Kimia said: “A region wizhout any disagreement with zhe center probably doesn't have enough freedom. A region that disagrees with zhe center about everyzhing probably doesn't have a functioning state.”
The sentence sounded more polished than Kimia felt.
She hoped Kalgkur heard it.
He probably did.
The questions moved.
Peshtulan industry. Agriculture. The old hetmanates. The survival of regional dialects. Yinglet cultural changes specific to Peshtul.
Kimia found the rhythm.
Eliane asked.
Kimia answered.
Sometimes briefly. Sometimes not.
The camera slowly ceased existing.
At one point Eliane asked: “Do you think the modernization of yinglet society has changed what it means to be a matriarch?”
Kimia stopped.
There.
Own role.
Danger.
She looked down at her hands, then back.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Kimia thought of Yira.
Music paper. Dirty plates. Freedom to choose a life with no brood arranged around it.
She thought of sons whose protective instincts remained but no longer dictated law. She thought of ancient enclaves. She thought of herself.
“A matriarch used to be partly biology.”
Eliane waited.
“Numbers. Reproduction. Protection. Survival. You couldn't separate social auzhority from zhe fact that female yinglets were rare.”
“And now?”
“Now we can.”
“How?”
“Medicine. Demographic policy. Education. Law. Time.”
Kimia paused.
“Mostly time.”
Eliane looked intrigued.
“Does that make your title less meaningful?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because now it has to mean somezhing else.”
There was silence.
Kimia felt the room listening.
Eliane asked: “What?”
Kimia had no prepared answer.
Perhaps that helped.
“Responsibility.”
The word came quietly.
“Not being valuable because you were born a particular sex. Being valuable because people trusted you wizh zhings.”
Kimia immediately disliked how earnest she sounded, but Eliane did not interrupt.
Kimia continued.
“I don't zhink modern yinglets need matriarchs in zhe old sense.”
“Then what are you?”
There.
The question.
Kimia looked at Eliane.
She almost said: An addict. An actress. A frightened animal in a kaftan.
Instead she thought.
The answer that came surprised her.
“A civil servant wizh an inherited title.”
Eliane blinked, then laughed.
Kimia smiled.
“Zhat's not entirely a joke either.”
“I suspected.”
The crew relaxed.
Even Tarkhe's mouth changed slightly.
Eliane flipped another page.
“Many viewers in the Passage imagine regional courts as very traditional places. Is that fair here?”
Kimia looked around the salon.
Voxcameras. Electric lights. An indrel soldier. A human physician. An ancient baxxid sage. A yinglet duchess wearing Peshtulan clothing.
“No.”
Eliane laughed again.
Kimia added: “Also yes.”
“Which is it?”
“Bozh.”
She leaned back.
“Tradition is usually whatever survived modernization long enough to become decorative.”
Kalgkur made a faint resonant sound.
Kimia knew immediately she had pleased him.
Eliane asked: “And what survives here?”
“Language.”
“Religion?”
“Some.”
“Dress?”
“Obviously.”
Kimia touched one sleeve.
“Custom?”
“Yes.”
“Hierarchy?”
Kimia paused.
“Yes.”
“Do you consider that a problem?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you consider the greatest misconception people in the Passage have about Peshtul?”
Kimia did not need long.
“Zhat we're backward.”
Eliane nodded.
“Why does that persist?”
“Because we look old.”
“Architecturally?”
“Culturally.”
Kimia thought.
“People see kaftans. Old stone. Regional titles. Hetman traditions. Older forms of speech. They decide zhat means people here zhink like zheir ancestors.”