A human woman in her forties, wearing an Ivenmoth Herald badge at the collar and a dark traveling suit.
She had the practiced pleasant expression of someone who knew how to ask questions in a way that made refusing them feel impolite.
Kimia hated her immediately.
Unfair.
She corrected herself.
Kimia disliked what she represented.
Better.
The woman approached.
“Your Grace. Thank you for receiving us.”
Kimia looked at her.
One person.
Kalgkur's advice.
One person.
“Of course.”
“My name is Eliane Nielsen.”
“I know.”
Eliane smiled.
“We sent the brief.”
“I read it.”
Partly. Probably.
Enough.
The crew began setting up.
Kimia watched the voxcameras.
They looked less threatening when stationary.
Machines. Lenses. Cables.
One operator adjusted focus.
Another measured light against Kimia's face.
“Would you mind standing a little farther left, Your Grace?”
Kimia moved left.
“Perfect.”
It was not perfect.
It was simply where the equipment wanted her.
Kimia took her seat.
Eliane sat opposite.
The primary camera stood beyond her shoulder.
Not in front of Kimia exactly.
Good.
Kimia could look at Elaine.
Not the camera.
Not the millions.
Eliane opened a folder.
“Before we begin, I want to reassure you that this is intended as part of our regional portrait series. Nothing adversarial.”
Kimia's first thought was: That is what an adversarial interviewer would say.
She did not say it.
“Understood.”
“We'll speak broadly about Peshtul, House Chityala, regional history, daily life, and your own role.”
There.
Own role.
Danger.
Kimia nodded.
“If there is anything you would prefer not to answer, say so.”
“How kind.”
Eliane smiled again.
Kimia realized how that had sounded.
“Sorry.”
“No offense taken.”
One of the crew raised a hand.
“Ready.”
The room changed.
Not physically.
Yet everyone became slightly more deliberate.
Kimia felt the mask descend.
No.
Not mask.
Role.
The actress.
She thought of the Akalosi philosopher.
The self that performs in anticipation of others.
Fine.
Let that self work.
The camera operator counted down with his fingers.
Three. Two. One.
A small red light illuminated.
Eliane looked at Kimia.
“Your Grace, thank you for speaking with us.”
Kimia looked at Eliane.
Not the lens.
“Glad to.”
“Let's begin simply. For viewers who may know Peshtul mostly from maps, exports, or stories, how would you describe it?”
There.
Kalgkur had been right.
Kimia's mind emptied, then filled too much.
Cold. Hetmans. Knyazs. War. Yinglet enclaves. Factories. Forest. Old villages. People. One answer.
Talk to Eliane.
Not millions.
Kimia said: “Peshtul is hard.”
Eliane waited. Kimia continued
“Not cruel. Hard. Cold winters. Long distances. Older towns. People tend to remember zhings for a very long time here.”
A slight smile from Eliane.
“What kinds of things?”
“Debts.”
A few crew members laughed.
Kimia's ears warmed.
She had not intended a joke.
Good.
Let it happen.
“And kindnesses,” Kimia added. “Sometimes longer zhan debts.”