H - 85: You're the Boss (Patreon)

They were having dinner.

Vanimax lurked outside the entry tunnel to his father’s—no, to Kaln’s lair, listening. Their voices predominated: mostly Izayaroa talking about politics, with Percy and occasionally Kaln chiming in once in a while, usually with a question. That, plus the sounds of dinner itself, the soft impacts of cups on the table, of silverware against porcelain. Sounds that should be inaudible at this distance even to a dragon, but Vanimax was not above employing a touch of magic when it served him.

Or at times like this, when it wasn’t particularly serving him at all.

He leaned forward, extending his neck to stick his head actually into the corridor. Even went so far as to raise one claw to take a step. Then…he pulled it back. Shaking his head, Vanimax turned and paced back and forth in front of the doorway a few times.

This was ridiculous. Even in the midst of doing it, he could see it for the nonsense it was. Going in there to join them would be the simplest thing imaginable. Kaln had made it clear he was welcome—well, he’d made it clear that everyone was. Vanimax was part of everyone.

Being part of “everyone” didn’t feel…adequate.

Lashing his tail, he paced again. The question was…how to approach…

No, the question was why was that a question? He was a dragon, he should just swagger in there and demand to be included.

Except… You couldn’t just take acceptance by force.

Vanimax turned to pace again, and only just then realized that Vadaralshi was standing at the top of the steps, watching him, her head tilted inquisitively to one side.

He reared up in surprise, then frantically tried to compose his expression and body language, to conceal his reaction. How long had she been there? It was distressingly plausible that it had been a while; he had simply not been paying attention. Had she seen him out here…dithering?

Oh, this was it, then. There would be absolutely no end of this.

“Hey, Max,” Vadaralshi said. “You wanna go hunting?”

He stilled again. That was not what he’d… Oh, no, this must be build up. The joke was coming.

“Nobody’s hungry yet,” he said warily. “They might not be for a while…I don’t actually know what effect eating cooked food in smaller form has on a dragon’s appetite. And anyway, it’s Pheneraxa’s turn.”

“Yeah, I’m not hungry either,” she agreed, waving her tail and grinning. “I guess I’m just a little…restive. Haven’t worked off the impatience from all that small form walking.”

“You were the one who—”

“And I stand by it.” Her grin widened. “A little patience now and then is good for you, Max. But, that doesn’t mean we don’t need to work some of it off after. You look a little pent-up yourself, so… Let’s go have some fun.”

He hesitated, watching her. Part of him was expecting the punchline to hit at any moment. But…she didn’t have that attitude at the moment. There was an aspect to her bearing when she was taking the piss that he’d learned to recognize very well.

And then again… Vadaralshi had always known how to pull her strikes. It was, if anything, aggravating to him, that sense that she could decisively win any of their scuffles if she wasn’t holding back. In a non-physical contest, however, he found he suddenly appreciated very much her understanding of when it was not time to go for the kill.

“You know what, sure,” he said, folding his wings down and stepping forward. “I think you’re right, Ralshi. A little exercise sounds great. Kinda embarrassed I didn’t think of it.”

“Yeah, well, we know who the thinker is in this family.”

“Yeah, and she’s back there stuffing her face, what of it?”

She whacked him with her tail, he buffeted her with a wing, and they strode down the steps and across the vault, both grinning.

Gradually, though, Vanimax’s smile faded as he considered. It wasn’t just the new things Kaln kept introducing to their lives, but the way he re-contextualized the old. Suddenly, he found himself having to think about things he’d taken for granted. Even stuff like Pheneraxa’s newfound love of food, or how Vadaralshi could be so oddly sensitive despite her brashness…

“Hey, guys!” she said cheerfully to the two ghosts stationed outside the lair’s front door as they passed outside. “We’ll probably be gone for a couple hours. I can’t imagine anybody will need us, but if somebody asks, we’re off hunting.”

Both Phantom Legionaries saluted.

“Hmf,” Vanimax grumbled. “They usually ignore me.”

“Yeah, because you’re either ignoring them or being rude to ‘em. Don’t expect people to waste pleasantries on you if you’re just gonna stomp around scowling. What would you say to trying to bag a couple gryphons?”

“What? Why?” he demanded, scowling. “Hardly big enough to be worth catching, and they’re half fuzz and feathers by bulk.”

“Yeah, but they’re nimble and clever. Tough prey! I thought we were exercising. Besides,” she added, raising her chin and smirking, “gryphon feathers are valuable. I was gonna bring some back for Kaln.”

“Ralshi, what’s he gonna do with gryphon feathers? He’s a scribe, not a magic craftsman. And it’s not like he needs the income from selling monster parts.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would cherish a gift from his beloved stepchildren.”

Vanimax hissed half-heartedly.

“But also,” she continued with a leer, “I really wanna just dump a pile of bloody gryphon feathers on his floor and look all smug like a cat bringing home a dead lizard. Just to see what he does.”

He tried, for a moment, to repress the grin, but gave up. “You are the best kind of awful person, Vadaralshi.”

“I know, right?”

Preening, she turned and grasped the Timestone railing, spreading her wings in preparation to take off.

“Hey,” Vanimax said suddenly, not having moved. “Do you… I mean, I know it’s been forever. Who even knows how many years, now, but… Do you remember what we did that made Pheneraxa hate us? Originally, I mean.”

Vadaralshi paused, then slowly lowered her wings, twisting her head around to give him an inscrutable look. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, it’s not like there was ever a time when we didn’t play rough, we’re all dragons. It’s just…” He shook his head, frowning, and turned his neck to stare out over the half-burned valley. “We used to hang out together in Emeralaphine’s library, learning languages. Remember? I just… At some point, the fights and insults got…serious. In a way they weren’t before. And…I’m realizing I don’t actually remember when it happened. Or why.”

“I’m not sure there was a when, exactly,” she said quietly. “Things change, Max. People, too. It’s been a hundred years, obviously stuff is gonna happen. If it bothers you, just remind yourself how much better everything is now without the old bastard looming over us all the time. I’m more interested in the future than the past.”

“Yeah…” Shaking his head, he unfurled his wings and stepped up alongside her. “Yeah, I think you’re right again. C’mon, I wanna stretch my wings.”

They both launched themselves off the side of the mountain, catching the updrafts and soaring up toward the Highlands.

***

“To accomplish this, a ruler needs data,” Izayaroa continued. “Not merely personal impressions, but a plethora of hard facts covering a multitude of relevant subjects. This is why the state must collect information and make it accessible—census data and the like, but also meticulous records of legal, economic, medical, and all other aspects of mortal life. In this way, it is possible to see for a conclusive fact which groups of people experience what kind of outcomes—whether certain groups are more likely to be treated harshly by judges and police, to be charged more for transactions, to suffer more from illnesses. These are only a few examples; the applicable dimensions are dizzyingly numerous, but with a sufficient apparatus to gather data, they can be quantified, and from them a ruler can discern who is actually mistreated by whom, regardless of what they feel.”

“I see,” Percy murmured. Kaln eyed her; the princess was seemingly concentrating on her crispy pork with sweet chili sauce, and her responses had trailed off as their discussion had gradually turned into a lecture.

“Even more than that,” Izayaroa went on, “it is necessary to build a society which values truth, and possesses the tools to obtain it. That means robust public education, as well as museums, libraries, and the like. It requires also the subtler craft of cultivating cultural and traditional inclinations—all the education in the world is of no use to people who favor superstition over science. Obviously, all of these efforts yield innumerable benefits; it is for far more reason than that under discussion here that these institutions are so crucial to a functioning society. Everything comes back to the craft of rule, properly executed. It’s only one of these many benefits that in a properly run society, the organized persecution of minorities is all but impossible.”

Percy nodded, gazing abstractly at nothing across the table. Kaln wasn’t the only one who had noticed; Izayaroa paused, regarding the princess speculatively, and Pheneraxa attempted to finally jump in and capture Percy’s attention.

“I believe this is originally a Zouzhi recipe, but it would ordinarily be made with golden rice instead of this Vale white. Have you tried it before, Percy?”

“Oh?” Percy said in a disinterested tone, scooping up another forkful of rice. “No, I was never an adventurous eater. This is quite good, though. Zhiiji is pretty clever.”

“Ah, well, I thought maybe—”

“I find it sometimes helps to think of it like gravity,” Izayaroa said smoothly.

Percy’s attention snapped right to her and she lowered her fork. “Gravity? In what way?”

“As the force which is not quite a force,” Izayaroa said with a smile. “Mass creates an indentation in the fabric of reality, causing objects to fall toward one another. Politics is very similar. The mechanisms are both more intricate and paradoxically better understood, but a society can be conceptualized as an extravagantly crowded and elaborate solar system. Larger bodies exert an inherent pull upon one another and all others—upon the countless moons and comets trying to pass through. The ability of individuals to act with conscious will adds another layer which causes the metaphor to somewhat break down, but as a framing device, it still works.”

“I do feel slightly patronized by the comparison,” Percy said seriously, “but it raises such an interesting perspective that I find I don’t really mind.”

“I am relieved to hear that,” Izayaroa replied gravely. “It is never my intent to demean you, my dear.”

Meanwhile, a visibly crestfallen Pheneraxa had begun stuffing pork and rice into her face at a voracious speed which might have prompted another rebuke of her table manners, were Izayaroa not fully occupied talking to Percy.

While the elder dragon began carefully framing the development of institutions as the construction of artificial planets, Kaln slid discreetly out of his chair and slipped into the kitchen.

“Excuse me, Zhiiji,” he said to the chef, who was currently wiping down the stove, “do you think you could whip up a pitcher of that fizzy wine punch you made earlier? Or something similarly interesting, but perhaps a bit less tart. I think Roa and I like strong flavors better than the young ladies.”

“Comin’ atcha, bossman!” she said cheerfully, immediately hopping down from her stool and pulling open the preservation box to begin extracting fruit. “And seriously, you don’t have to come in here yourself to order stuff, just yell. Perks of being the big man in charge.”

“I dunno, shouting at dinner seems kind of…uncouth.”

“Depends where you are! A Dell chieftain who didn’t shout at his staff to bring better treats for his guests might have his hospitality called into question. But yeah, I get it, you Rhiva are a more soft-spoken people. Even so, seriously, you can give orders from your seat. Just tell Spooky here to come get me, she doesn’t mind.”

She waved distractedly at the spectral Phantom Legionary standing in the corner of the kitchen in her modified Valefolk maid’s dress, who silently saluted at being addressed.

Kaln sighed. “Zhiiji, please be respectful of the staff. Soldier, if you don’t mind being called nicknames, that’s fine, but if you feel you’ve been treated poorly by anyone, notify the Commander and he’ll have me address it.”

The soldier/maid saluted again.

“No mollycoddling my staff,” Zhiiji said severely, already juicing a grapefruit. “You’re a sweet guy, Kaln, but I can tell you’re not familiar with working kitchens. We don’t have time to fuck around back here—soldiers are better suited for this environment than housemaids, you ask me.”

“Good to know,” he said, nodding again at the maid. “What I said still stands.”

She saluted again.

“That’s more like it,” Zhiiji said approvingly. “I know you’re not the barking type, Kaln, but giving orders suits you better than sitting there looking all awkward and sad.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What? I’m neither awkward nor sad.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied, now mixing fruit juice and sparkling wine. “But I was talking about you looking awkward and sad, which is another matter. You got the conversational chops to dominate the table, it just seems odd to see you not using ‘em.”

“Zhiiji, a family dinner isn’t the kind of thing you dominate.”

“I’ve known a lot of heads of household who’d disagree with that, but frankly, screw ‘em. I think you’ve got the right idea. That being the case, what’s the point of letting your wife take it over and turn it into a study session? I get the impression even Percy’d like some time to just chill and chat.”

Kaln opened his eyes, blinked, and failed to think of a response.

“Anyway, I’ll be done in two shakes,” Zhiiji went on. “You want this out now?”

“Ah…I… Actually, hold off for the moment. We’ll have that with dessert.”

“You’re the boss!” she said cheerfully. “And Kaln?”

He’d already turned to head back out to the table, but now paused and looked back at her.

“You should be careful not to forget that,” Zhiiji said almost absently as she carefully stirred the pitcher. “That you’re the boss. It suits you, and I think your ladies like that about you.”

Kaln stared at her for another moment; she wasn’t even looking in his direction. After a short pause, he cleared his throat, turned, and went back to dinner.