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“I wanna go!”
Dottore sighed as he fixed his collar, flattening it out over the cravat.
“Darling, it’s only for Harbingers. It’s boring anyway, just a lot of talking.”
“I don’t care!” Amirah cried, stomping her foot, “I wanna go!”
He clenched his jaw, turning around to look at her and cross his arms. She couldn’t exactly see his body language but she was could at picking up on feelings.
“Amirah.”
She huffed, crossing her arms back and puffing her angry, red cheeks out. Her carmine eyes glared through his neck, just shy of his face.
“Why can’t I go,” she asks, though it’s more like a demand.
“I told you already,” he replies patiently.
“That’s stupid.”
He stays silent, displeasure rolling off him in waves. She falters a little at his lack of response, then stiffens. She turns on her heel and storms out, her blue curls bouncing as she goes. She stumbles into the doorframe in her rage, embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she maneuvers around it with her hands. She’s halfway down the hall when he hears her shout:
“I hate you!”
A sharp exhale leaves his nose as he turns back to getting ready. Genius she may be, she was still only eight and he wasn’t exactly prime socialization material. He knew she didn’t mean it, she was just upset and would likely apologize later and cry about it.
A few minutes later one of her attendants knocked on his door, bowing when he called them in.
“Lord Harbinger,” greets Anton — or perhaps it was Pietrov, the masks of their uniform made it hard to tell.
“The young lady wishes to go see the newly appointed Lord Regrator.”
Dottore rolls his eyes. She couldn’t get him to agree so now she’s running to Feofan.
“Very well, just keep an eye on her. She gets crafty when she’s upset,” he drawled, waving the agent back out.
He bowed, closing the door quietly behind him. Soon after he heard the three of them leave. It didn’t matter. Feofan already knew that when she came to him to ask, as if he had any authority to agree anyway, Dottore had already said no.
—————————
Feofan was sitting quietly at his new desk in his new office. Waiting. Buying time by signing papers. His inauguration ceremony was in an hour, though he’d been in his new position for a week, getting used to it. His new title and name… He could imagine how Dottore felt being granted his own.
Even still, it would probably take a while to stop calling himself Feofan. At least privately.
A knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts. A slight frown formed. He didn’t have any meeting, his schedule dreadfully bare today for the ceremony. Perhaps a subordinate delivering something?
“Come in,” he called, barely raising his voice for it to be heard through the heavy door.
As soon as it was pushed open an endearing smile found its way to his face. A much more pleasant visitor than usual.
“Amirah, dear,” he greets warmly, standing up to come before her, “To what do I owe this honor?”
She holds out her hands, a small pout on her lips and her eyes red-rimmed like she’d been crying. Feofan smiles, letting out a small ‘ah’. He lifts her into his arms, carrying her over to the couch and settling her down before taking a seat beside her.
“What did he do this time?”
“He said I can’t go to your party,” she pouts, fiddling with the fluff on her dress.
Feofan nods slowly, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together.
“Did he say why?”
She nods, wiping at her face.
“He said it’s only for grown-ups.”
“Well,” he begins, tapping his knuckle, “That is true. Why are you upset about this specifically?”
Her lip quivers and her voice gets smaller as she says, “What if you think I don’t love you anymore because I don’t go?”
Feofan softens, a real smile forming on his face as he reaches out and gently strokes her cheek, wiping away a few tears.
“Darling I’d never think that.”
She crawls towards him into his lap and he lets her, placing both feet on the floor and hugging her as she collapses against his chest. Gloved hands pet her hair, gently fixing the mussed locks.
“This party is only a formality,” he explains, “It’s not even anything important, just a way for the elite to save face.”
She sniffles, shuffling to rest her ear over his heart.
“Like the food parties you go to?” she asks tentatively.
“Exactly,” Feofan agrees, rubbing her back soothingly, “It’s a pretense. A game for adults.”
She’s quiet for a moment before asking, “Can we have our own party for you?”
His smile widens.
“Of course we can. I don’t have much to do after the inauguration so I’ll come back with your father and we’ll do something, okay?”
She sits back a little, a small and wavering smile on her face.
“Thank you.”
He cups her face, gently squeezing her cheeks before releasing her.
“Of course my dear. Why don’t you head back to your baba? I’m sure he’s worried about you.”
Amirah nods, sliding off his lap and waiting for him to get up. He takes her hand and leads her back to Anton and Pietrov, who’d been standing at the door patiently. He smooths her hair down one more time before patting her on the head.
“I’ll see you later, alright?”
“Yes, Temsâh,” she whispers.
The new nickname makes him pause, but he decides to ask Dottore later. She’s led out and he goes back to his desk with an easy smile.
—————————
“My Lady thats…”
“It’s okay, ToTo,” she says, patting his hand, “I’ll take responsibility!”
Anton sends a weary glance at Pietrov, who just shrugs. Useless old man.
“That’s appreciated, my Lady, but there are rules about seeing Her Majesty,” he tries to explain, knowing it falls on ears that simply do not care.
“But are there rules about asking?” she inquires with a smile, already knowing the answer.
“…It is discouraged.”
“That’s not a no! Come on, let’s go ask. If she says no I’ll head home, I promise,” she chirps, holding out her pinkie.
With a ragged sigh Anton accepts her pinkie offer with his own and follows after her with Pietrov trailing alongside and providing quiet directions. It takes nearly twenty minutes to reach Her Majesty’s audience room, a time in which she was not discouraged as he’d hoped.
The guards at the front cast them a suspicious glare.
“Halt! Her Majesty is not accepting visitors at this time.”
Amirah reaches into the pocket of her dress and holds out a metal emblem with two hands.
“I just need a few minutes, please,” she says with a smile.
The guards share a look before one reaches out to grab the emblem.
“Wait here,” he says, slipping into the room. After a few minutes he comes back out and returns it to her.
“A few minutes,” he echoes with a nod, opening the door.
Anton and Pietrev go to follow, only to be blocked.
“Just her,” says the man.
“We’re-“
“It’s okay ToTo!” she interjects, reaching out to pat his hand again, “I’ll be right back.”
She heads inside, leaving the four of them standing outside. Anton sighs, pushing his mask out of the way to rub at his eyes. This girl was going to give him grays before thirty.
—————————
It was cold inside the audience chamber, Amirah noted. She felt her breath on her cheeks as she slowly walked forward, trying to keep a straight line and not trip.
“Hello, my child,” says a voice, as clear and bright as an icicle.
She pauses, her head bowed.
“Hello, Your Majesty,” she greets politely, curtsying as Feofan taught her, “I-“
“Dottore’s daughter,” She says over her, “I know who you are. What brings you here alone?”
Amirah can hear shifting beside Her, heavy and tired, and assumes that must be the Pierro she’s heard about.
“I wish to attend Te- Lord Regrator’s i-inauguration,” she stumbles slightly over the last word, but it ultimately comes out clearly.
It’s quiet for a moment, no sound coming from the impressive presence before her.
“I’m afraid this is for Harbingers only, little one,” She finally responds.
“I disagree,” Amirah pushes, feeling the surprise from Pierro, “Lord Pierro isn’t a Harbinger and neither is Her Majesty and yet both of you will be in attendance. It seems to me that the allowance is more for the Harbingers inner circle, of which I’d like to include myself.”
A light chuckle meets her words, like the ringing of the bells on their curtains.
“Hm… perhaps you have a point,” the Tsaritsa says after the laughter dies away, “But even still, I can’t make an allowance for a daughter.”
Amirah swallows, her hands gripping each other in front of her. Disappointment washes through her.
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
She waits a moment, wondering if she should turn and leave — and where the door is, even — when She speaks up again.
“But I suppose a little attendant could come.”
Amirah’s head lifted a fraction in surprise.
“Your Majesty?”
“How about for today you become my attendant?” She offers. A noise like cascading ice meets Amirah’s ears as She stands and walks closer.
Her cold hand cups Amirah’s chin, tilting her face up. Amirah keeps her eyes forward, blinking forcefully so as not to accidentally stare.
“You don’t have to do that, little one,” the Tsaritsa says softly, “I’ve seen your father’s eyes. They do not disturb me.”
Amirah relaxes a little.
“…What would I do as your attendant?”
She releases her chin yet Amirah can feel the cold air around her hair remain near her.
“Take my hand, little one.”
Amirah does, carefully placing her small hand in the Tsaritsa’s palm. Other than the cold she first notices that her entire hand is merely the size of her palm. She begins to walk slowly, keeping her steps small so Amirah can easily follow.
“Well, for one it would mean helping me with anything I ask,” She explains, her tone light and measured, “But it would also mean you’d have power like no other. The only person currently capable of speaking on my behalf is my darling Jester, yet the deal would grant you that privilege as well.”
Amirah tilts her head, stepping carefully so as not to step on the long dress she can hear against the ground. They’ve left the audience chamber now, the walls echoing differently than before.
“Why would you let me have that privilege?” Amirah asks, her ears picking up on Pierro’s near-silent steps behind them.
“Because I think you are something special,” She purrs, voice wrapping around Amirah like silk, “I have heard of your birth. In terms you’d best understand, let’s say I have a hypothesis and working for me will let me test it.”
Amirah is quiet as she thinks, noting idly that they’ve passed into another room.
“I wouldn’t mind, but there’s other things I want to do when I bigger, too. Would this prevent me from doing that?”
The Tsaritsa hums, “And what things are that, little one?”
Amirah grins brightly, perking up, “I wanna open a museum!”
A pause. Then, “A museum? Whatever for?”
“I love history,” Amirah begins with a soft sigh, “I’m not very good at the science stuff like baba is, I understand it but it just doesn’t interest me. I’m good at numbers and finance but… I don’t wanna get too good and take Tem- um, Mr. Regrator’s job. So I thought I’d make museums! In all the regions. God history, human history, all of it! Most people don’t know hardly anything about true history, I want to make a place where they can learn and see the truth.”
The Tsaritsa laughs, ringing and beautiful.
“That sounds absolutely lovely, little one. I daresay being my attendant would make that goal even easier.”
Amirah beams, fighting to keep from skipping.
“Okay then! I’ll do it!”
“Wonderful,” She replies, leading her through another room before stopping.
“Let today be a trial, then. You’ll have attendant duties for the next hour and when you’re older you can be my attendant officially.”
Amirah nods seriously, standing straight.
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
She chuckles, dress tinkering as she takes a seat nearby.
“Come to my voice, little one,” She beckons, and Amirah can hear Pierro step to her other side.
She carefully steps closer, positioning herself as She directs.
“For now all you have to do is stand there quietly, until the ceremony is complete. After my Jester and I have a few personal words with my Regrator, I’ll release you with him back to your father.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Amirah echoes, standing straight and proper.
Soon enough people begin to arrive. Amirah recognizes most of them by their footsteps. First to arrive is Captain, followed by the Rooster. Miss Rosa and Baba arrive together and she can hear his steps falter when he sees her.
The Damsellette arrives with the Marrionette and Knave, and finally the puppet arrives last.
The door thuds shut behind them and she hears more shuffling as they take their place in a circle, likely around a table of sorts. She’s lost their positions as they move but she can still guess.
Baba’s probably closest to her, with Miss Rosa beside him. Then it is most likely Captain, Damsellette, Knave, Marionette, Balladeer, Rooster.
Pierro begins to speak, greeting them and thanking them and what-not before he begins to talk about Temsâh. Amirah can feel Baba’s eyes boring through her as he ignores the proceedings to calculate why she’s here.
Eventually, at the end of Pierro’s monologue, she can hear Temsâh approaching. She can’t help but smile, her head slightly cocked as she follows his path. He stops just before the throne, coat shifting in the telltale way it does during a deep bow. She can also feel his eyes flick to her before he focuses.
He says some things and Her Majesty says some things and then Pierro concludes with some more pompous words. She hears ice shifting and then Temsâh is stepping a little closer as voices begin to drift around the room.
She speaks quietly to him, enough so even she has to strain to hear and she still only catches bits. Does She know Temsâh can’t hear well?
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Temsâh says finally, bowing again before backing away.
“Ah, Regrator. Take the little one with you, our deal has concluded.”
Temsâh pauses, then comes back to gently place a hand on her shoulder to guide her away. Before he does she curtsies, beaming up at the Tsaritsa.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she says politely as Temsâh leads her away with a firm grip.
He’s quiet as he guides her to Baba and Miss Rosa, who are talking quietly in the back of the room. They quiet when she gets closer and she breaks free from Temsâh’s grasp to rush to Baba, hugging him around the waist.
He places a hand on her back and she can feel it trembling slightly.
“Amirah,” he begins quietly,” Why were you up there?”
Miss Rosa and Temsâh stand nearby, also waiting for her answer.
“I wanted to come,” she says simply, clutching his long coat.
“You cannot-“ he hisses before stopping himself and taking a deep breath. Temsâh speaks up instead.
“Darling you seemed fine with not going when you left my office, what changed?”
Amirah hums, swaying back and forth slightly as she holds Baba’s coat.
“I just thought I’d ask. I know you said it wasn’t important but I still really wanted to go…”
Miss Rosa laughs, patting her head and ruffling her curls, breaking the tension.
“Well, there’s no doubt whose daughter you are,” she snickers, nudging Baba.
Baba only sighs, defeated.
“There really isn’t,” he muses, “I need a drink.”
“Me too!” Amirah adds, perking up.
Temsâh snort-laughs but he cuts it off with a cough, “Ahem, I suppose I should go make nice.”
“Yes, it seems dear Bina is calling,” Mis Rosa adds, her heels clicking as she walks off, Temsâh following.
Baba sighs, prying her hands off his coat so he can kneel in front of her. He cups her face, speaking lowly.
“Amirah, please do not act like that again,” he begins, slight dread creeping into his voice, “I know I spoil you and that banker is even worse but you just have to accept that there are some things that aren’t for you.”
She fiddles with her fingers, keeping her head down.
“I just didn’t want Temsâh to be upset if I didn’t come…” she mumbles, stepping closer to him.
“I know, he told me you went to his office,” Baba sighs, petting her hair and smoothing it down where Miss Rosa messed it up.
“He already told you he wouldn’t be, didn’t you believe him?”
She mumbles some nonsense, pressing closer to hide in his shoulder.
“Words, omri.”
“…He lies sometimes. You do too.”
Baba pushes her back slightly, his hands on her shoulders. He tilts her head up slightly so he can see her eyes and says firmly, “We have never once lied about loving you. No matter what happens, or however many parties you miss, we will always love you, Amirah.”
She sniffles, wiping at her face to try and stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Baba,” she hiccups, wrapping her arms around his neck. He hugs her back tightly.
“I know,” he murmurs, lifting her easily and slowly.
“I love you,” she says tentatively, clinging to her favorite lock of his hair.
“I love you, too,” he responds immediately, rubbing her back, “Do you want to go say ‘hi’ or just head back?”
Amirah wipes her face on his coat, lifting her head and resting it against his temple.
“I wanna say ‘hi’,” she mumbles, arms still tightly around his neck.
“Alright,” he concedes, carrying her forward, “Let’s say ‘hi’.”