Until the End of the World

[Vahika Wlady]

Mont Wladichka (https://travelguide.michelin.com/sites/default/files/styles/poi_slideshow_big/public/images/travel_guide/NX-41308.jpg?itok=ELL7Pc9k), Sivoria.

"I don't have time for couture considerations. This is what you are here for, Lady Cara." The commanding voice belonged to Ducha Wlady (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/99/f6/2f/99f62f8f0dbb0920537547a6b7111450.jpg), who was reviewing two different datapads, making business choices for upcoming transactions and even a charity ball. Her lady in waiting hurried besides her, as well as a couple of other personnel members. Wlady hadn't ensured the continuous and improved success of her lineage for trivialities to get in her way. Her personnel should know better than that after all those years. Although she was a most demanding mistress, she was mostly fair and none of her people was lacking.

"I will take care of it. It will be ready for tonight." Lady Cara curtsied and scampered off as well-mannered as possible. The Ducha still terrified her, and she had been in her service for thirty years. If anything, the lady had only become more powerful and wrathful in the coldest and most calculating manner.

"Pardon me for the interruption, Ducha..." A male voice interrupted Vahika's walk as she was heading to a nearby terrace, to enjoy some refreshment while continuing her planning. Of course she knew how to delegate but certain matters remained under her direct supervision, especially those pertaining to less legal activities. The underworld provided many opportunities and the Ducha was not one to pass on such things.

Nevertheless, she stared at the handsome man, slightly younger than her, who dared interrupt. She stared at him. "Give me one reason to keep you around and alive." The man swallowed with difficulty but answered at once. "The crew of the Nightsky has stopped answering, We worry pillagers have attacked them." Vahika frowned, for the cargo was of high value and it should have been a routine delivery, if such things ever worked. "Find Captain Stella and get the Chenonceau ready. You're flying her." He bowed and left at once. He was one of the best pilots she had around, as much as it chagrined her to give so much credit to a man outside of the bedroom.

There would be need to clean up some of the pirate scum that was growing bolder right outside of the Cluster. It was getting on her nerves, and she had better things to do than have search and rescue parties, as well as losing products.

The fresh air was welcome and the colder breeze helped her relax her shoulders. She hadn't realized how tense the news had made her. The teapot was awaiting her and she poured herself a cup, still standing over the balcony banister. The view never got old. Taking a couple of breaths, she didn't have long before another interruption occurred. She motioned to the young noble to speak.

"Lady Viljoen has arrived, Ducha."

"Bring her in," Vahika replied curtly. She had been looking for a new assistant, it was true, but she hadn't expected having to see an offering from a local noble house for the task. It wasn't a lack of candidates, but so far Vahika hadn't seen anyone who was cut for the role. Of course, she had arranged for the different candidates to find other valuable positions across the planet, but none had been good enough to be in her close service.

[Lamia Viljoen]

“Turila’da Lamia Viljoen.”

The announcement by the Ducha’s staff preceded the arrival of her guest. By her title, she was the daughter of a baroness. That made her a young woman of sufficient social standing to warrant an honorific, but not enough to command anything more than a city. It was custom to bow one’s head to a Ducha at first encounter, in recognition of the station of power she occupied, and although Lamia Viljoen did dip her head, her eyes never left the impressive figure of the Ducha herself.

[Vahika Wlady]

Layers and layers of nobility had been deeply ingrained in Vahika's brain when she was only a young child. She had seen a few candidates of higher strata of the planetary aristocracy, but she was interested in more than titles. She wanted qualities, a lot of them, including skills that were not always provided by regular noble education. Her eyes fell upon the younger woman the moment she stepped into her sight. There was a spark in there, in the way respect was given to her higher position, but still a curiosity in Viljoen. She didn't look scared from the get-go, and Vahika could appreciate that.

"Greetings Turila'da Viljoen. Have a seat." The Ducha gestured for the bench across the armchair she took within instants, though her attention never wandered away from the young prospect.

"Your family is eager to have you considered for the position."

[Lamia Viljoen]

There was no fear in Lamia as she sat down, legs stretched out in front of her with one ankle crossed over the other. “Yes. My mother worries that I will ruin the family reputation if I’m not kept occupied,” she said, without a hint of the shame or guilt that probably should have made her blush. Quite the opposite, she held the Ducha's gaze with an expression that was almost, but not quite, a smile.

[Vahika Wlady]

So far, this one wasn't a terrified little thing, or an overt brat. That was better than most of the candidates Vahika had seen in the last weeks. Yet she was far from sold. She knew better than rely only on instinct for such an important choice. She trusted in her intuition to great lengths, but she wanted to know more.

"How much have you already ruined it, then?" She inquired, still staring at the young woman in front of her. She might be slightly amused, for the fear of scandal could either be true, or just a way to shun free thinkers. She had definitely experienced such threats herself when younger.

[Lamia Viljoen]

With a smile that dimpled her cheeks, Lamia gave a little shrug. “Not enough for you to strip the title of baroness from my mother, but enough that people don’t like to invite us to parties.”

She reclined a little, hands braced behind her on the bench. “I don’t mind that so much, but I think mother misses feeling wanted."

[Vahika Wlady]

Should the baroness's daughter be in her service, then it would for sure clean up the Viljoen's name. She liked the spirit of that young woman, but she was only scratching the surface. And for the Ducha to take someone as a new assistant, her claws would have to dig much deeper.

"Scandal is often in the eye of the beholder, and it does not mean one has a brain beyond a pretty face. Tell me, Turila’da, why should I want you?"

[Lamia Viljoen]

It was a good question and one that Lamia considered for a moment with lips pursed.

“Mm. because I was trained to serve and protect ereneda, so I know how to pour your wine,” she began, as if reciting from memory, “and press your clothes and snap the necks of the people you don’t like.”

[Vahika Wlady]

The first and last parts were of most relevance to Vahika. The menial details, she wasn't worried about. "Pouring wine and pressing clothes is the least I'd expect from someone with your upbringing," she replied, taking a sip from her tea before setting the cup back on the nearby table.

"Snapping necks is the easy part. It's when you need answers from them that it can be more challenging. How do you usually do?"

[Lamia Viljoen]

“That depends on the person who has the answers.”

Lamia glanced at the teapot. “Maybe I put a poison in your tea. I tell you that it slowly eats away at your insides until you shit out every one of your organs… but I have the antidote, and you can only have it if you tell me what I want to know.”

Her eyes wandered and she turned, looking out over the expansive view of the Sivorian countryside. “Or maybe we’re standing beside the balcony, drinking wine, and you think that I want to listen to your fascinating stories, but when you’ve had too much to drink I push you over the edge and dangle you by your foot until you're pissing yourself with fear, and you talk.”

With her eyes still on the horizon, Lamia sighed, almost wistful. “You can’t be too... formulaic about these kinds of things. This is what you they teach you, at the royal academy.”

[Vahika Wlady]

Vahika knew of certain individuals who would have experienced the coldest shiver going down their spine at what the younger woman explained. She wasn't one of them. Her expression remained as stoic as she felt. She hadn't handled her life in any sort of fearful fashion. Prudence was one thing, fear was a different beast. While the Ducha's intuition had always served her very well, she was the kind to get to the bottom of things. And the candidate before her was beginning to unveil some actual potential.

They were finally getting somewhere. "What is your opinion of the teachings you received? Can you see different applications than the ones they drilled into your mind?" Vahika highly respected the royal academy, but she knew that playing by the book, even the most vicious and complex one, didn't mean one was able enough to think for themselves.

[Lamia Viljoen]

“I liked some of it, learning how to use the weapons and interrogate and spy, but…”

Lamia sat forward, as if she were about to impart some secret on the Ducha, their eyes locked together.

“When you’re done, it’s boring. I don’t want to spend my life wearing one of those… terrible uniforms, just guarding doors and chasing after that -”

The word ‘brat’ hung in the air between them, unspoken. Lamia smiled, politely.

“Queen. After your swear the oath to her, you don't get to do anything fun. Why learn all of those things if you never use them?”

[Vahika Wlady]

The younger woman had the intelligence not to speak ill of the queen. Vahika might be a lot of things but she did respect the Cluster leadership. Besides personal preferences, she preferred stable leadership so actual business and local politics flourished better. Some of the business she dealt with would still go well in times of conflict, but she did rely on the boredom of some nobles to sell certain gems. Frivolous women liked their jewelry after all, especially when fashion was some of the few topics relevant to them. Of course, some of them also used that as manipulative gifts for lovers of any gender.

"What is your definition of fun? What are your career expectations?"

[Lamia Viljoen]

The phrase ‘career expectations’ caused Lamia to wrinkle her nose a little. It was something her mother, the Turila, would have said. The notion of a career implied some kind of trajectory, a series of goals that she should want to achieve, along with personal development and growth. What was exactly the opposite of the definition of fun was all of that.

“I want to live in extreme luxury and commit extreme violence. What career is that?”

[Vahika Wlady]

Vahika's expression was still the same impenetrable mask. Yet she hadn't missed any change of body language or tone in the woman in front of her. She was taking it all in, her mind running so many options and drawing conclusions.

"Given your social standing, someone will have a leash on your neck, for you to enjoy extreme luxury and perpetrate extreme violence."

Of course, Viljoen was from a noble family, but they weren't as high as could be on the Hapan food chain. And as Viljoen had said it herself, the Ducha herself could strip that from them if she found a valid reason. And she could always find a valid one after all. Hapan history was full of such plot twists.

[Lamia Viljoen]

“That’s why I’m here.”

No woman was without a mistress, Lamia’s mother said. From the Chume down, each level of Hapan society stood on top of the one beneath it. The turila served dukana, who served the ducha, who served the ta’din. Beneath all of them were the hundreds upon thousands of untitled women, and the men who bowed to them. It was an inescapable truth for any occupant of the Consortium, no matter their gender or station.

“If I’m going to wear a leash, I’d at least like it to be held by someone who will lead me somewhere interesting.”

[Vahika Wlady]

Vahika could have continued to ask questions, but at this point it would have likely been redundant or vacuous. She had better uses of her time and her resources. And she had the perfect way to test Viljoen's loyalty. As the woman had said, they all had different leashes, and the Ducha was well aware that she bowed to the ta'din. It was fine with her, for she had learned young enough how to use her power in a useful way, while building loyalties where need be, and discard what came in her way.

"Your mother should feel wanted again. Being surrounded with suitors would be the perfect way to achieve that."

Yes, the Ducha needed Viljoen to kill her own father. The Ducha had business and political opportunities to blend the Baronness's small but resourceful territories, with an off world investor, who would bring in trade perks, and was well groomed to please the Baronness.

[Lamia Viljoen]

Lamia held the Ducha’s gaze and a long moment of silence, an unspoken understanding passed between the two women. Eventually, the turil’da arched an eyebrow and rose up to her feet. She crossed the short distance to where the steam still rose from the teapot.

“How thoughtful of you,” she observed, lifting the pot to pour herself a cup.

“And you’re right - she could do so much better than father.”

[Vahika Wlady]

Viljoen understood her perfectly. The silent exchange comforted Vahika in her inclination towards choosing this one as her new assistant. While Hapans could excel at manipulating and coercing, and doing anything they could to achieve their goals, she had found that the amount of people actually willing to do it was not what it used to be on certain planets, and Sivoria was one of them, much to her chagrin. Being beautiful, having perfect manners, and walking over men, made up for only a fraction of what a true Hapan lady embodied.

Finishing her cup of tea, she set it on the nearby table and got to her feet, standing right by the other woman's side. "I am seeing other applicants for the next three weeks. You will return then."

She had nothing else to add. Three weeks were more than enough to organize the father's demise, and to properly mourn. Viljoen didn't need the Ducha to spell everything out for her. It was how Vahika liked it. Discussing matters was one thing, spoon feeding wasn't up her alley. And the less one said until trust was established, the less liable one was, should matters go badly. Vahika had enough resources to make Viljoen disappear in a most permanent fashion, should the almost-scandalous Turila’da showed poor judgement.

"Lady Antiach will see you out. Good day, Turila’da." Without further ado, the Ducha disappeared inside the building.

[Lamia Viljoen]

Later…

The sun was low over Lac d’Argent. From the second floor balcony of the Viljoen family home, the Turila’s only daughter gazed down at a candlelit gathering. The garden terrace was adorned with tasteless decorations, including a fountain that bubbled with sparkling wine. It was a party in name, though perhaps not in nature. Two dozen or so women and their companions, and not a noble among them, not yet at least. From her vantage point, Lamia watched as one madellé after another carefully considered the possibility of approaching her mother. How best to ingratiate oneself with the Turila? Persephone Viljoen might allow herself to think that these women truly wanted to be her friends, her allies, but Lamia knew better. The veil of deception around their desires was gossamer thin.

One sycophant approached the Turila with a curtsey. Lamia leaned her forearms against the balcony railing and watched the low-born girl’s lips move. “Let me eat the filthy scraps from your table, Turila,” Lamia said, inserting words into the girl’s mouth.

As if hearing her mockery, the girl talking to her mother glanced up to the balcony where Lamia stood. When their eyes met, Lamia winked and ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. Down below, the girl quickly looked away. Lamia’s eyes wandered on, to where the men were gathered. There were young men dotted around the party, but the older men, like her father, had retreated closer to the lake’s edge, where their disappointingly old and increasingly unattractive faces were out of view of the women.

Thinking back on her meeting with the Ducha Wlady, Lamia smiled to herself. She meandered down through the Viljoen home and threaded through the party guests, who made a point of either not acknowledging her, or doing so with stiff formality. She had no desire to stay and chat, however. Soon, she was within sight of the pier too, smiling brightly as she strode towards her father. When he saw his daughter coming, the Turl forced himself to smile, tight and brittle, as he sweated inside his jacket.

“Papa.. I want to go out on the lake.”

[Lamia Viljoen]

Later still…

It took two men to pull the Turl Viljoen out of the water. There was nothing dignified about it, as they pulled him through the reeds at the edge of the lake. From the red-cheeks of the men dragging him, the Turl’s already considerable weight was made all the more unmanageable by his water-sodden clothes.

“Must you ruin everything,” was the first thing Lamia heard her mother say.

Lamia, who wore a cloak around her shoulders but appeared otherwise untouched by the lake water, turned to face her mother, as she stalked down the bank towards the waters edge, her skirts hitched up in her hands. Lamia's face was stained with tears, and her bottom lip even trembled a little. Far behind the Turila, her guests had all but vanished. Only a few stragglers, who tried to look inconspicuous as they glanced towards the lakes edge, remained.

Persephone Viljoen regarded the body of her now late-husband, sprawled inelegantly on the bank of the lake. She swallowed and wrestled her expression into something controlled, pressing her lips into a hard-line that betrayed no emotion.

“He fell over the edge of the skiff,” Lamia said, by way of an explanation, looking down into her father’s glassy, lifeless eyes. “I tried to pull him back in, ta’a, but… I wasn’t strong enough, and now he’s gone.” Lamia’s face wrinkled with the threat of more tears.

“Have him moved immediately,” the Turila snapped, at the men who had extracted her husband from the lake. If she felt bereaved by his death, it did not show. Her face was hard, her expression almost irritated. “I cannot have… this… here.”

[Lamia Viljoen]

Three weeks later

There was no formal mourning period to observe, not where men were concerned. No elaborate ceremony was held to mark the untimely passing of Baron Viljoen, though Persephone Viljoen did not venture beyond the shoes of Lac d’Argent for a week following his fall into its waters. Lamia remained in doors for the most part, though more on account of a sudden bout of rainstorms than because she had any desire to honour her father’s memory with some solemn contemplation. When the storms broke at last, clouds parting to reveal sunshine, it was time to return to the Ducha.

[Vahika Wlady]

The Ducha had remained appraised of the situation in the Viljoen family, much to her concealed pleasure. From the files she had on her candidate, as well as her discussion with her, she had gathered that she would unlikely find a more fitting shadow. The other woman was a wild card; but Vahika had all confidence she could keep her in line, while unleashing her on her foes. Frankly, she could picture Lamia chewing on any sort of leash, which made the Ducha pondered on bringing the actual picture to life.

Suffocating environments were meant to be let loose, pried open, by those who dared. Vahika knew how to keep good appearances, but she knew she had quite the reputation. She had hidden certain corpses in her past; had quelled some rumors; but she had let some run loose, whether true or wrong. People respected her, and some feared her. The planet was flourishing, and nobody could blame her for taking poor care of the population.

Yet the test she had placed upon Viljoen was one that few would be able to complete, even strong Hapans. Intrigue and schemes was embedded in their DNA; but taking actual actions, direct ones at that, was another matter. Of course, the word was that Lamia's father had accidentally died; but Vahika knew better.

She had sent regrets and tokens of appreciation and support appropriate for the circumstances, while keeping her distance, for Turl Viljoen certainly didn't warrant her personal presence at the funeral.

When Lamia's return had come to fruition, Vahika had provided a date and time for her to be received at her estate. The difference with the first encounter was that the Ducha (https://s3-eu-west-2.amazonaws.com/metro-news-s3-prod/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/Header_2398305_1.1-1024x1023.jpg)was receiving her new protegee in her study.

[Lamia Viljoen]

“Turila’da Viljoen, Ducha.”

A polite knock at the door to the study preceded Lamia’s entrance. Her expression was schooled into something solemn, her eyes concealing the lingering sadness over her father’s untimely passing. It had only been three weeks, after all. Three weeks of isolation, wrestling with and coming to terms with the reality that her father was gone. Who could blame Lamia, if her mood was still so darkened by the loss?

When the Vahika’s attendant departed, easing the door to the study closed behind Lamia, the mask of the grieving daughter fell away and like a cloud revealing the sun behind it, her face lit up with a smile.

“Bonjeu.”

[Vahika Wlady]

Vahika's bright eyes fell upon the younger blonde the moment Viljoen was let inside her study. She thanked her attendant and dismissed her. Lamia's change of expression was immediate, and it brought a wicked grin to the Ducha's lips.

"Bonjeu, Turila'da," Wlady said, gesturing towards the seat on the other side of her large and ornate desk.

"Please have a seat. I have much planned for you, but we aren't leaving until dusk."

Her new assistant was quite talented, and she had now been comforted in her unique decision to pick her out of all the other houses on Sivoria.

"I have just sent word to your mother that I have taken you in my service, even though I understand the tragedy that had befallen your family."

Vahika's tone oozed with confidence for it was such an honor that regardless what the Turila would feel about the decision, she couldn't argue with it.