It would be very easy to just say yes. But if you can't be entirely honest here with her, where could you ever be? You glance away from her, studying the pattern of sunlight on the brightly patterned carpet. Then, fighting not to swallow the words, you make yourself say: "I'm... afraid."
"Of seeing your mother?" It's not really a question that this is what you meant, but she seems to know you need the prompting. You feel her arms slip around you again — this time, she sits up straighter, and draws you in. It's a startling feeling to be the one being held like this. You don't pull away.
God, they're so fucking good together. I love them.
Maia nods. Her mood has definitely fallen, presumably because of the farewell. "Good luck on your journey," she says. "I hope— Wait!" This last word is accompanied by her diving half off the bed to snatch something up from the floor, holding it out to you hilt first.
"A knife?" you ask, examining it with a perplexed air. The blade is both slender and flat, designed to be easily concealed. You don't test the edge — you know how Maia keeps any blade she carries.
"Well, it's, um... my favourite knife!" she says, face colouring. "This would be a great time to have some kind of meaningful piece of jewelry I could give you and say, 'wear this over your heart', but, uh... this is what I have onhand."
You look up from the little knife and smile. "I'll be sure to wear this over my heart, then," you say.
KNIFE LESBIANS
So fuckin' cute I stg.
The monk gives you a respectful bow. "They alarmed some of the local farmers when they flew in," she says. "I have been trying to ask after the reason for their presence here unannounced."
"And, I told you, I was waiting for a friend," Perfection says. They twine a finger through their white-blonde hair, their smile as flawless as it is insufferable. "Hello, Ambraea. You look lovely this morning."
"And thank goodness you're here to smooth this all over. And to think, when we first met, you asked why I wanted to make a pact with you in particular." The scale around your neck goes subtly colder as Perfection's voice speaks in your head. They sound so pleased with themself that you briefly entertain the fantasy of telling the monk that they're a dangerous criminal.
DCP is entertaining as always.
...You know, it occurs to me that DCP's characterization actually has quite a bit in common with Deiza's. I can't help but imagine they'd get along like a house on fire, to Ambraea's profound horror.
It's really interesting to see how Ambraea's rigid understanding of social roles shapes her respective reactions to them, also; DCP is a spirit, who are expected to be unruly and improper creatures, and so Ambraea sees DCP's behavior as the annoying but ultimately more amusing/endearing quirks of a friend than as actually offensive. Whereas Deiza is a Dynastic lady, which to Ambraea means a need to adhere to a
very rigid set of cultural expectations.
Honestly, I wonder if Ambraea's instinctive reaction to Deiza isn't on some level at least partially motivated by subconscious resentment that
she can feel this free to be unbound by the expectations of others, which has literally never been an option for Ambraea with her parentage.
It's late morning when you finally arrive, less than a week after you set out, a pace which Perfection smugly describes as "leisurely".
Seriously though, DCP is a smug icon. Best dragon.
You pick out plazas and avenues you've been borne through, each lined with splendor hard won from every Direction -- temples to defeated gods, captured monuments turned into trophies of conquest, the shattered remnants of manses and palaces rendered into paving stones at your mother's command. And there, shining like a jewel at the city's heart behind high walls and gates gleaming with jade, is the Imperial Palace -- the truest home you've ever known.
It's interesting to see the framing of the Realm's foundation of bloody-handed conquest as the unambiguously positive history of hard-won accomplishments. But I suppose conquest usually looks glorious from the perspective of the victors.
Of course there's nothing wrong. You're looking down at the greatest city in all Creation from a vantage that few have ever gotten to see. It's merely... different, from how you normally see it.
"Oh, I see!" they say. "You don't normally see those parts, do you?"
Admittedly, you do not -- the Imperial City's great buildings and major streets are cleverly arranged to present a view worthy of the Realm's crowning glory to those of means. From above, though, you can see what had always been hidden from you, even from the highest towers of the Palace: Thousands upon thousands of homes crammed in amidst factories, workshops, slaughterhouses, and all the other small and petty drudgeries that make a city run. Teaming masses of peasant laborers and beasts of burden and slaves throng in those narrow streets, making up the lion's share of the more than a million souls living within the Imperial City's protection.
It isn't really discomfort you're feeling. Just surprise. Inside your coat, Verdigris stirs, nuzzling a scaly head against you. You ignore Perfection's laughter in your head, and try to join Peony in simply taking in the view.
"'I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just surprised,' says deeply uncomfortable local Dynast.
Nice to see that Ambraea's ability to maintain denial of her true feelings even in her internal monologue remains intact. Which is cute, but also kinda sad tbh.
"Excellent timing," you tell the officer, as if your presence here is entirely normal and expected, "I have urgent business at the Palace, and require proper transportation. I trust you will see it arranged?"
I do really enjoy Ambraea leaning into her sorcerous flexing.
Your mother's presence has always been overwhelming, the sheer weight of her attention like a vast bonfire — the palace itself often felt a little like that to you, whether or not she was in it at any given time. Like the very architecture of the place had taken on some of her essential being. Now, far more attuned to the mystical energies of the world than you had been when you last walked these halls, you recognise that this was never your imagination. Her sorcery permeates every part of the vast building, the power of it a constant background hum.
Really helps paint a picture of what a vacuum at the heart of the Realm the Empress' sudden disappearance will leave.
Her tone is deferential but confident. As a deputy to the Keeper of the First Imperial Seal.
"As a deputy to the Keeper of the First Imperial Seal." doesn't really seem like a complete sentence. I think it should be something more like "As expected for a [etc.]." Or just merge the sentences but swap the order, so it's "As a deputy to the Keeper of the First Imperial Seal, her tone is deferential but confident."
"She will send for you at her convenience, but I shouldn't expect that to be before tomorrow."
You don't resent that — it gives you a chance to be clean, rested, and fed by the time you face your mother. "Of course," you say, "I am happy to await her pleasure."
Pretty sure "you don't resent that" is about as accurate as "you're not uncomfortable" was.
As you pass one such arch, you briefly eye one of its large, marble pillars, and have to refrain from rubbing at your nose in a distant memory of pain. From her place beside and slightly behind you, Peony follows your gaze. The trace of a smile on her lips is so faint that no one could have credibly chided her for it.
HAH. I see Ambraea still remembers walking face-first into a pillar because she was awestruck by a pretty girl.
"And I would hope that a sense of duty and dedication are the other half," he says, releasing you, "and not that V'neef woman putting you on your back in a practice bout?"
"I was hoping that you hadn't heard of that."
"Please," Nazat says, wandering over to one of your cabinets to look for something to drink, "I keep an ear out for news of you. And it's really nothing to be ashamed of, losing to a swordswoman like V'neef S'thera at age sixteen. I haven't met her, but her reputation speaks for itself."
"So I understand," you say. You don't voice the snide remark that comes to mind, about S'thera's 'reputation' being as much for putting women on their backs in another way as it was for swordswomanship. It would make you seem like a sore loser, after all. And you're here talking to your father.
She's such a fucking sore loser lmao.
At length, however, Nazat speaks to you: "I don't promise that I'll follow most of it — I had a cousin who attended the Mandir of Sixfold Insight, and half the things he talked about afterward went entirely over my head. But I would not mind hearing what your time at school has been like."
"I write letters," you tell him.
"You write letters like you're dictating a shopping list," Nazat says, faintly amused, "it reminds me of your grandmother. Please, indulge me."
"As you wish, then," you say. And so you tell him about your year, the wine and the quiet comfort of his company helping to ease your anxieties about tomorrow. Between this and Lohna, you're finally, truly able to feel like you're home, at least for a little while.
I do like her relationship with her dad.
I'd suggest dropping spellwork. We already completed rare spell, which leave our remaining goals as things which involve spirits. best to get this advice and ease the next steps.
Honestly, I'd totally forgotten about that list of goals - good catch. Yeah, with that in mind I think the spirit-binding advice is the way to go.
[X] [Empress] Advice on binding and treating with spirits
[X] [Social] Sesus Kasi
Meeting the twin of Best Girl contender Amiti would be interesting.
[X] [Social] V'neef S'thera
Ambraea being a terrible loser will never not be funny to me.