The Etiquette of War

 Chapter II

Ingus in the rose; primal and insatiable. Sweet dove of the branch, how yet your purity to reach. The blood on the vine is the twig to the leech. Sworn to the body may your heart not hold cold. The sweat on the skin, the fervor, and the bold. Rising be the flame and the music in the air. Its wings not yet icarus, but closer to the heir.

I found Alios in the kitchen with our cook Hilda, enjoying pleasantries and pastries while avoiding the audacious company of our dear uncle. When we ultimately returned to the garden, however, Augustus was already gone. It left no room nor need to explain what happened to Aloois. He didn’t seem to care either; just glad to be out of his overbearing presence.

Later that evening, full of raspberry rolls and a wonderful dinner, I stayed with Alois for a bit while he settled for bed. I took the time to close his curtains, leaving his room illuminated by the candlelight on his nightstand.

“Julie, what are we going to do now that dad has died? Walter says I have to carry on the family name, but I don’t really know what that means.”

I knew this talk was coming. I could tell he feels a lot of weight on his shoulders and Augustus’s sudden appearance only worsened that.

“Don’t worry about it Alois.”

“But I’m the head-”

I turned to look at him, holding my hand up in pause.

“Alois . . . I won’t take your title from you.” I said gently. “I believe in you and I know this feels hard for you. That’s why I’m going to handle everything. Just support me like I support you and we’ll get through this together, alright?”

Alois is quiet as he looks down at his lap as though he was contemplating something. “ . . . I feel like a failure if I have you do everything. I mean . . . ” He sighs as his words trail off. “I . . I want to do the job. I just don’t know how and no one can seem to tell me.”

This time, it’s my turn to fall silent. I always knew this would be on his shoulders, but it is arrogant of me to assume to know how he’s feeling. Clearly, he is frustrated, and kind words do not solve his problem.

I pursed my lips, moving to sit at his bedside. “The head of the house is a leader to all the respective families and members under that house.”

This caught his attention as he looked at me with saddened eyes and a frown that only seemed to deepen at my words, but he didn’t respond.

“In the training academy a leader is defined as someone worth being idolized and this idol is a measure to their subordinates. A leader does not bear the weight of the world alone.”

“Mm . . .” Alois groaned. “In simpler terms please.”

I giggle a little. “In other words, give me a job to do, I will do it, and my success is your success.”

Alois threw his arms up in the air. “But I don’t know what job to give you!”

“Of course you do.”

“I do?”

“Of course. You’re just over thinking it. What is it that you want, Alois?”

“What do I want?”

“I want . . . I want . . .” Alois looked off in the distance before his eyes settled at his lap, tears slowly pooling below honey eyes. The exasperation, the frustration, and the anxiety overwhelming his thoughts and decision. “I want our family to be okay. I want things to be normal. I want . . . I want my papa back. . .”

Then as those tears began to fall, I slowly drew my little brother in against my chest. To what equation measures the emotions that be falls the shoulders of a grieving boy? The house, family name, wealth, and land were simply not things that could ever occupy a child’s mind; nor should it. And yet, the reality was that of contrast. Be it as it may. I don’t have to allow it.

“I’m sorry Alois. I can’t bring father back, but I will do everything else within my power.”

Alois didn’t respond and just nuzzled himself further into my chest, my hand rubbing circles on his back. I held him until he dozed off and tucked him in. Returning to my room, I prepared myself for bed, brushing my hair lightly with a heavy sigh. This was the third time since my return Alois has cried.

Pinning up my hair, I threw back the covers of the bed, but I couldn’t find myself crawling in. Instead, I picked up my rapier beside my nightstand and unsheathed it. Against the moonlight, it shined brighter than the candlelight. Swordfighting seemed so much easier in comparison.

I wonder vaguely if Augustus would tell anyone I stabbed him in the balls with a dessert fork.

Oh well.

Yield not to the arrogance of man, be it at the behest of glory, one will fall. The depth unimaginable to where even a titan may die. Humble to the lamb , the soul may be undaunting. Cared not with scarred hands, but love everlasting. The smile be a lie, but the truth most sour. A bite to the fruit of the rose, a thorn to the tongue of a liar.

Walter was an enigmatic man. He had served our family for as long as I could remember. A tall man, not short of 6’4’’, lithe, but strong. My father said he used to be a commander in the imperial military, but was forced to retire after years of duty. What kind of commander could he be if he couldn’t speak anymore? During a fateful ambush while escorting the minister of the church, Walter took a poison arrow to the cheek. It resulted in the removal of his tongue thus his ability to speak. A scar, like a cut to the side of his lips was the only indication of damage he sustained; his body robust enough to heal smoothly. By all accounts, the damage was minimal, but debilitating nonetheless.

His circumstances were a constant reminder of how valuable charisma is to society. No matter how great the sword, a lady is nothing without her words. The man’s medium length grey hair, neat and straight, covers eyes that are perhaps worn, but noble. Even without his ability to speak, Walter still carried himself with his head high and fire, now embers, rumbling in his heart.

Alois followed him like a puppy. Since our father’s passing, Walter has taken it upon himself to teach Alois as much as he could in being a leader. If not anyone, perhaps it was exactly what my little brother would need in order for his heart to heal and even grow. He’s not yet at a place where he could even make solid decisions for the house, but that time will soon come.

37 . . .

Walter helps Alois get ready for the day like he always had before providing him a list of duties he needed to complete for the day. Now the little head had duties he needed to complete with running the estate.

48 . . .

But more than that. The town of Belcheri stretches out over a portion of the Du’Constantine Estate and as a ducal, the towns and villages within our field of influence, are our responsibility to support and govern. Since our decline, my father has tried his best to support the villages. This is what Walter says is what declined my father’s health. He put everything into our people at the cost of his own self, ultimately leading to his death in utter exhaustion. He did his best.

56 . . .

But it wasn’t enough.

64 . . .

My hands flat against the floor, body outstretched centimeters from wood, and toes balancing my weight. I looked pointedly forward in front of me at nothing in particular. My body dipped low, carrying my weight through my muscles that outlined the curvature of my frame. Like fluid strikes of a pen, delicate tendons and flesh showed the strength in my arms; sweat down the curve of my spine and a light sheen that glistened to the dip of my abdomen.

65 . . .

Our fields have been overworked to supplement income, now our harvests have been meek and people are slowly going hungry. It’s like a war of attrition against ourselves. If father hadn’t borrowed from the capital bank, we would have long since reached the brink of starvation.

73 . . .

Sweat dripped down my chin, my bangs sticking to my forehead, and my wild curls pinned in a bun on top of my head. Each breath of mine was steady and when I swallowed thickly, a droplet slipped down between my clavicles and chest, moistening the fabric of my chemise. I exhale as I push myself back into my starting position.

74 . . .

I was taking my time, allowing myself a moment of reprieve to collect my thoughts. By this time, I would have normally finished my morning exercises, but today I had other plans. 100 sit-ups, 100 push-ups, and a 1 mile run. I had already finished my sit-ups and run. My exercise has actually been reduced since returning home. It was frowned upon for a lady to burst the seams of their corset or have the back of a man.

My shoulder blades splayed out with the tautness of my spine as I sunk low again, the frill of my pantalettes lightly grazing against the wooden floor boards.

82 . . .

In other words, my muscles from the academy were a little too strong for the delicate form of a lady. While I maintained a healthy physique, I’ve cut down my calisthenics for a more lithe figure that complimented my corsets instead of overworking the lacing. Such things were really trivial in my eyes, but I don’t mind the extra pastries I can have in between now.

93 . . .

However, my sword training has remained the same. Callouses are not very lady-like, but I’d rather be a burly dame than give up my sword.

“100.” I said with a sigh as I slowly rolled onto my bottom and sat up. I took the time to recover and steady my breathing, when a knock on the door came.

”Come in.”

With a pitcher and basin in tow, my lady in waiting, Yvette entered the room. “Lady Juliet, your wash is ready.”

A lonely heart knows that of false idols. It treads carefully to guard its treasure. Thornish to lies and quick to trifle. A rose admired to the symbolic love, waves off the pristine idealistic dove. Removal of its heart, bear it no mind. Kindness in spare for only patience and time.

Yvette was a woman just a few years older than me at 23 years old. Yet she stood shorter than me at 5’1’’ compared to my 5’4’’ height. A petite frame with short blonde hair that framed her face and tucked neatly in her coif headdress. Her blue eyes were behind a thin frame of round glasses and she always wore a wise almost smarmy smile. While our status separated us, especially during these trying times, she was my closest friend. If I had it my way, she would have come with me to the academy. Alas, our misadventures have been limited to my family’s estate.

She poured the pitcher of hot water into the bassinet for me to clean up while she prepared my day dress; a modest cream colored dress with vibrant yellow daisies patterned sparsely on the fabric with yellow lace and embroidery on the back bustle to match. The ribbon tied to the dress was a light blue, matched my garters, and the clocked pattern of my stockings. My low pump heels were a mix of ivory and yellow with just a touch of blue. I kept my jewelry simple with a pearl necklace and matching earrings. When offered gloves, I turned them down.

“While I shouldn't a need, I can’t wield my rapier properly with silk gloves.”

“I heard Sir Aymeric won a spare recently in Parome during the daylight festival wearing enchanted silk gloves.”

“Well, I don’t care what that golden boy can do.”

That’s a lie, but it’s unimportant.

Sir Aymeric Dumont of the Order of the Griffon, Sworn Knight of Lord Frederique Auclair de Breccus, Loyal to Emperor Christoph Moreau, and Protector of the People of the Empire of Iltarisa. In less formal terms, Golden boy Aymeric, Bane of My Existence, and Everything I Wish I Could Have Been.

I met him in the Imperial Academy. He stood out among everyone; my senior by four years, and popular among his peers. Son to an affluent house and prospective member of the Order of the Griffon, a prestigious lesion of knights in service directly to the emperor. He’s a tall man of 6’0, strong build, golden brown hair that touched his shoulders, and brilliant emerald eyes. He was the fondness of every woman at the academy. While conventionally attractive, he was also seen as incredibly altruistic, good-natured, and kind under the Immaculate Light. By all accounts, he was perfect and as such, I stuck away from him. Someone that perfect was clearly only a false idol or tool and I wanted nothing to do with it. And yet, my time and scores in the academy often pitted me against him. Of course someone so drunk on attention would be peeved by the minute idea that there was someone that didn’t favor him.

I was one of the top scorers in the academy. This meant I was often paired to spare and train with other top scorers. And the one time I slighted Aymeric, not by beating him in a spar - as I have never won against him to my abhorrent distaste - but by dismissing him in conversation when we were paired together for our first spar. My single act of a cold shoul

der seemed to intrigued Aymeric who wasn’t used to being ignored. From that day, and every day after, from himself and others, conversations and comparisons, and comments and pleasantries, often included Aymeric whether he was there or not. I am not quite sure if this was intentional or not, but the radiant light knows, I cared very little about it. It ultimately became such a disdain of mine, I even wrote to Yvette about my peculiar circumstances.

Some would say I saw so much of the man that we could be considered friends, but that is an impolite term for an unmarried lady like myself to have. Nor did I see it as such. Aymeric thought everyone was his friend and I just wanted to be left unbothered by this ray of light at the corner of my eye.

I was jealous.

There is no other way to put it. Aymeric had and was everything I wish I was. From the academy, he will go on to be a member of the Order of Griffons. And yet I could not even hope to have the same. My obligations as a noble woman required me to marry or risk being labeled a spinster and degrading my house’s reputation even further. Since returning home, I’ve given up my dream of being this shining knight and beacon of the empire. Instead, I’ll focus on saving what I can. Aymeric is no concern of mine any longer.