You decide that, well, Father knows best. And he's been doing just as much snooping about as you have – if anything, people may have been more open with the old man, on account of his heroic past and powerful present. Important as you may be within the Habsburg faction, you are still a third son, not even twenty-five, and with only three years of experience in the homeland under your belt. That meeting with the four lords made you feel it.
Nevertheless, when you see Father again the following morning, you give him the mainly-good news: Lord Tarnowski and Prince Wiśniowiecki stand prepared to vote for the Archduke, Tyskiewicz's deference likely nets his vote for Austria when the time comes, while Hetman Sieniawski votes (rather impartially, at least) for the Transylvanian.
"You've done well, son," says Father, eyes darting between your face and your leg. "You are still healing well?"
You adjust your grip on your crutches. "So say the physicians," you tell him, "I'm gaining weight again and the fever hasn't returned for well over a week."
He sighs and cracks his knuckles; there's a trace of relief on his stony face. "Good. That is very good. We were all very worried," he says. He's been kinder since your amputation. You wonder if your brush with death made him realize that you're more than just an extension of the family to him. You certainly hope that's the case. He was so friendly to you when you were a boy, but these days? Well, you ought to listen to him. "I have a question for you, son."
"Anything, Father."
"Ladies." He cocks his head. "What are your thoughts on them?"
"Well…" You exhale, searching for words, thinking of Mariana, who you reckon to be the finest her race has to offer. "They are strange creatures," you decide to say. "Glorious in their purity yet oh-so-foolish at times. Eve's stain is written all across them, and many are Jezebels. But those who are not? As good as any man."
"Rumor has it Princess Mariana is a formidable lady indeed," he says, cracking a little smile – an uncommon expression for him. "And has done good work for the cause, spreading favorable rumors, convincing her fellows. As much as the family would have benefited from your marriage to Princess Ostrogska – well, your brothers are bachelors still." He waves away the thought. "Nevermind that. I agree with your assessment. The strong ones are wolves among meek little sheep."
You nod. "They are the most dangerous ones. But if you can make yourself the master of one…" Heh, or is Mariana the one holding the leash? Ugh, I'm such a half-man at times!
"Do you remember anything of your mother?" he asks.
A spike shoots through you. You shake your head. "Only her face."
"She was a fiery one," he says. "And I was awful to her." You've never seen his face so expressive, so open! "I was too young and proud to appreciate the charms – and benefits – of that powerful, mannish sort of lady, the kind that can stand with her back straight and look her lord in the eye. We fought nearly every day." Yes, so go the stories that Marszowski told me. Hair-pulling and thrown chairs, servants cowering in their service corridors for fear of encountering either of them.
"I see, Father," you say, retaining formality, even as the patriarch shows his heart. You're unsure what to do when he gets like this; when does he ever?
"The Infanta Anna is of a similar sort. Quiet, though. Her spinster life is not an act, but her silence is a tool," he says. "Although she is a ward of the realm and rightly under the control of good men, impartial men – well, you know how a woman can get her word out, make an announcement of her own despite law and, perhaps, nature."
"Indeed…"
"She has promised herself neither to Prince Batory nor the Archduke. Burned by the Walezy fiasco, I suppose, when he slow-walked marrying her." Another smile! "Rumor also has it that you've met her before, and had a personal audience."
"I did," you say. "And it was on the topic of her marriage to one of the Emperor's sons – she refused flatly."
"How long ago was that?"
You hum. "Perhaps a year ago? Yes, last fall," you say.
"Well, things have changed mightily, haven't they?" replies Father. "Batory's become the official opposition to the Archduke, who has now been chosen specifically from the ranks of his clan. In short, she's got proper suitors now."
"Right," you say, deciding to guess his next move. "So we ought to make contact with her, then? Have her declare for someone?"
"Precisely," says Father. "Though she ultimately has no say in the matter, naturally. Still, it's a message that can't be ignored."
"So, we ought to make contact?"
"That's right," he says. "And I figured that, given your familiarity, you would be up to the task. But, if you believe your talents are better used here than at Kraków, you reckon, we can forego that, speak to her via emissary." Father shifts in his chair. "I trust you to make a good decision, son. Besides, you've met her, not I."
You try to hide your shock. Everyone's been so different since your amputation, as if you instantly aged to a veteran of thirty-five or forty. You're no longer some half-French little lad with a backwater castellancy and a good speech under his belt: you're trusted, listened to and, as it may seem, even forgiven by Father for your unilateral expedition to Vienna. Perhaps it's aided by the Archduke's waxing chances, but it's best not to think about it right now.
"Thankfully," Father adds, "she's at her lodgings in Łomża, rather than Kraków, so you should be able to make it there in five days as opposed to ten or so. What say you?"
That means you may miss the beginning of the Election Sejm, depending on how long you're detained, though the proceedings will likely continue through the month and possibly even into December. You say:
[] "It will be done, Father."
Even though he offered you the option to stay, it may be best to follow his orders. Despite your familiarity with the Infanta being vaguely combative, a foot in the door is a foot in the door, and you're unequivocally a representative of the Radziwiłłowie and Habsburg faction alike.
[] "I think I ought to stay here, Father."
Communication by letter or emissary may be the best idea – a light touch, as people will surely notice and therefore talk. Besides that, you don't want to miss out on any developments here at the Sejm.
[] "Perhaps my wife may visit her?"
An unconventional idea, and mildly scandalous for allowing Mariana to travel without you, her legal master. However, she has a clean slate with the Infanta and, uh, well, women like talking to other women, don't they? You're not sure. You could imagine a backfire though: you could be regarded as too cowardly to come yourself.
[] "What if asking her to marry the Archduke makes her declare for Batory instead?"
A little nervous of you, but not unfounded. She's stayed silent, watching and waiting, with an airtight seal around her true thoughts that even the wiliest intriguers can't get to. You're concerned that if she's pushed by one side it'll slide her right into the arms of the opposing one.