Work Text:
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
Winter in Bakhoree is very cold, much colder even than the court. The staff are competent, but they are few, and it is impossible for them to keep the wide halls of the manor heated properly. We have been obliged to wear thick furs to keep warm.
Confinement has not suited the princess. There is very little to occupy our time other than to spend it together. We fear that we shall grow to hate each other ere our relegation end, if indeed it ever should.
How fares Mother? It must be nearly spring at home. Has the river begun to melt yet? We would impose to ask of you what news you may relay, that it should ease our boredom.
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
We hope you and Mother have been well. Please pass our warmest regards on to her.
Spring has come to Bakhoree at last: it is a cold spring, but the river that comes down from the mountains is flowing again, and soon we may eat something other than cured meat.
The change of seasons has not melted Her Highness’s heart. She has no words for us these days but contempt. She wrote to her son to wish him a happy birthday, but he did not respond—she thinks he has been forbidden to, and, in the absence of her preferred target, she has directed her anger in our direction.
We apologize for writing of our concerns, which must seem frivolous to you.
We have had much time to practice our embroidery. We wished to send you a sample with this letter, but we were careless, and pricked our finger, ruining the work with a bloodstain, and so we must start over.
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
We apologize for writing again so soon; we do not wish to trouble you. Please forgive us the sentimentality of a daughter.
We have been maudlin the past few days, and have thought often of family, and of home. The weather has been a little warmer, and we have been walking in the gardens; there is a little duck-pond just like the one in our aunt’s rose garden. Do you remember when Ezeris fell in, and came out covered head to toe in duckweed? It was the year before he took ill, we think…
It is very quiet and tranquil in the gardens. The princess does not come there, and we prefer it.
We have sent the embroidery we told you of last time we wrote. We hope it will please you to see our work. Send our love to Mother, as always.
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
Summer has been very humid and sticky. The princess insists we continue to wear proper court dress nevertheless, although by now both our wardrobes are very out of date.
It is intolerable to be around her. We spend nearly all our time in the gardens.
There has been a bountiful squash harvest this year—so bountiful, that we have had nary a meal this past month that did not in some way contain squash. For tea today, the cook made squash muffins. They are not so bad, really, but we are sick to our stomach of squash.
We hope all is well at home. The courier tells us he has delivered our letters, so we may presume to think you have been reading them. It would please us ever so much to receive a reply, no matter how short. It has been six months since we have exchanged words with anyone outside of the household.
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
We write to you on this, the nineteenth of the month, the anniversary of our intended’s passing. The princess and we laid flowers on memorials erected in honor of her husband and our fiancé, and of course of the late emperor and the Archduke Nazhira as well.
We fear the date has put the princess in a foul temper. We tripped and dropped a basket of the flowers, and she was so angered she struck us and called us cruel names we will not write down.
The ducks have flown south for the winter. The pond feels lonely without them.
With best wishes for your health and Mother’s as always,
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
The duck-pond has frozen solid down at least three inches. We have been snowed in since last week; we are not sure when there will be a courier able to bring you this letter.
We have caught ill this winter. The doctor says we will recover with rest. In truth we are almost glad of it, as Her Highness will not dare to see us when we are unwell, lest the malady prove contagious.
Both we and the princess have been very restless. If summer at Bakhoree is uninteresting, winter is painfully enervating.
We wonder if we may still dare to hope to hear from you. It would mean very much to us.
Please convey our affections to Mother.
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin
To our noble father, Ezechet Bazhevel, Count Bazhevel, greetings.
As we are writing this, it is the day the princess’s son comes of age. Her Highness has been hoping he will write to her now that he is his own man. We rather think that he will not, although we have said nothing. If we agree with her, she will accuse us of giving false promises; if we disagree she will blame us when he inevitably does not send a letter.
Perhaps we are too pessimistic. But if we were him, we do not think we would want to contact her.
The ducks have returned to their pond. There is a mated pair, and they have a gaggle of little fluffy ducklings. Perhaps it is a good omen, if not one for us.
News takes long to reach Bakhoree, but we have seen the engravings in the paper of the emperor’s wedding. We wish His Serenity and the zhasan happiness. We regret terribly everything we have done.
We miss you and Mother most dearly.
Ever your devoted daughter,
Stano Bazhevin