When the Snow Thaws... (Part II)

Anneliese's mother ushers us in with a silent nod, and we are seated at the tidiest dinner table I've seen since my early childhood. I've never seen a woman cook with so many measuring implements — pristine glass and metal, seemingly bought from a city somewhere — nor one so obsessive about cleaning the kitchen as she cooks. At one point she ambles over to the table to wipe away a drop of drinking water that falls from Anneliese's chin. A sparrowhawk is perched on her padded shoulder all the while, stiff and unmoving, judging me whenever I shift in my seat.

The stew comes out blander than air. It leads me to wonder for a good while if I have somehow lost feeling in my tongue as well, but nobody complains, and Jan comments that it's nicer than usual, so I keep my thoughts to myself. I sneak a glance at Anneliese as she takes cautious sips of her meal, and an ominous feeling settles over my heart as I note that in all of our years together, I have never seen my sergeant seem so… small.

"Now, Comtesse!" Uncle Hannes rubs his palms eagerly. "All of this new construction around the village, I hear that's your doing?"

I nod. "We're building some a hundred new cottages with the Mayor of Brandgraven's help."

He hums appreciatively and shakes his sister by the shoulder, scaring off the sparrowhawk perching there with a rumbling laugh. "That's a right generous thing, that is. The old devil of a Graaf that used to live up in that manor of yours never bothered doing so much for us."

"Not like we're moving into a new cottage, Hannes," his sister Roser glumly reminds him. "Don't get too excited over other people's fortunes."

"That's all because you're too high-strung to survive a move, woman!"

"And what're you planning to do with all those old cottages, Madame?" Roser sniffs at me. "Lots of history in the old shacks that you're asking us to throw away."

"The plan was to renovate them as well," I tell her, "but the architect the Mayor brought in seems to think it'd be faster to just build new ones."

"You mean that milksop staying at the inn? Thought that was his son."

"It is his son, yes. He studied architecture in Artigny and seem to know what he's doing, so…"

"Of course he'd think that. City folk have their own twisted concept of hearth and home that's about as nonsensical as the rest of their ways." Roser sinks back in her chair with a dramatic sigh. "I mean, look at them, holed up in their tents by the old church — ruins the scenery for everyone."

Jan cuts in with a sour murmur before I can comment further: "As if there's anything around here worth saving."

"Yeah," Piet pipes up. "The village's been falling apart for a while."

"You kids and your obsession with the new-this, new-that!" Roser scoffs. "There's more to life than chasing the latest trends dreamed up by some uppity architects from Artigny."

"I plan to—" I try to speak again.

"Yeah, the Capital's been falling apart anyway." Hannes shakes his head. "Robin hasn't had anything good to say about it for a while and that idiot's always wanted to move there for good."

"It's those moron kids causing trouble for the King!" Roser spits. "They never appreciate how good they have it there. What are they calling themselves these days? Brat— Rat— Praterknits?"

"Fraternists," Hannes drawls, "neo-revolutionaries, Volkhovsky sympathisers, egalitards, who cares? Same idiots in a different coat."

I raise my voice to interrupt: "I—"

"They're traitors, then!" Roser shouts. "Should've given the King a hint when they pushed him to throw a party for the Volkhovsky invaders, the bastards — and at the Palais d'Artigny no less! Just round them up and have the army use them for bayonet practice at that point! Might as well make use of their bloated, fat asses if you can't stomp them out!"

Anneliese and I tense our fists around our utensils, and I let out a long, deep breath as I desperately remind myself that these maniacs don't know what they're talking about. When I look across the table and try to catch my friend's eye, she only continues to stare at her stew. I kick her gently under the table and she doesn't even react. The conversation between her mother and uncle just keeps escalating in the meanwhile.

"I'm telling you that it won't fucking work!" Roser snarls. "The new King's too much of a dandy pussy to stand up to that bloodthirsty mob! We'll wake up one morning to news about him being shot dead, assassinated by Volkhovsky radicals at his own stupid Reconciliation Gala, mark my words!"

"Anneliese!" Hannes calls. "You ran off to Artigny for a good however-many years! You settle this for us!"

Anneliese doesn't even acknowledge him, and instead turns to address me again. "You never did get that invite to the Gala, did you Rue?"

I shrug mildly. "There's better company than me in Artigny."

"Shame that you won't be meeting that prince of yours there, huh? You would think with how much he bends over backwards to accommodate you, he would be the one to invite you over himself—"

"She's a fucking disgrace is what she is!" Anneliese's mother cuts in. "Never wrote home, never visited! Too busy fucking around with some booze-addled soldiers and pretending that thuggish demeanour of hers would make her any friends in the King's army! Bet she didn't even tell the Comtesse why she— Comtesse!" Roser turns to me with a sickening grin. "Did she ever tell you—?"

"I did." Anneliese lifts her head from her bowl and cocks a smile at me. "I left because Ma threw out my newspaper collection."

"Yeah." I smile back. "Must've been some nice newspapers."

"The best newspapers."

A strained silence falls upon the table again, broken only by a wet sniffle from Roser. "She always interrupts me when I'm making a point," she grumbles. "I'm sure she forgot all about us too, back in Artigny, when we were struggling from the war taxes and mourning her father's passing. What'd she do when we asked her for help? Turned us down, told us to stop writing her. Thank Heavens the army kicked her out and reminded her to have some bloody modesty."

"I'm… sure she didn't mean any harm," I try to assure Roser, sensing the start of another argument. "Why don't we—?"

"I'm right here, you know?" Anneliese gives me a dirty look that makes me wither in my seat. "And I'm visiting now, aren't I?"

"Too little, too late." Hannes clicks his tongue. "It's a good thing you have the Comtesse to take you in."

"The first good Comtesse I've ever known in my life." Roser nods.

"And how many have you known, Ma?" Anneliese asks. "The old Graaf wasn't married—"

"Anneliese, fix your posture. You're slouching in front of your mistress."

Anneliese clamps down on her tongue and starts shovelling stew down her throat, with none of the restraint from before.

"And now you're making a mess!" Roser cries. "God Almighty… What have I ever done to deserve this, Hannes…?"

The man just crosses his arms. "I hope she doesn't give you too much trouble back at your manor, Comtesse."

"She's as dutiful as they come," I say with an uneasy smile.

"Far be it from me to instruct you, but maybe you ought to raise your standards just a touch."

"I… Right, sure, yes, I'll consider that, thank you."

Anneliese's face only grows darker. "Why are you speaking to the Comtesse like she's some common—?"

"Because she's a proper woman, with proper morals, who doesn't blow her fuse at the tiniest bruise to her ego. God, Hannes, remember when she brought down the shed wall over a bit of teasing—?"

"You called me a fucking ape."

"You were eating like an ape, like you're doing now." Roser massages her forehead with a tortured groan. "I'm getting a headache, Hannes."

"There's some beer out back." Hannes points at the cramped lot beyond the kitchen. "Anneliese, go fetch it for your—"

"Fetch it yourself, you useless pig."

Hannes is silent for a long moment, before lowering his voice like he's addressing a small child. "Anneliese… go fetch the beer jug for your poor mother. You can at least do that much, right?"

Anneliese slams her bowl into the table, startling Piet so badly that he knocks over his own bowl, which sends lukewarm soup spilling over my legs. I try to get out of the way but the damage has been done, the fluid soaking into my bones and sending a cold chill running up from my ankles to my thighs that soon becomes a dull, throbbing pain. Anneliese studies the spill as she rises, bloodshot eyes boring into mine, before storming out of the kitchen without another word. I try to rise after her and nearly stumble face-first into a nearby shelf.

"Just Anneliese being Anneliese…" Jan mutters, stirring his own stew with a scowl — I realise that he hasn't touched it since the argument began.

"She'll get over it." Piet squeezes the liquid from his shirt. "You can just leave her to seethe for a while, Madame—"

"I have to go dry my legs," I tell them. "Anneliese can help me." I don't wait for them to respond before marching out the kitchen after my friend and letting the door slam shut behind me.