” Dmitri replies in turn, whipping the covers off me. I groan and curl up tighter, wishing he’d just leave, but instead his arms wrap around me and he pulls me off the bed.

“Can’t it wait until supper?” I clutch desperately at the bedposts, the covers, anything to try to pull myself back to safety, but Dmitri frustrates my every attempt.

“The sooner we go, the sooner it’s over and we can move on to more entertaining things later on. Let’s go.”

“What, you mean like interviewing priests this afternoon? Or perhaps my dress fittings after that? Seems to me there’s enough unpleasantness scheduled in my day to warrant skipping this particular dose of it,” I mutter as I follow him out of my room, brushing my dress into some semblance of proper order. It’s another of the dratted formal things Zinaida insists that I wear. I sincerely hope that after Dmitri and I are married, we have our own place of residence and he allows me to dress as I please.

“Interviewing the men of God ought to be excellent fun for you, don’t you think? I’m sure that they will deeply appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Because you are never sarcastic under any circumstances.”

“Of course not. I’m far too much of a gentleman for that. But you--”

“Have never been ladylike, as my grandmother was so kind to point out.”

“If your grandmother is meant to be the authority on what constitutes a lady, I fear for all who claim noble status of any kind.” We share a chuckle over that remark as we enter the dining room. My mirth takes flight at the sight of Zinaida sitting between Wesley and Giacomo at the table. All three are evidently waiting for Dmitri and me.

“So kind of you to join us,” Zinaida greets us, her tone slightly dry. She seems to be in a fairly good mood. I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news at times like this.

“Please accept our apologies, Mother. We were delayed by the receipt of a rather disturbing letter,” Dmitri excuses us tactfully. Zinaida and Wesley both raise eyebrows inquisitively, even as Wesley summons the chefs to bring forth our meal. To my delight, today we get soup in addition to salad. Perhaps someone has noticed that I’ve been leaving small piles of shredded greenery in my bowl and fears that I will not get enough nourishment without additional sustenance—which would not be an unmerited fear.

“A disturbing letter, son? From whom?” Wesley inquires, his brow furrowed with concern.

“A certain Xenia de Poitiers. I presume you know her?”

Zinaida blanches and her fork falls to the table with a clatter, scattering fragments of assorted spring greens across the polished mahogany table. A maid scowls at the leaves; I know who has to re-polish the table after luncheon. Wesley’s eyes widen somewhat, though he is more composed in receipt of this news than his wife, which should surprise no one. Giacomo, too, is wide-eyed, and rather confused, besides. It seems that all three of them are indeed familiar with Xenia de Poitiers. I’m somewhat surprised that our venerable tutor should be so well informed.

“You mean Aerys’ grandmother?” Wesley asks, as if to confirm this seemingly unbelievable, or undesirable, news.

“I know of no other by that name,” Dmitri returns. A faint smirk plays about his lips. He would be enjoying this. Giacomo starts, entirely caught off-guard by this revelation.

“You are a de Poitiers?” he demands, regarding me as one might a ghost, or a poisonous snake.

“Not for too much longer,” I respond with a meaningful glance in Dmitri’s direction.

“What does Xenia want? It must be important, if she bothered to write directly to one of you. Aerys, I presume she wrote to you specifically?”

“Oh, yes. Her message would not have been complete without a guilt trip about how I have not stayed in contact with her and Grandfather, as though they were terribly concerned about such things while I still lived under the roof of their summer chateau, which they visited but infrequently, at best,” I answer airily, with just the right touch of snark. Zinaida gasps dramatically again.

“How positively dreadful! But that was not all she wrote about?” Zinaida’s tone clearly indicates that she hopes that is all Xenia wrote about.

“Would you like to see the letter?” Dmitri offers, pulling the offending document from the pocket of his tailored jacket. Zinaida snatches it and she and Wesley pore over it eagerly while Giacomo stares in horror at the jagged, livid-purple threat on the back of the page.

“Careful with that! It’s cursed with her dark art,” he warns as he begins to create a sphere of water to lob at the letter.

“Don’t!” Dmitri and I both yelp.

“Don’t do it! Whatever you do, don’t try to damage it!” I cry. The last thing we need is another encounter with that horrid woman.

“We accidentally singed it earlier, and it set off some spell where she could talk to us through the letter,” Dmitri explains.

“It was horrible. Her face formed out of the parchment, and the lights all went out, and there was this awful wind indoors.” I tremble slightly at the memory for the sake of theatrics; might as well put on a good show, I warrant. The letter certainly isn’t shocking enough on its own.

“Go to blazes!” Wesley curses, setting the letter down cautiously on the table in front of his and his wife’s plates. “What an unpleasant old witch.”

“And no mistaking the witch part. She is a sorceress of unmatched power, with a ruling element of darkness,” Giacomo cuts in, as though none of us already know that information. I wonder how he knows so much. She must be more famous than I thought, else our venerable tutor has some unsavoury connexions.

“We are well aware,” Wesley retorts irritably, shooting Giacomo the evil eye. “Did she set forth any additional threats or information when she spoke to you earlier?”

“She wants me to persuade you to resume your free agent status, that you might be then persuaded to come over to her side. She intends to write to you on the matter. I only told her that I would try, as an effort to make her leave us alone. I would never insist that you do anything. My place is to follow, not to lead,” I reply softly. Zinaida flies from her chair to my side to envelope me in a crushing embrace.

“Dear, brave child! to say such things, in the face of such evil! Perhaps I have not given you enough credit, after all. I daresay you have the makings of becoming a great asset to our family.”

“More than she already is,” Dmitri agrees mildly. My fingertips are beginning to turn blue from lack of oxygen, so strong is Zinaida’s embrace around my torso (combined with a corset, this woman’s grip is potentially deadly), and so he helps me gently pry her off me. “Have you any advice for us in how to deal with this menace, Father, should need for further dealings with it arise?”

“You have done exactly right in the first round. Flatter her, honour her with empty words, promise your efforts but never your success, and always have irrefutable excuses on hand, should she find cause to berate you for not succeeding,” Wesley counsels. “When she writes to us personally, if in fact she intends to do so, your mother and I will be sure to mention that Aerys has been most solicitous in her concern about the effects of the split loyalties between Zinaida and myself, and how she often suggests that we ought to both declare free agent status, to remove this unnecessary and highly detrimental cause of stress from our lives.”

“I’m sure she will find my concern for you touching,” I mutter dryly. Only Dmitri hears me.

“An excellent plan. We would be most grateful for your assistance in this matter. Xenia’s visit was nothing less than terrifying,” Dmitri thanks his father. My fiancé’s hand closes around mine, gently squeezing to offer reassurance.

“Of that I have no doubt! I find it miraculous that you’ve recovered enough to attend luncheon,” Zinaida exclaims. “Aerys, are you quite sure you’re feeling all right, after such a dreadful encounter? You look a bit pale. Perhaps you should take a rest after luncheon.”

“Oh, thank you, Mother, but I’m fine, really. Besides, Dmitri and I have scheduled meetings to interview the men of God this afternoon, and I would so hate to miss that, seeing as it’s so vitally important,” I smile winningly. Dmitri, you had better thank me later for not taking this way out of our afternoon engagements for a date with my bed. Consider yourself the most fortunate of men. “Thank you ever so much for your concern, though. I really, truly do appreciate it.”

Zinaida eyes me doubtfully, looking for the slightest sign of lingering stress or ill-health. “Well, if you’re sure you feel strong enough, I suppose I cannot insist that you miss such important meetings,” she concedes. Amazing how motherly she is when I behave myself. Perhaps I should try this more often. “But if you feel the slightest bit faint, don’t hesitate to excuse yourself and lie down for a bit.”

“Of course, Mother.”

“Dmitri, make sure that she does. I would hate for her to be overexerting herself. I’m sure that the letter coming so soon after training cannot have been good for Aerys. Wesley, dear, it is for misfortunes such as that detestable letter that women should not be subjected to training, especially so early--”

“Zina, dearest, the times mandate that we train everyone for battle, that our own side might have the advantage when war breaks out. I’m sure Giacomo and Dmitri are both very attentive to Aerys’ sensibility and disposition and that they will make sure she rests when she needs it,” Wesley assures his wife, trying with little success to keep the exasperation out of his voice. I cough delicately into my napkin, trying to choke back the snickers from that laughable idea. It is common knowledge between Dmitri, Giacomo, and myself that it is I who have to make them rest when they need it. Men haven’t a dollop of sense about such things. Even so, I’m glad to have everyone present at this luncheon as allies against my grandmother, should we end up fighting directly against her. Such a thought terrifies me. Regardless about Zinaida’s ideas about the effects of training on my constitution, I believe I must step up my training to be even close to prepared for such a conflict.