Look Beyond What You See

Battle Plans

 "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.