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When the High Sovereign of the Cryo Element, Celestial Lady of Ice and Snow, Snezhnaya's Tsaritsa comes to visit her in her holding cell, Peruere thinks little of it.
She is being executed, she is certain. The remaining children of the House of the Hearth will have to find their own paths, and she will die having achieved exactly what she set out to do, and that will be, by all accounts, the end of it.
She has performed a marvelous, horrible feat of power in the defeat of Mother, the so-named Knave Crucabena. And now it is over. She has bitten clean through the hand that feeds (and, notably, the hand which withholds, the hand which takes her by the scruff and throws her down the stairs to be sure she can recover from the shock).
There is no point in concealing her emotions, not unless her goal was to die with dignity - and certainly she will not scream as she is drawn to the gallows, or knocked to the executioner's block, but all the same, dignity had gone out the window when they'd found her sitting half-sunk into the riverbed, trying to get Clervie’s blood out of the white fabric of her shorts.
So she stares, wide-eyed, at the Tsaritsa. It is not, exactly, that she is a shocking or imposing figure, so much as it is that she commands a sort of presence which makes Peruere, whose feelings had previously been a sort of gray miasma of things she can't even begin to name (her stomach is a deep pit, her head is pounding, the sounds she hears seem muffled and faraway), grimace at the sense of dread which the Tsaritsa wears as a great cloak.
The two of them exist in a great stillness for a moment, Peruere on her side of the old iron bars, Snezhnaya's greatest gift on the other, until finally the Tsaritsa speaks.
"What is it that you want?" She asks. Her voice is cool, sharp, dangerous even despite the lack of temper.
"What?" Says Peruere.
"If you, a child, had defeated any one of those who rank among my retinue, it would be quite impressive. But you did not bother with other operatives- no, sweet thing, you went right to the top, didn't you? You must have some desire. Requests, demands even. What are they?"
"I'm not a child."
"Oh, certainly. I would be just delighted to grow out from under influences not my own as well. Now, you must be a bright young girl. Young woman , sincerest apologies. It would be a shame if I had to repeat myself.”
Peruere scowls. If she mentions the House, there is no doubt in her mind that the Tsaritsa will bring down some form of wrath upon it. "In the aftermath of Crucabena's death, there is nothing I want that is as much as you would permit me."
A scoff. “I think you will find yourself mistaken.”
"I should quite like to live."
"I would not stop you." The Tsaritsa says, as though the thought had never crossed her mind, and Peruere slackens a little bit. "Though if you accept my offer, I cannot promise the same of your enemies. General is a line of work rife with risk."
“What?” Says Peruere again, and she’s beginning to feel dizzy, like the game the Tsaritsa is playing with her is supposed to be obvious and she’s not getting it.
“You have deposed my former fourth Harbinger. No matter what opinion was held of her- and they were not all good, I’m certain you can believe- she had responsibilities in my organization which cannot simply be left unattended to. I would like very much to fill the role and be done with it.”
Peruere hesitates. She’s been certain of her execution since she became aware enough to know anything. The idea that she might not be dead already- the idea that she might be about to get a job out of killing Mother feels unreal. She stays silent. She doesn’t know what to say, because surely that isn’t what is meant. She blinks stupidly.
“I’m offering you the position.” Says the Tsaritsa, more insistently. “You would be the fourth Harbinger, my Knave Arlecchino. I confess- I let my director handle things like pay and benefits, and you may speak to him if you wish. He’ll want to do a formal physical and mental assessment, lead by another of my Harbingers, my Doctor- he worked with Crucabena, you may have met before- but others have passed in much worse states than you. It’s mostly basic comprehension. He might press for a combat exam, but that’s just a formality. You’ll pass that. Then there will be the public induction-,”
“What if I refuse?”
The soft smile that has crept onto the Tsaritsa’s face drops away. It is replaced by another, but this one is harder, more set. “Your minimum sentence would be twenty-five years, if what you have done is determined accidental, which it won’t be. You know that, and I don’t think you would deny it anyway, would you?”
She pauses, and Peruere realizes this is a real question. It isn’t one she should answer, but the Tsaritsa is right. She wouldn’t dream of denying her intent- not when killing Mother is the most worthwhile thing she has ever done in her life. “No. I wanted her dead, and I wanted to be the one to do it.”
The Tsaritsa laughs. It echoes in the empty hallway of her prison, grows hollow and distant.“See, you would make such a good Knave with answers like that. And such a poor prisoner. I would hate to see your talents go to waste.”
“I’m not like Mother.”
“I wouldn’t want you to be. She’s lost- and you seem so much more likable. I prefer sweet little girls to Cataclysm-era witches any day.”
“What if I were also Cataclsym-era?”
“You’re not. You’re from before that, sweetheart, don’t try to lie to me- and you haven’t lived it. It’s more about the living than it is the period of time, really. You’re young.”
“I’m an adult.”
“A very young one. Now, before you get to convincing me you are more trouble than you are worth- do you accept?”
Peruere tries to work it out in her head, but she is exhausted. Her brain is all wound up and sticks wrongly in the gears of her mind. She gets the sense that what choice she’s being offered isn’t really one at all. She doesn’t care. She can’t. “I’ll do it.” She says. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll send my director by. He’ll explain everything, and get someone to let you out.”
Peruere dies as surely as she was going to this morning, and Arlecchino nods, numbly.