From the diary of Quentin Gavreau
In the morning, I shall have my first duel. It is over a woman – she is very comely, receptive to my advances, but Fyodor is also pressing his suit. We shall settle matters. My mother might question my decision, as concerned as she is with proper breeding, but while the lady in question has offered no pedigree, she has strong magical talents. In Paris, that is as good as a title, and I have never met a weather-mage before.
----------------------------------------
It is a frustrating day. I did not die, clearly, but I did not win, either. Colonel M has forbidden dueling and seems to find the custom offensive. He has, however, granted me the most marvelous pair of pistols in exchange for my letting Fyodor. They are nearly antique, and of the usual single-shot variety in contrast to my honeycomb pistol, but they are enchanted.
----------------------------------------
The baron’s daughter Amelia has her eye set on Colonel M. As for myself, she has misremembered my pedigree three different ways. I have tried to build a friendship with the baron, but it has not been easy.
Glad I took the guns over the girl – the slattern abandoned poor Fyodor in Dab. And they say she is pregnant! No sensibility from either of them, clearly.
----------------------------------------
Rumor has it that Colonel M is a bit of a brute. Took Amelia’s friend, picked her up, and tossed her across the front of his saddle like she was a shot fox. One-handed, if that’s not an exaggeration from the rumor mill. I was not there – was searching farther afield, I returned to the compound.
----------------------------------------
Colonel M made a spectacle of himself at dinner, so I made myself scarce as soon as practical, as did a few others. Ended up sharing a bottle of wine in the stairwell with Amelia’s friend C. Charming girl, though I don’t remember the latter half of the conversation. Woke up on the floor of my room with a blanket and pillow and a sore neck.
There is some sort of great scandal that has the servants abuzz this morning involving the girl Carmen, one of Amelia’s friends. She seemed a comely sort, though I can’t say I have come to know her well.
Addendum: The baron has sequestered Amelia and her friend. Evidently, we have been dismissed in disgrace, and I am filled with shame. I want to know why, but I also hope that the reason remains a buried secret, so that it will not reflect on myself or the Gavreau name.
----------------------------------------
A letter
Dear Son,
I hope this letter finds you well, and that it finds you at all. We have received a letter from Pesht, from a woman I will only name as Damoiselle E---- in case this letter falls into unfriendly hands. Dlle E---- informs us that you fell in battle, but that she did not see you die. She inquires if we might be able to supply funds towards your recovery, funding perhaps a rescue attempt or ransom.
Septima is most distraught & thinks you must have died heroically fighting the hordes of the Golden Empire, for she thinks you the bravest man in the land. We are all concerned over the lack of any news directly from you or your captors, if the report should be correct. Your stepfather thought perhaps you found Pesht too distracting, and for the first time I find myself hoping you have been dissipating yourself carousing with Magyars and gotten distracted from pursuit of your rightful inheritance.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Your stepfather says he hopes you made a clever escape and are hiding in Wallachia. The news is that half of Rumelia is aflame, Prince Vladimir back from the dead (one of the sons of the Dragon – do you remember what I taught you?), and the Sultan is threatening to war against Koschei. The man carrying this letter has been paid for his trouble, with a promise of more if he brings back a reply from you. You are to include a drawing of Septima’s favorite flower & a line from your stepfather’s favorite book, so that we know you have written it.
Your stepfather and I may be able to come up with a ransom if one is required, but I would prefer to focus on getting him to pay for Septima’s tutoring – the thaumaturge I hired says she has memorized half of a book of the basic practice cantrips letter for letter, and if – no, when – she gets her magic in, she will be more able than some of his grown students. If you have died a hero, I will be proud of you, but also sad.
Remember all that I told you about the princes – if you are there in Wallachia, you may have to make a choice. Just be careful as you do that they have not promised your inheritance to another. Also, whatever Dlle E---- may have told you, there is no shame attached if you swear to a liege who then bows to the Golden Empire, not as long as that means you gain your title and lands.
Mme. Flavia Gavreau
P.S. Have heard the Undying Emperor is sending one of his princes to Wallachia, out of the fourth empress’s line – my maternal grandfather’s sister Maria was sent south to Rumelia and had a childless marriage with a man named Bogdan. The fourth empress’s nephew’s seventh son, who also died without issue, was a man named Bogdan who married a woman of uncertain lineage named Maria, picked up somewhere as a prize of war. Depending on the course of politics, this could be a useful connection to draw if you find yourself discussing lineages in the Golden Empire – just avoid any unnecessary precision about dates and places.
----------------------------------------
A letter
Dear Mother,
I am writing to tell you that, by the time you receive this letter, you may have become a grandmother. You said to never count chicks before they hatch, but I do not know if I will live to see this egg hatch or eaten by a fox. Matters seem uncertain. My deployment has taken me off the map, and I dare not say where I have been or where I am going now.
I will describe the potential mother. Zaleska has fair hair the color of wheat in harvest. She is tall as women go, though not so tall as most men. Her eyes are the gray of a thundercloud, dark but colorless. She will probably wear a gray cloak which no rain can soak through. Due to the circumstances of her raising, I do not know if she was well-born, and she has no family to rely upon; however, she is magically adept, and you know how few of the Kransky line have any magic in my generation. I myself can barely read the wind; Zaleska can call up a gale strong enough to blow over trees.
Should you meet her without me, with her bearing a child who looks of the right age to be born a few months after I wrote this letter, please welcome her and accept that the child is mine. If she has no child, welcome her anyway, and hopefully I will come home after. Support her even if I have died and am not just delayed or separated, perhaps see if she might marry Vyacheslav if you have not found a wife for him yet. He has enough magic to start a fire, which makes it all the more likely she would bear him mage children.
I wish I could say more, but I do not know who else may read this letter. Your boy has fought dragons and phantoms and rebels and bear-men and won. I will come home when I can, and write again if I have a chick to count. But, for now, I write to warn you that there is an egg.
Fyodor Kransky