tea
Anisa
She paused her hovering to sit at an adorned table. Tea set. 3 cups with little plates. A bunch of doilies on a red tablecloth.
Doilies were for protecting wood from scratches, not for ornamental snowflakes. The maid poured tea before having been requested. Anisa attempted and failed to extract displeasure from her neutral expression.
“Green Carmella, yes?” said Samantha.
“I prefer Viscount Black, actually,” said Anisa. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, sorry about that!” said Samantha. “I blame Quincy. He said you liked it.”
“It’s fine.” She hadn’t been expecting tea at all. If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t drink it. “If I don’t like it, I won’t drink it,” said Anisa.
“Have you not had it before? He swore you liked it.”
He always assumed he knew her… “I have not.”
“An opportunity, then!”
“‘An opportunity’…” she wafted, sniffed, sipped.
“And?”
“To be determined. I’ll require more samples, and an objective analysis.”
Samantha chuckled. “You’re allowed to have snap judgements, Anisa.”
“It is tea,” she snapped, softly.
Another laugh. “Fine, fine. How’s Felkner.”
“Agreeable. I have a cohort who follow commands faithfully and efficiently. The population respects law enforcement. We have preliminary plans to expand housing northward.”
“I suppose you don’t need me for housing planning anymore then, haha. That’s great to hear, great to hear. We’re doing a lot here, too, trying to find more efficient ways to grow food, trying to find what food is most efficient to grow.”
“Do your people not have enough edible crops, Samantha.”
“Oh no, we have plenty. I wanted to give you the statistics we’ve gathered on how all our different magics — magic? — affected crop growth. I personally haven’t cast any of it, and I’m sure it’s not as organized as—”
“If you have enough food, why are you so busy?” More aggressive than she was intending. Samantha frowned. “Isn’t this what a princess is supposed to do? Isn’t that what you do? Gather statistics, make theories, and change policy based on the results?”
“People die if I don’t, Samantha.”
“I suppose people probably won’t die if I don’t, but they might get more time to do things they enjoy. Make better crops, make crops grow quicker, less work. Maybe I can open schools and force them to read. Quincy’s census is ongoing — paused while he’s in Blisbane, thought he’d be back by now — but did you know we have a 32% literacy rate in Penbarrow? 32! How did we overthrow Casse if so few people could coordinate with writing?”
Her argument was flawed, but she respected the emotion. No, respected was the wrong word. She identified the emotion. A key to be inserted into a lock.
She sipped again. “I still need you, Samantha. Not for housing. Your temperament can be put to good use.”
She shook her head. “No. I am not going to Felkner to work for you, Princess Anisa Day. I like it here.”
Her and her delusions of necrotic wheat saving the world. They’d love her. “Not for me. With me. Over the Felkner Vanguard Guild. Their temperaments refuse to accept me as sovereign.”
“I never understood that nomenclature. How are they ‘vanguarding’? Aren’t they mercenaries?”
“No, and they refuse to change their name. Mercenary, according to them, implies they do the will of others. A ‘vanguardist’ seeks out problems themselves, rather than waiting to be asked. As you can imagine, it’s stepping on my toes.”
“Impressive.” Samantha slurped, growing self-conscious halfway through. “I’d think you’d be thrilled. They autovigilantize, less work for you.” “I don’t want less work, Samantha. I’m not Reimond.”
“I didn’t think I—”
“And no, having them around isn’t just more work. It’s a competing pole of legitimacy. I can’t eliminate it outright without serious repercussions. You would fit as a consul.”
“I would ‘fit’? I’m fine where I am. I’m not another one of your pawns, Anisa.” Anisa again sipped. She wouldn’t press it. “Okay.”
It’d be good for Samantha to get away from Quincy, to meet other creatives, to be forced to be busy with productive administration, but…
𝄒
What did it matter.