ARMAN+SEVDA; bitchometer clocked at 11
Who: Arman & Sevda
When: June 26
Where: Sevda's quarters, the Hold
Rating & Warnings: G, none
The news of Sergeant Grey's death had been extremely worrying to him, on multiple levels. One, it was another Other dead. Two, that Other had been one of the closest confidantes and protectors to the Royal Family for the past four years. And three, that Other and confidante had been his sister's best friend.
He could not imagine what had occured that Grey would attack his aunt, though he had not been surprised to learn she had taken the chance to kill him. That did not settle well with him. Grey had been with them in Tartessos and even now he could not consider the man a threat to their safety. In fact, he felt less safe without him. What had prompted it? he wondered.
He had not seen much of Sevda, and when he had, she had been stoneyfaced, jaw clenched, and angrier than usual. He had an idea of what she was doing but could not entirely fault her. Seeking her out had turned up without results when he had the time to put aside for her, which in itself made him feel guilty. He approached her door and looked at the guard, trying to keep his expression neutral instead of worried. The man nodded and then knocked at the door.
"The prince, your highness," the guard called, and Arman waited for her to answer back, hoping she would let him in. Had father spoken with her yet?
The answer to his question was no, but it was because Sevda had chosen not to discuss Emilian's death with anyone. On the surface, she appeared to be containing her anger just as she had done (with varying degrees of success) with Diya, colder than usual, tighter-lipped than usual, but it was more than that. There was a rage that burned so strongly in her it was ice cold. There was a certain sharpness to her that had not been present before.
At that moment, Sevda was sitting at her desk, her ledger open to a blank page, her quill yet to be dipped. She had decided, as soon as she had left the duchess' office that day, to write to the members of the Guard for information. But how was yet to be decided. Be subtle and possibly draw suspicion? Come out clearly with threats and intimidate them into giving up the truth? She could not trust them. They would not trust her, she was sure, and write filtered posts to each other coordinating answers to save their sorry skins.
"Let him in," she called back, not even looking up to see her brother come in. The room was void of any other person, her maidservant sent on an errand to bring her back a freshly made fruit tart with orders not to show her face until it was done. It was harsh, even for Sevda, but it was an easy and efficient way to have some time alone. She didn't want anyone to see her writing to the Guard.
"What order of business brings you here, brother?" she asked, and again, her attention remained on her ledger, folding the bottom corner of a page this way and that. "I was under the impression you were very busy with princely manners."
He shut the door and stepped away from it before he spoke. "If I thought giving you time would make you less frigid, sister, I would have given it to you," he said, his tone holding a note of severity. In truth, her words sent the slightest touch of worry through him, but he would not betray that. "As it turns out, I've come to visit you several times now and you have been out. I apologize that I did not have the time to both seek you out and speak with you."
He stepped further in, and after a brief consideration moved to her window to look out. She had a different view of the gardens and Tyrol beyond the walls of the Hold. It was strange to look out it when he knew the view from his own window.
"... no business. I am sorry I could not see you earlier. There have been many small things to deal with." There had been restlessness in the ranks of the royal guard since Grey's demise, and matters of promotions and shuffling those same ranks around had taken up some of his time. Plus the bonfire. He pressed his lips together when he saw that the site had been visible from Sevda's window. His aunt really did have bad taste in matters such as these, didn't she? He looked back over to Sevda, who still, as far as he knew, had not looked at him. "What do you do, sister?"
Her eyes flashed up at Arman's initial tone with hot white anger, but it was gone as soon as it had come, gaze falling back down, though this time to her bare feet. "What have you to apologize for?" she asked, voice perfectly calm -- so calm, in fact, it could be called artificial. "I understand the shadow of the crown is an enormous weight to bear."
Sevda had considered speaking to Arman of Emilian's death -- more specifically, who had been the root cause of it -- but hadn't come to an answer yet. Now the option had practically been dropped into her lap and she found herself unwilling to take advantage of it. On the most basic of levels, as the crowned prince Arman had more responsibilities than either princess. Adding another one of incredible weight was not an easy thing to assign. But flip the coin over and he was a potential ally in her quest to find the responsible party for Emilian's end. There was no question that Arman held more authority than Sevda did. People would be more willing to bend to his commands than hers, be it out of love, fear or respect.
Had she said as much out loud, he would have laughed. Whatever the people of Tyrol felt for him, he would always consider it misplaced. He was so lost amid all that went on, he had no clue where to start anymore, and with that confusion came a sort of dullness. So when Sevda looked up at him, he met her eyes without reaction, and when she spoke and looked away, he felt a distant sadness at the sound of her voice. "Do you," he asked, thoughtful as he turned his head again to look outside. Perhaps it was wrong to apologize for his absence, then. Was being a prince so much more important than anything else he was?
"I asked you what you were doing, Sevda," he said then, no hint of question in his voice anymore.
'I am under no obligation to answer you unless you specifically command it,' was on the tip of her tongue, an answer born entirely from spite at his implied command. How testy Grey's death had made her!
"I am in mourning." A pause, and then Sevda cocked her head to look at Arman at her window. "I hear you've a hand in the after business of Sergeant Grey's death," she said, taking on a more conversational tone. "How is the royal guard faring?"
He held back a snort. Only mourning! A shame she couldn't hide how shifty she was. If it were only mourning, perhaps she would have opened up to him already. Or was he that bad a brother? He avoided the urge to rub at his forehead in front of her.
At her question, however, he gave her a glance, not quite trusting her tone. He approached the situation carefully. "He was not of the highest rank but he was greatly trusted. It will be difficult to find someone- or someones- to replace all the services he provided." He turned from the window, but did not move from it, instead leaning against the sill to sit there. "But it will be done. They'll adjust."
The ledgers. He barely looked at his. He had it with him, always, finding it to be the most secure place, but he did not use it much. He did not trust it, or the people on it. Whatever was going on in Sevda's mind, he had no doubt she intended to use the ledgers to achieve it. What nonsense had his aunt put into her head? "I am sure it was a shock to them as well."
Even if she truly had no hidden motives or plans, Sevda would not have gone to Arman to mourn. She wouldn't have gone to Lusine or to Ishmael, either. No, Sevda would have done her damnedest to deal with it on her own before going to anyone because she was, at the core, an introvert.
Her gaze lowered as he answered and she allowed her shoulders to slump from the reminder. It was different when someone else spoke of a dead man. "I suppose we'll all adjust," she said quietly, thumbing the ledger's pages again. "In time."
After a moment of silence, she continued, more genuinely, "And how do you fare?"
"It is the way of things," was all he said, cold as it sounded. The loss of Sergeant Grey rang many warning bells in his head, but there was no one to run to for it. A shame it had been their aunt he had revealed himself to. Anyone else either would have failed or shown mercy, he was sure. As it stood, he also was not all that surprised. Perhaps it should have surprised him.
Her question broke through his self-second-guessing, though led right back to it. He reached briefly into his jacket, recalled who he stood next to, adjusted his shirt and left the cigarettes alone. "Things are busy. They will only get moreso now. I only wanted to ask if there was anything I could do for you before that happened." He had several things in mind. Take a page from his cousin's book, maybe. He could ask his cousin, or his aunt, but did not trust them in the area of their own expertise. Not for his sake.
His cold answer cinched the decision. Sevda would not be going to Arman for help in this matter, not right now. Not ever was her knee-jerk response, but she was forced to admit to herself that closing him off entirely as an option was unwise. In a way, her brother was making the decision for her. If he felt as callous to Emilian's death as he sounded, then he would be no asset to her cause and instead might be a potential roadblock. Arman may have lamented that everyone saw him first as the crowned prince rather than as Arman, but Sevda lamented that everyone saw her as a child before Sevda. Without a zeal to avenge Emilian's death, Arman would surely rebuke her for her intentions.
"I apologize for my attitude," she said, looking straight at Arman. Apologies were always better accepted when the person making it had the balls to look at the person they were addressing. "And I am grateful that you took the time to visit me, but you are right. Things will get busier. I do not want to place unnecessary burdens on your shoulders." Her words were accompanied by a small, mediocre smile -- just friendly enough, but not happy.
But he did not give her the satisfaction of looking back at her, not right away. "Why would you apologize? You mourn a good friend and an excellent soldier. Unless you believe otherwise." He glanced up briefly, checking the sky. "He was with us only a few days ago. Did it ever cross your mind he would betray us?"
There had been chances. So many chances. Doing this was another blow to the stability of the kingdom, which Grey had to have known about. Which his aunt had to have known about. And either she did it to eliminate a threat, or to inch them once step closer to collapse. Or both.
"What do you think of Others, Sevda?"
She narrowed her eyes. In her mind, Emilian hadn't betrayed anyone, but someone had betrayed Emilian by tricking or talking him into that foolish attempt on Katrin's life. "If it did, do you think I would have sat by and done nothing?" The question came out sharply, intentionally so.
"What do you think I think of Others?" she asked, carrying on the severity of her answer. She didn't care if Arman chided her for her disrespect now. She realized now that she was sick of him giving vaguely safe answers. Arman was always hovering on the fence, lukewarm. For the crowned prince, twenty years old, to not know his own place in the world was dissatisfying. "What do you think of Others?"
Sevda was aware of Arman's visits to the Hour. It wasn't wrong, but without a clear alliance it was suspicious.
His shoulders hunched a little while she spoke, as though he were cold and caught a draft, slowly relaxing again as though he hadn't noticed he'd done it. "Perhaps. What would you have done?" He didn't blame her for the tone of her voice. He was asking impertinent questions, he knew. "If you had known he was an Other, would you have reacted the same way?"
So many directions, all he knew was the ones he didn't want to go in. His aunt's wishes were beyond him. What his father wanted, he wasn't quite sure, but he seemed intent on keeping the Hour around in its current incarnation. Perhaps... perhaps his father wanted it, too. Something to tip the scales.
"I like them better than most humans. But most aren't our subjects." Most of them. He would have considered Grey one. There were probably Others in all corners of Tyrol, but many of them were not loyal to the crown, or much of anything else for that matter except themselves. "And they are in numbers great enough to cause more trouble than a riot."
She scoffed at his answer. There he went again, with another general statement that told her nothing. "And you have surveyed all the Others in Tyrol and all the humans in Tyrol to compare and decide that you like Others more?" Stupid. "On what basis? Because they are the underdog of our society? Others are just another species of being. The only difference is that they can be more lethal to us than us to them and that some view us as prey." For that reason, Sevda thought that all Others who wished to make residence in Tyrol and all of Balfour should have to register themselves purely out of the fact that some (and many, apparently) had an unfair advantage over the typical Balfourian. Those who fed on humans should be banished or put to death. "Otherwise, they are individuals just as varied as us. Rohály chose to murder a man; Sergeant Grey chose to serve the royal family. Knowledge of his Otherness would not have changed how I feel about his passing."
To be perfectly honest, it was the fact that Sevda was now aware that Emilian had been an Other that her view on the populace changed. She was quite content to follow in the duchess' footsteps that all Others were dangerous and not to be trusted, but Emilian had been loyal, perhaps one of the most loyal guards the Hold had ever employed. In the four years of his service, the sergeant had had numerous chances to kidnap, kill, or otherwise betray the Bharquite family. He never did, not until a few days ago. There, too, was the dragon. Sevda didn't trust him, no, but his eagerness had been genuine and if there was truth to his claim that he could grow larger at will then he could have easily killed her that evening.
"Something like that," he said absently. "I don't need ledgers to see what goes on and what people talk about. They are the 'underdog', as it were. With distinct advantages. Many have been good enough to set those advantages aside in order to live in some form of harmony, whatever their reasons for it may be, but there is a prejudice against them that might make them change their mind. It is the same with any minority, except we know even less of what this one is capable of. Rohály may have murdered a man, but men murdered him in turn, and went on to do much worse. The Duchess..." there was a short pause, "the Duchess has discovered one close to us, and for whatever the reasoning was, killed him. The Citadel has not been quiet, either." Far from it, in fact, though he did not know what specifically went on there. "If this continues, Sevda, do you think Others will sit idly by? And would you truly blame them for it?"
He turned from the window again to look at her after another moment. He did not want to outright tell her to distrust their aunt. He hoped he wouldn't have to. But hers was not a side he would take, anymore than he wanted to continue sitting passively by as his father did.
"We say easily, if an Other harms a man, kill it. But if a man harms an Other? Do we give them the same justice? If it had been another Other, and not Sergeant Grey, would you think differently on the matter, or the same as you did before his passing? Are they equal to us or not, Sevda? And do we want to risk starting a civil war over it?"
He had worked himself up some while he spoke, a strange thing to see, as Arman was usually quiet, usually passive. His voice never quite rose, but there was a passion in it regardless, lowered from the ears of the guard outside. And if he looked like anyone in that moment, it was not their father.
She listened to his lecture with rising irritation, though perhaps if the content did not rankle her so she would have been impressed with the level of emotion in his voice.
"Oh, so you have a direct connection from your brain to the activities of the city now?" she all but sneered, ledger now forgotten, grace completely absent. "You make the politics between Other and man unnecessarily complicated. It boils down to this: a group who is stronger encroaching on the territory of a group that is weaker. Others have the potential to be far more threatening to us than we to them. If they want to start a civil war, they wouldn't need as many forces as we would to evenly match them. How can you possibly blame the people their fear? Their fear is justified. There is no equality between Other and man. The only way for Others to co-exist with men is to have them swear not to bring out what makes them Others and punish those who see fit to take advantage of their abilities. How many of them would honor such an oath?"
"And how many men would not abuse them even if they did keep their honour?" he snapped back at her. "I do not blame the people for their fear, but I would blame them their stupidity for acting on it." And that included his aunt bringing Sergeant Grey into her chambers, first and foremost. "Recall how little you know of what goes on outside these walls, Sevda, and know that my own work, these burdens," he said with a mocking tone in his voice, "are not simply to sit around inside and pretend the world outside does not exist. And do not dare to simplify this issue, Sevda, in such a brute way. You say yourself that Others are individuals, and like any person in this city they will honour or not honour its rules and rulers, as Rohály did not, and as Sergeant Grey did."
Did. Did. He refused to believe otherwise. "They are as capable of trusting and being trusted as any human, and when it comes down to it I would rather have them on our side than against us. There is a balance to be had, and because it has not been properly dealt with it must be found before such comes to pass."
"A 'brute' way?" she asked incredulously, pitch rising. "I'd like to see what exactly is so brutish about it. It is what it is; there's no use in throwing fancy words into it to make the issue sound bigger than it truly is. Are you really so out of touch with basic human psychology that you do not see what the Others could rise up to be? It's only natural to want to win. It's only natural to want to be the stronger group. You prove this yourself by wanting them on your side however," and her voice rose with the word, as did she from her seat, "you are but a mere human. An assassin could kill you. How much more so an Other determined to take power? Or an Other who tires of the humans in power? We took this land from beasts because we were more capable than them. We have kept this throne because we -- the Bharquites -- are more capable than the rest. The Others are just as capable and this is why they need to be dealt with more harshly."
"I know who you've been talking to," he said, softly, looking at her directly, angry but somehow... no, not justified. Those were their Aunt's words coming from her mouth. Unsurprised, perhaps. "Not everything is violence, Sevda, not everything is solved by way of the sword. And you are right- I have much to worry about from people who would seek to take this throne. Too much, to the extent that I cannot waste my time making more enemies. Or having you do it for me."
Were they more capable? He didn't know. Perhaps he didn't agree. He was where he was by birth, not by choice, and found himself with less and less a taste for his heritage. There was no one he could please outside of himself. Perhaps he should work harder on doing that. If he truly loved this city, if he truly did...
"If you really want to be of aid to this family, sister, perhaps you should set out to learn something for yourself instead of having it told to you. Disbelieve what I say all you wish, but be fair in it. There are greater resources out there than the Duchess or myself."
She wanted to spit out that she'd do just that, that she was going to question the Guard and find out what truly happened to make Emilian act so uncharacteristically, but she kept her lips shut. Sevda had no desire for Arman to be aware of her actions.
She inhaled deeply through her nostrils, an effort to bring her temper down. Sevda was not accustomed to arguments of this degree. Sure, she had her tussles with Lusine every now and then, but never had they escalated into such anger. She was fairly sure this was the first time she and Arman had actually butt heads.
Once her cheeks returned to a pale pink, she asked, coolly, "Are you saying that the words of the Duchess are not to be trusted?"
He watched her the whole while she took in calming herself down, measuring her expressions. She'd had the ledger open earlier. Would she open it again? He hoped she would. Maybe he was wrong, he didn't care. Just so long as his aunt wasn't right.
"Such words would never pass my lips," he said, shaking his head. "Decide on your own. I know you are good at making decisions... I only worry that you make them too quickly. Perhaps I will still be wrong. But two people cannot give you all the information you need."
He had made his own decision, he realized now. Sevda would not be the only one at the ledgers tonight.
"...I did not wish to fight with you, sister," he said, looking at her still, his slight smile wry. "Forgive me that. But as I said, I have things yet to attend to. Should you decide there is anything you need, only let me know. I will leave you to your business, likewise."
She did not return the smile, but neither did she frown or glare. Instead, her face remained impassive as she watched him, waiting for him to leave. There was nothing more she wanted to say, really. It seemed as though they would not agree on the subject of Others -- in her case, she felt that Arman just didn't understand what she knew (thought) to be the core problem. Sevda knew how out of line she was being, how utterly rude her actions were, and how lucky she was that Arman hadn't seen to her discipline (yet.) But she was still too angry and too proud to ask for forgiveness.
They let her get away with too much. He knew that. And knowing, he would still let her get away with it, one more time. "Perhaps I should," he murmured to himself, but he let it be. Instead he cupped the back of her head in his hand and tilted her head back so he could kiss her forehead.
"Good luck," he said softly when he moved away, and with that gave her the privacy she desired and left for his own quarters.
When: June 26
Where: Sevda's quarters, the Hold
Rating & Warnings: G, none
The news of Sergeant Grey's death had been extremely worrying to him, on multiple levels. One, it was another Other dead. Two, that Other had been one of the closest confidantes and protectors to the Royal Family for the past four years. And three, that Other and confidante had been his sister's best friend.
He could not imagine what had occured that Grey would attack his aunt, though he had not been surprised to learn she had taken the chance to kill him. That did not settle well with him. Grey had been with them in Tartessos and even now he could not consider the man a threat to their safety. In fact, he felt less safe without him. What had prompted it? he wondered.
He had not seen much of Sevda, and when he had, she had been stoneyfaced, jaw clenched, and angrier than usual. He had an idea of what she was doing but could not entirely fault her. Seeking her out had turned up without results when he had the time to put aside for her, which in itself made him feel guilty. He approached her door and looked at the guard, trying to keep his expression neutral instead of worried. The man nodded and then knocked at the door.
"The prince, your highness," the guard called, and Arman waited for her to answer back, hoping she would let him in. Had father spoken with her yet?
The answer to his question was no, but it was because Sevda had chosen not to discuss Emilian's death with anyone. On the surface, she appeared to be containing her anger just as she had done (with varying degrees of success) with Diya, colder than usual, tighter-lipped than usual, but it was more than that. There was a rage that burned so strongly in her it was ice cold. There was a certain sharpness to her that had not been present before.
At that moment, Sevda was sitting at her desk, her ledger open to a blank page, her quill yet to be dipped. She had decided, as soon as she had left the duchess' office that day, to write to the members of the Guard for information. But how was yet to be decided. Be subtle and possibly draw suspicion? Come out clearly with threats and intimidate them into giving up the truth? She could not trust them. They would not trust her, she was sure, and write filtered posts to each other coordinating answers to save their sorry skins.
"Let him in," she called back, not even looking up to see her brother come in. The room was void of any other person, her maidservant sent on an errand to bring her back a freshly made fruit tart with orders not to show her face until it was done. It was harsh, even for Sevda, but it was an easy and efficient way to have some time alone. She didn't want anyone to see her writing to the Guard.
"What order of business brings you here, brother?" she asked, and again, her attention remained on her ledger, folding the bottom corner of a page this way and that. "I was under the impression you were very busy with princely manners."
He shut the door and stepped away from it before he spoke. "If I thought giving you time would make you less frigid, sister, I would have given it to you," he said, his tone holding a note of severity. In truth, her words sent the slightest touch of worry through him, but he would not betray that. "As it turns out, I've come to visit you several times now and you have been out. I apologize that I did not have the time to both seek you out and speak with you."
He stepped further in, and after a brief consideration moved to her window to look out. She had a different view of the gardens and Tyrol beyond the walls of the Hold. It was strange to look out it when he knew the view from his own window.
"... no business. I am sorry I could not see you earlier. There have been many small things to deal with." There had been restlessness in the ranks of the royal guard since Grey's demise, and matters of promotions and shuffling those same ranks around had taken up some of his time. Plus the bonfire. He pressed his lips together when he saw that the site had been visible from Sevda's window. His aunt really did have bad taste in matters such as these, didn't she? He looked back over to Sevda, who still, as far as he knew, had not looked at him. "What do you do, sister?"
Her eyes flashed up at Arman's initial tone with hot white anger, but it was gone as soon as it had come, gaze falling back down, though this time to her bare feet. "What have you to apologize for?" she asked, voice perfectly calm -- so calm, in fact, it could be called artificial. "I understand the shadow of the crown is an enormous weight to bear."
Sevda had considered speaking to Arman of Emilian's death -- more specifically, who had been the root cause of it -- but hadn't come to an answer yet. Now the option had practically been dropped into her lap and she found herself unwilling to take advantage of it. On the most basic of levels, as the crowned prince Arman had more responsibilities than either princess. Adding another one of incredible weight was not an easy thing to assign. But flip the coin over and he was a potential ally in her quest to find the responsible party for Emilian's end. There was no question that Arman held more authority than Sevda did. People would be more willing to bend to his commands than hers, be it out of love, fear or respect.
Had she said as much out loud, he would have laughed. Whatever the people of Tyrol felt for him, he would always consider it misplaced. He was so lost amid all that went on, he had no clue where to start anymore, and with that confusion came a sort of dullness. So when Sevda looked up at him, he met her eyes without reaction, and when she spoke and looked away, he felt a distant sadness at the sound of her voice. "Do you," he asked, thoughtful as he turned his head again to look outside. Perhaps it was wrong to apologize for his absence, then. Was being a prince so much more important than anything else he was?
"I asked you what you were doing, Sevda," he said then, no hint of question in his voice anymore.
'I am under no obligation to answer you unless you specifically command it,' was on the tip of her tongue, an answer born entirely from spite at his implied command. How testy Grey's death had made her!
"I am in mourning." A pause, and then Sevda cocked her head to look at Arman at her window. "I hear you've a hand in the after business of Sergeant Grey's death," she said, taking on a more conversational tone. "How is the royal guard faring?"
He held back a snort. Only mourning! A shame she couldn't hide how shifty she was. If it were only mourning, perhaps she would have opened up to him already. Or was he that bad a brother? He avoided the urge to rub at his forehead in front of her.
At her question, however, he gave her a glance, not quite trusting her tone. He approached the situation carefully. "He was not of the highest rank but he was greatly trusted. It will be difficult to find someone- or someones- to replace all the services he provided." He turned from the window, but did not move from it, instead leaning against the sill to sit there. "But it will be done. They'll adjust."
The ledgers. He barely looked at his. He had it with him, always, finding it to be the most secure place, but he did not use it much. He did not trust it, or the people on it. Whatever was going on in Sevda's mind, he had no doubt she intended to use the ledgers to achieve it. What nonsense had his aunt put into her head? "I am sure it was a shock to them as well."
Even if she truly had no hidden motives or plans, Sevda would not have gone to Arman to mourn. She wouldn't have gone to Lusine or to Ishmael, either. No, Sevda would have done her damnedest to deal with it on her own before going to anyone because she was, at the core, an introvert.
Her gaze lowered as he answered and she allowed her shoulders to slump from the reminder. It was different when someone else spoke of a dead man. "I suppose we'll all adjust," she said quietly, thumbing the ledger's pages again. "In time."
After a moment of silence, she continued, more genuinely, "And how do you fare?"
"It is the way of things," was all he said, cold as it sounded. The loss of Sergeant Grey rang many warning bells in his head, but there was no one to run to for it. A shame it had been their aunt he had revealed himself to. Anyone else either would have failed or shown mercy, he was sure. As it stood, he also was not all that surprised. Perhaps it should have surprised him.
Her question broke through his self-second-guessing, though led right back to it. He reached briefly into his jacket, recalled who he stood next to, adjusted his shirt and left the cigarettes alone. "Things are busy. They will only get moreso now. I only wanted to ask if there was anything I could do for you before that happened." He had several things in mind. Take a page from his cousin's book, maybe. He could ask his cousin, or his aunt, but did not trust them in the area of their own expertise. Not for his sake.
His cold answer cinched the decision. Sevda would not be going to Arman for help in this matter, not right now. Not ever was her knee-jerk response, but she was forced to admit to herself that closing him off entirely as an option was unwise. In a way, her brother was making the decision for her. If he felt as callous to Emilian's death as he sounded, then he would be no asset to her cause and instead might be a potential roadblock. Arman may have lamented that everyone saw him first as the crowned prince rather than as Arman, but Sevda lamented that everyone saw her as a child before Sevda. Without a zeal to avenge Emilian's death, Arman would surely rebuke her for her intentions.
"I apologize for my attitude," she said, looking straight at Arman. Apologies were always better accepted when the person making it had the balls to look at the person they were addressing. "And I am grateful that you took the time to visit me, but you are right. Things will get busier. I do not want to place unnecessary burdens on your shoulders." Her words were accompanied by a small, mediocre smile -- just friendly enough, but not happy.
But he did not give her the satisfaction of looking back at her, not right away. "Why would you apologize? You mourn a good friend and an excellent soldier. Unless you believe otherwise." He glanced up briefly, checking the sky. "He was with us only a few days ago. Did it ever cross your mind he would betray us?"
There had been chances. So many chances. Doing this was another blow to the stability of the kingdom, which Grey had to have known about. Which his aunt had to have known about. And either she did it to eliminate a threat, or to inch them once step closer to collapse. Or both.
"What do you think of Others, Sevda?"
She narrowed her eyes. In her mind, Emilian hadn't betrayed anyone, but someone had betrayed Emilian by tricking or talking him into that foolish attempt on Katrin's life. "If it did, do you think I would have sat by and done nothing?" The question came out sharply, intentionally so.
"What do you think I think of Others?" she asked, carrying on the severity of her answer. She didn't care if Arman chided her for her disrespect now. She realized now that she was sick of him giving vaguely safe answers. Arman was always hovering on the fence, lukewarm. For the crowned prince, twenty years old, to not know his own place in the world was dissatisfying. "What do you think of Others?"
Sevda was aware of Arman's visits to the Hour. It wasn't wrong, but without a clear alliance it was suspicious.
His shoulders hunched a little while she spoke, as though he were cold and caught a draft, slowly relaxing again as though he hadn't noticed he'd done it. "Perhaps. What would you have done?" He didn't blame her for the tone of her voice. He was asking impertinent questions, he knew. "If you had known he was an Other, would you have reacted the same way?"
So many directions, all he knew was the ones he didn't want to go in. His aunt's wishes were beyond him. What his father wanted, he wasn't quite sure, but he seemed intent on keeping the Hour around in its current incarnation. Perhaps... perhaps his father wanted it, too. Something to tip the scales.
"I like them better than most humans. But most aren't our subjects." Most of them. He would have considered Grey one. There were probably Others in all corners of Tyrol, but many of them were not loyal to the crown, or much of anything else for that matter except themselves. "And they are in numbers great enough to cause more trouble than a riot."
She scoffed at his answer. There he went again, with another general statement that told her nothing. "And you have surveyed all the Others in Tyrol and all the humans in Tyrol to compare and decide that you like Others more?" Stupid. "On what basis? Because they are the underdog of our society? Others are just another species of being. The only difference is that they can be more lethal to us than us to them and that some view us as prey." For that reason, Sevda thought that all Others who wished to make residence in Tyrol and all of Balfour should have to register themselves purely out of the fact that some (and many, apparently) had an unfair advantage over the typical Balfourian. Those who fed on humans should be banished or put to death. "Otherwise, they are individuals just as varied as us. Rohály chose to murder a man; Sergeant Grey chose to serve the royal family. Knowledge of his Otherness would not have changed how I feel about his passing."
To be perfectly honest, it was the fact that Sevda was now aware that Emilian had been an Other that her view on the populace changed. She was quite content to follow in the duchess' footsteps that all Others were dangerous and not to be trusted, but Emilian had been loyal, perhaps one of the most loyal guards the Hold had ever employed. In the four years of his service, the sergeant had had numerous chances to kidnap, kill, or otherwise betray the Bharquite family. He never did, not until a few days ago. There, too, was the dragon. Sevda didn't trust him, no, but his eagerness had been genuine and if there was truth to his claim that he could grow larger at will then he could have easily killed her that evening.
"Something like that," he said absently. "I don't need ledgers to see what goes on and what people talk about. They are the 'underdog', as it were. With distinct advantages. Many have been good enough to set those advantages aside in order to live in some form of harmony, whatever their reasons for it may be, but there is a prejudice against them that might make them change their mind. It is the same with any minority, except we know even less of what this one is capable of. Rohály may have murdered a man, but men murdered him in turn, and went on to do much worse. The Duchess..." there was a short pause, "the Duchess has discovered one close to us, and for whatever the reasoning was, killed him. The Citadel has not been quiet, either." Far from it, in fact, though he did not know what specifically went on there. "If this continues, Sevda, do you think Others will sit idly by? And would you truly blame them for it?"
He turned from the window again to look at her after another moment. He did not want to outright tell her to distrust their aunt. He hoped he wouldn't have to. But hers was not a side he would take, anymore than he wanted to continue sitting passively by as his father did.
"We say easily, if an Other harms a man, kill it. But if a man harms an Other? Do we give them the same justice? If it had been another Other, and not Sergeant Grey, would you think differently on the matter, or the same as you did before his passing? Are they equal to us or not, Sevda? And do we want to risk starting a civil war over it?"
He had worked himself up some while he spoke, a strange thing to see, as Arman was usually quiet, usually passive. His voice never quite rose, but there was a passion in it regardless, lowered from the ears of the guard outside. And if he looked like anyone in that moment, it was not their father.
She listened to his lecture with rising irritation, though perhaps if the content did not rankle her so she would have been impressed with the level of emotion in his voice.
"Oh, so you have a direct connection from your brain to the activities of the city now?" she all but sneered, ledger now forgotten, grace completely absent. "You make the politics between Other and man unnecessarily complicated. It boils down to this: a group who is stronger encroaching on the territory of a group that is weaker. Others have the potential to be far more threatening to us than we to them. If they want to start a civil war, they wouldn't need as many forces as we would to evenly match them. How can you possibly blame the people their fear? Their fear is justified. There is no equality between Other and man. The only way for Others to co-exist with men is to have them swear not to bring out what makes them Others and punish those who see fit to take advantage of their abilities. How many of them would honor such an oath?"
"And how many men would not abuse them even if they did keep their honour?" he snapped back at her. "I do not blame the people for their fear, but I would blame them their stupidity for acting on it." And that included his aunt bringing Sergeant Grey into her chambers, first and foremost. "Recall how little you know of what goes on outside these walls, Sevda, and know that my own work, these burdens," he said with a mocking tone in his voice, "are not simply to sit around inside and pretend the world outside does not exist. And do not dare to simplify this issue, Sevda, in such a brute way. You say yourself that Others are individuals, and like any person in this city they will honour or not honour its rules and rulers, as Rohály did not, and as Sergeant Grey did."
Did. Did. He refused to believe otherwise. "They are as capable of trusting and being trusted as any human, and when it comes down to it I would rather have them on our side than against us. There is a balance to be had, and because it has not been properly dealt with it must be found before such comes to pass."
"A 'brute' way?" she asked incredulously, pitch rising. "I'd like to see what exactly is so brutish about it. It is what it is; there's no use in throwing fancy words into it to make the issue sound bigger than it truly is. Are you really so out of touch with basic human psychology that you do not see what the Others could rise up to be? It's only natural to want to win. It's only natural to want to be the stronger group. You prove this yourself by wanting them on your side however," and her voice rose with the word, as did she from her seat, "you are but a mere human. An assassin could kill you. How much more so an Other determined to take power? Or an Other who tires of the humans in power? We took this land from beasts because we were more capable than them. We have kept this throne because we -- the Bharquites -- are more capable than the rest. The Others are just as capable and this is why they need to be dealt with more harshly."
"I know who you've been talking to," he said, softly, looking at her directly, angry but somehow... no, not justified. Those were their Aunt's words coming from her mouth. Unsurprised, perhaps. "Not everything is violence, Sevda, not everything is solved by way of the sword. And you are right- I have much to worry about from people who would seek to take this throne. Too much, to the extent that I cannot waste my time making more enemies. Or having you do it for me."
Were they more capable? He didn't know. Perhaps he didn't agree. He was where he was by birth, not by choice, and found himself with less and less a taste for his heritage. There was no one he could please outside of himself. Perhaps he should work harder on doing that. If he truly loved this city, if he truly did...
"If you really want to be of aid to this family, sister, perhaps you should set out to learn something for yourself instead of having it told to you. Disbelieve what I say all you wish, but be fair in it. There are greater resources out there than the Duchess or myself."
She wanted to spit out that she'd do just that, that she was going to question the Guard and find out what truly happened to make Emilian act so uncharacteristically, but she kept her lips shut. Sevda had no desire for Arman to be aware of her actions.
She inhaled deeply through her nostrils, an effort to bring her temper down. Sevda was not accustomed to arguments of this degree. Sure, she had her tussles with Lusine every now and then, but never had they escalated into such anger. She was fairly sure this was the first time she and Arman had actually butt heads.
Once her cheeks returned to a pale pink, she asked, coolly, "Are you saying that the words of the Duchess are not to be trusted?"
He watched her the whole while she took in calming herself down, measuring her expressions. She'd had the ledger open earlier. Would she open it again? He hoped she would. Maybe he was wrong, he didn't care. Just so long as his aunt wasn't right.
"Such words would never pass my lips," he said, shaking his head. "Decide on your own. I know you are good at making decisions... I only worry that you make them too quickly. Perhaps I will still be wrong. But two people cannot give you all the information you need."
He had made his own decision, he realized now. Sevda would not be the only one at the ledgers tonight.
"...I did not wish to fight with you, sister," he said, looking at her still, his slight smile wry. "Forgive me that. But as I said, I have things yet to attend to. Should you decide there is anything you need, only let me know. I will leave you to your business, likewise."
She did not return the smile, but neither did she frown or glare. Instead, her face remained impassive as she watched him, waiting for him to leave. There was nothing more she wanted to say, really. It seemed as though they would not agree on the subject of Others -- in her case, she felt that Arman just didn't understand what she knew (thought) to be the core problem. Sevda knew how out of line she was being, how utterly rude her actions were, and how lucky she was that Arman hadn't seen to her discipline (yet.) But she was still too angry and too proud to ask for forgiveness.
They let her get away with too much. He knew that. And knowing, he would still let her get away with it, one more time. "Perhaps I should," he murmured to himself, but he let it be. Instead he cupped the back of her head in his hand and tilted her head back so he could kiss her forehead.
"Good luck," he said softly when he moved away, and with that gave her the privacy she desired and left for his own quarters.