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Almec is used to having something of a mimicry of his Duchess’s own court, smaller but more concentrated. These are the people that work the hardest to make Mandalore a good place to live, that are championing the Duchess’s goals without being too bogged down by her ideals. They all offer different perspectives and different ideas, so whenever he gets the chance to go out with them to inspect a problem he will take it.
This week’s problem has taken them to Keldabe City, a nest of rebellious children and stubborn, doltish old men hidden under a facade of an up and coming city. It capitalises on the free air, the ancient architecture, and the modern additions like cafes, restaurants, and shops. All of these things draw in both tourists and students from the formerly Mandalorian planets. It’s no wonder that the rumblings about Death Watch are reappearing here of all places, in the northernmost neighbourhood of the city where the university—the very heart of their particular problem—is located.
They’re going back to the central neighbourhood, where the Keldabe City governor’s mansion and thus their temporary residence is, through the area right below the university, filled with cafes and bars that attract the students the most and are probably rife with pretending at political insight. It’s popular and there are a number of students sitting out on patios, nursing dark beers or caf with their comp units and datapads.
They’re passing a cafe that’s particularly packed with people waiting in line, and collected on the patio, when Governor Vizsla peels away from the edge of Almec’s little court. Unlike the Keldabe City governor, who is only among them since it’s his purview here, Prudii Vizsla has been making a name for himself along the edges. He has particular ideas about how Mandalore should be run, likely stemming from the taint of his traitorous father’s legacy, but those ideas push the boundaries of Almec’s group and thus the growth of the way they think about their people. He’s also often standing or walking on the edge of the group, just like he has been, but he doesn’t usually pull away.
This change gets everyone but the Keldabe City governor’s attention and brings the whole group to a halt, all of their eyes trained on Vizsla.
Almec watches as Vizsla approaches the popular cafe and, more specifically, a dark skinned teenager drinking something at a table on the edge of the patio. The teenager has a portable comp unit on the table, keeping most of their drink from view, and seems somewhere between average and petite in build. Long, loose curls are mostly tied up in a nerftail, but a few have fallen out to frame a round, unrefined but pretty face. It looks messy to Almec, but from what he can gather from his nieces it’s currently the look that teenagers are into lately, from the roundness to the messy curls.
It’s also hard to place whether the teenager is trying to be a young man or a young woman. It’s a confusion that speaks to being far too interested in bringing back the old ways of Mandalore.
Vizsla leans on the fence separating the cafe’s patio area from the path their group has been walking on, nearly right on the teenager’s table. “What the kark are you drinking?” he asks, nose wrinkling.
What is he thinking approaching a random citizen like that? Almec takes a step over to break things up if he needs to, but stops short of actually involving himself. Vizsla is a trustworthy man and this is...extremely out of character. Maybe there’s some kind of reason for it. He doesn’t often act without reason even if he doesn’t explain it at first. Perhaps he’s also gathered the likelihood that this is one of those rebellious children who are such a problem in Keldabe City these days.
The teenager looks up and holds up their drink, a frighteningly blue, tall concoction with a frothy top and a straw almost artfully sticking out, about a fifth of it drunk. “Giga blue milk and carmalised muja frip.”
At least the teenager doesn’t seem alarmed or annoyed by Vizsla’s approach, even if it takes Almec a moment to process their accent for the first time. It’s very Keldabe City, but undercut elsewhere.
“What,” Vizsla asks, disgust clear on his face that some of the other bureaucrats are mirroring, “is a frip?”
“It’s a sweet milk caf that’s been frozen and whipped.” The teenager blinks. “I like them and this new flavour is really good. Do you want to try it?”
What?
Vizsla has more doubt on his face than Almec has ever seen, and he’s seen the man’s reaction to the Duchess’s very first plans about rejuvenating the infrastructure on Concordia. Despite that, and to Almec’s great surprise, he asks, “Where are the other straws?”
The teenager beams and then begins to giggle maniacally, skittering off to the inside of the packed cafe and returning with unnecessary triumph with another straw.
“You’re such a strill,” Vizsla says, and there is where it starts to dawn on Almec that the two must know each other. “There are respectable people around.”
“Rude,” the teenager says with no sign of being hurt by the words, or of caring about the nearby politicians, on their face.
Vizsla unwraps the straw and sticks it into the drink, leaning in for a sip and them pulling back with a pained look on his face.
“I told you it was good,” the teenager croons mockingly.
“I retract my statement,” Vizsla says, giving the drink an offended look. “No strill could survive drinking this.” He takes another sip. “Do you have dinner plans tonight?”
The teenager shrugs. “I was just going to eat leftovers at home. Why, are you staying long enough to buy me food?”
Ah, they definitely know each other. Maybe the teenager isn’t as involved with the “revival” culture as Almec presumed from their appearance. They’re clearly comfortable with Vizsla in a way he’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone else be, even Lady Bo-Katan.
“We’ll be here a few days. I can take a night to bother you about your classes.”
The teenager sticks their tongue out. It’s dyed blue from the drink. “You want to ask about Jane.”
Almec’s eyebrows go up. A name? Not the teen’s name, but some kind of person the two of them have in common… That might be a better insight on just why Vizsla is familiar with them.
“No, I want to ask if that horrible boyfriend of yours is still around or if you finally kicked him out.”
“Uh huh, sure. You totally are going to ask about Jane.” The teenager roles their eyes and takes their drink back. “As for Fenn, yes I broke up with him. He didn’t like how much time I was spending in theatre club.”
Theatre club...it must be with the university, but Almec hasn’t heard about it. He looks back to find the Keldabe City governor looking confused too.
Vizsla looks genuinely offended by the idea someone would be upset by that, so it’s another good sign that it isn’t some political activist group hiding behind the veil of being artists. “I told you to break up with him. Jane told you to break up with him.”
“He was sweet!”
“He was controlling and wanted to use you for your family,” Vizsla shoots back.
There’s no doubt Vizsla is very aware of whoever this teenager is, enough that there’s no way the rest of them are getting any more information out of this conversation without inserting one of themselves into it. Almec takes the chance to approach further. “Governor Vizsla, just who is your young friend?” he asks, aiming for pleasant.
He gets uncannily matching expressions from the pair, flat and unimpressed. It’s not the first time that he’s gotten such a look from Vizsla, far from, so he’s not offended.
Vizsla sets a hand on top of the teenager’s messy curls. “This,” he says slowly, “is my cousin, Akaaniksha.”
Behind Almec, the rest of their group breaks out into whispers.
“Cousin,” Almec says faintly. Cousin? There are more Vizslas around besides the ones on Concordia? The entire Duchy council has memorised the faces of the whole House, just in case, and this child is not one of them.
He has to recover from this surprise.
“Are you a student at the university?”
Akaaniksha Vizsla looks surprised and then suspicious. “I’m a theatre and history duel major,” they confirm.
If Vizsla’s questions weren’t practically screaming that the child isn’t affiliated with anything troubling, the combination would be a red flag. As it is, though, it’s likely a good sign that they have information on some of the more problematic individuals at the university. “Well, why intrude only on your cousin’s pocketbook? I’m sure I speak for all of us that we would love to learn more about you and your view of the university.”
The suspicious look strengthens and even Vizsla winces.
“On the Duchy’s chit,” he tempts the younger Vizsla. Maybe some of the local rebelliousness, or at least the natural resistance to authority of their age, will have rubbed off enough that the idea of wasting government credits will appeal.
There’s a moment where he thinks he has it wrong, a flash of disgust and superiority on the teenager’s face that’s echoed on Vizsla’s face—again, the same expressions but both foreign to him—but it’s gone so quickly that Almec doubts what he saw. Akaaniksha shrugs. “I guess. I wanted to go to Viddy’s, though.”
“I’ll be here long enough I can buy you Viddy’s,” Vizsla says. “Or I’ll order you delivery.” He glances at Almec. “Hole in the wall bar, actually strict on age limit for entry. They have to go with me or their brother.”
“I make him buy me enough bantha wings for a week,” Akaaniksha says, smirking.
“Well. I don’t believe we’ll be in a place like that,” Almec says, a little put off by the idea. He supposes that’s what it is like here. It also gives him a little more information on the young Vizsla cousin—young enough to not be able to drink legally, so under 20.
“No,” Vizsla agrees, ruffling his cousin’s hair.
“Should we come back to the north neighbourhood?” Almec questions.
Akaaniksha raises an eyebrow. “I live in Petir’kel,” they say, using the ridiculous local nickname for the central neighbourhood. It’s also a bit of a shock—it’s a terribly expensive neighbourhood even if you’ve been long established, not a place that most clans would be sending a college student even if they had a residence. Especially because most of the university culture is centred in the northernmost neighbourhood. His grandparents bought a residence in the centre neighbourhood long ago and his sister has mostly kept it up and rented it out, but his nieces would rather live near the university if they decide not to go to Coruscant or even Kalevala.
It must be an old Vizsla residence, he decides.
“I’ll fetch you when it’s time for us to go to dinner,” Vizsla says.
“I should get going home then, huh,” Akaaniksha says, glancing back at their comp unit with a grimace. “Oh well. This doesn’t have a set deadline yet. I just want it done.”
Vizsla cranes his neck over to look at whatever is happening on the screen. “Oh,” he says, voice flat enough that it’s almost angry. “That.”
Akaaniksha shuts the comp unit before Almec can try and look. “I’ll see you at the house. The new bell is hooked up so I’ll be able to hear you from up top, but it still may take me a bit to get down from there.”
Vizsla lingers while they pack up, thus leaving Almec and the others to linger as well. Akaaniksha is waved off, heading towards a nearby magtrain station that goes through all the neighbourhoods, and leaves them. No walking, no taxi, not even pestering their cousin about riding with them.
“My apologies for diverting—I don’t often see them out and about. They’re usually either at the university or working on the house,” Vizsla says. He brushes his hands together and walks with Almec back to the group. “They’re refurbishing a house that belongs to their brother and preparing to do the same for their clan home, along with their coursework and hobbies and handling their health. I worry. At least the idiot boyfriend is no longer in the equation.”
“That does seem like a lot on their plate,” Almec agrees. “Well, it will be good to get a university student’s view on the current environment.”
“Is that what that thing was?” the Keldabe City governor asks, sneering.
Almec gives him a warning look. “The young Vizsla is, I’m sure, able to conduct well in public.”
“Akaaniksha has been properly educated,” Vizsla says, as cold as Krowsnest. “If things weren’t more delicate with certain parties, I would already have them in the Duchess’s court between university sessions.”
“Certain parties,” the Keldabe City governor repeats. “Oh there are plenty of parties uninterested in risking another Vizsla in the halls of power.”
“Keet,” Almec warns.
Vizsla’s eyes spark with anger, but the rest of him just seems tired. “Akaaniksha’s side of the family has never been interested in my father’s politics. If they could get away with being completely uninvolved, they would, but unfortunately they’re quite talented and charismatic. I want them where they will be best served and will best use their natural talents. Right now that means they’re in Keldabe City and in the university’s theatre club and away from malcontents who want to use them.”
“I dread what my nieces might get into if they end up here next year,” Almec empathises, though he can’t really judge if either girl is charismatic or talented in a way that can serve them politically. “But! We will all get a chance to speak with Akaaniksha properly and politely at dinner. If they know anything about the current issue you’ve called us here for, Keet, I want to know about it.”
“The chance it’s spread to students is a concern,” Vizsla agrees, but his lips press together. “I’m not sure Akaaniksha knowing would mean it has spread to them, though. It’s known that their foster father used to be a professor—who left in protest of the Duchess’s reforms.”
That gets all of their attention.
“Really?” the Keldabe City governor asks, almost salivating. “Could he be—.”
Vizsla glances at him. “I doubt you’d know him, and he’s been away from the planet for nearly a decade—Akaa has been in and out of cryostasis for most of their life due to the circumstances of their birth so their age doesn’t give a good timeline. Almec, you might know of him. You’ve been in politics long enough.”
Almec frowns. “Who is he?”
Vizsla smiles. “Walon Vau.”
Almec is so off balance from the revelation of Vizsla’s little cousin’s foster father that he leaves picking a restaurant to the Keldabe City governor, expecting something nice but not absurdly fine dining. He suspects that if the child wasn’t coming, that would have happened safely.
Instead, he’s given the man a chance to challenge and humiliate Vizsla.
Vizsla, at least, is familiar enough with the city to catch on from the name of the restaurant being dropped. He scowls, which should have been enough of a sign, and immediately goes off to update his cousin.
The Keldabe City governor’s plan backfires, at least. The rest of them peer from the speeder while Vizsla goes to the door of an ancient but well kept house—taller but not wider than the governor’s mansion and of a far older architecture—and waits for Akaaniksha, whose clan name Almec is more and more aware Vizsla didn’t give him.
They’re all distracted from their thoughts when Akaaniksha finally steps out, wearing stark white. As they approach the speeder, the details become more clear. A traditional high neckline. A tunic hem that nearly touches the floor and is cut to leave the legs free. Sleeves that puff out and then gather at the elbow and then are tight to the wrist. Close cut trousers that dust over white shoes with a slight heel. Silver and gold flower embroidery blooming up the right side of the entire outfit, glinting in the low light of the evening. Matching earrings. Almost all of the loose curls of the nerftail have been tamed into a strict bun pinned with a silver nosegay, except for one large one that drips artfully over the face.
Vizsla very well could put his cousin in the Duchess’s court on looks alone.
Almec is suddenly very aware that this is the only bright young thing that will be in their party. Vizsla’s relation to Akaaniksha is a balm to it, but it won’t change much about the appearance of a number of old men circled around a beautiful college student.
Hopefully this place the Keldabe City governor has picked is discreet.
Vizsla slots his cousin right next to the door, not pinning them in, and his care for them is apparent. Despite being in a painfully political situation, no matter how casual this collection of them might be, he prioritises the teenager’s comfort and safety.
“So, who is this Jane you were speaking of earlier today?” Almec asks, trying to keep the tone light even as his mind is still spinning from similarly earlier revelations.
“Oh, my older brother,” Akaaniksha explains. “His nickname is Jane or Janey.”
That clicks something in Almec’s mind of Mando’a: Jan or Jan’i, not Jane or Janey. Some wriggling rumour from decades ago is a distant itch in his mind.
He ignores it.
“You’re a close family, then?” another of their party asks, still suspicious about the lack of not one but two members of House Vizsla on their radar.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Akaaniksha says, a sly look sliding over to their cousin. “It wasn’t until recently, when I came back to Keldabe and started university, that I interacted with Pre much.”
Pre is the nickname the Duchess and Lady Bo-Katan, friends of his since they were all teenagers, use for Governor Vizsla. It’s odd to hear it come out of someone else’s mouth, especially someone who seems to be at least in touch with the more traditionalist side of things, and of course is connected through Vizsla’s father. “Why—,” Almec starts.
“You call him Pre?” the Keldabe City governor asks snidely.
To Almec’s surprise, Akaaniksha’s sly look solidifies and Vizsla looks genuinely embarrassed.
“You don’t have to tell the story,” Vizsla says.
“No, I think I do, Prudii,” Akaaniksha says, jabbing their elbow into Vizsla’s side. “Jan’i told me so I have to pass on the knowledge!”
Vizsla groans.
“So Ba’vode named Pre before he was born,” Akaaniksha says with a dramatic flare. “The other ba’vod, not Tor, wanted to name him Prudii because she thought he should be a second coming of Tor or something.” Akaaniksha wrinkles their nose. “Well, then Pre popped out all blond and Ba’buir and Ba’vod and Ba’tat and my buire all agreed he was certainly no shadow. And he’s not.”
Vizsla huffs and throws an arm over his cousin’s shoulders. “It’s not a very interesting story. But my family has called me Pre from the beginning. It could be worse. Jan calls you Spar.”
Akaaniksha makes a face at him, somewhere closer to smug than embarrassed.
The speeder comes to a halt.
Akaaniksha is quick to clamour out of the vehicle, Vizsla right behind them. After a beat, the rest of them follow. The little time to get everyone out lets Vizsla and his cousin turn into a matched pair. Vizsla’s bureaucratic dark greys and pale colouring and Akaaniksha’s stark white, dark skin, and black hair don’t manage to keep away a feeling that there’s something uncannily similar about the two. Children of siblings.
The one glimpse of their troubled family past is the way Akaaniksha clings to Vizsla’s wrist, a hint of anxiety in the cramped little walkway they all come out in that only an older family member can protect them from.
The Keldabe City governor struggles to the front of the party to check in for their reservation. There’s a moment of confusion when it comes out the reservation was made for five, but the man is able to brush it off as being made before they even were planning dinner, as he was always going to recommend the restaurant, and it’s simple enough to add a sixth person.
A number of the wait-staff are looking over their party with some suspicion, eyes especially on Vizsla and his cousin.
Akaaniksha reacts as if they’re supposed to be the centre of attention, a dramatic shift from the anxiety outside of the restaurant, and Almec is quick to connect it to Vizsla’s desire to put them in the Duchess’s court. They have to be adaptable to the situation and by being as blatant about their presence as possible they portray that there’s nothing scandalous occurring. Despite their fine clothes, they also are clearly trying to push their youth too, flitting around and chattering at all of them. The sweet tooth returns too, with the teenager grabbing some of the mints from the front as they’re taken back to their table.
The fact that the two are close cousins comes out with the menus as Vizsla takes over, less to pick what Akaaniksha is eating and more towards reminding them to eat something healthy, pointing out foods that will assist with certain deficiencies. It’s nothing like someone would act like a mistress, in Almec’s experience. He actually spends enough time on his cousin’s meal that he has to scramble to choose something for himself.
Once appetizers come out, the questioning begins. It’s also not what Almec had planned.
“So, what is this mysterious brother of yours up to?” comes from the one who asked about Akaaniksha using Vizsla’s childhood nickname.
“Oh, he’s working and raising his son off-planet,” Akaaniksha explains, holding out their small plate so that Vizsla can pass food to them as well as himself. “He comes to visit sometimes, but he isn’t here very often. He’s hoping our foster father will finish up his current contract to come home and stay with me soon.”
Almec feels himself start to sweat, but it’s a good chance to turn the tide back to the university happenings. “You’re speaking of Professor Walon Vau, aren’t you? Your cousin mentioned him.”
And sure enough, even while acting childish the teenager is using the utensils perfectly and primly, well taught by a member of a noble house. “Oh, yes. Wai instructed Mando’a One through Four, Theatre One, and Poetic Literature of the First Crusades. He was married to our mutual uncle.”
How many siblings were there among the Vizslas? Almec wonders. “And he left rather dramatically.”
Akaaniksha smiles. “I don’t think I would call anything that Wai does dramatic unless it’s to his own detriment. From what my brother said, he just left and started the private tutor program. Even while he’s gone on this contract, it’s running well. I’ve been auditing the books.”
It was dramatic though. A popular, newly tenured professor terminated his contract over not being able to wear beskar’gam while instructing. Within three months he had set up a good enough system that others were able to leave, too, in protest of the Duchess’s mandate that no beskar’gam could be worn in a government institution. The university counted and was the start of the rule being applied to any public space. As a new bureaucrat assisting a zealous young duchess, Almec had to handle the media fallout.
Luckily the university had been able to quickly hire replacement faculty from elsewhere in the galaxy.
“Are there many instructors who knew him?” Almec asks. “I’m sure it would be comfortable for you to have people who knew him.”
Akaaniksha meets Almec’s eyes, smile still frozen on their face. “There are faculty looking out for me. Walon was well known and respected and people had sympathy for the other things that were happening in our lives at the time.”
Almec is trying to put pieces together. Vizsla made it clear that Akaaniksha and their brother were not interested in Death Watch. Walon Vau was their foster father and the husband of another sibling of the cousins’ parents. If two were raised by Vau and that other uncle and have no interest in Tor Vizsla’s rhetoric, then the people doing the raising likely didn’t have any interest either. And if the faculty around Akaaniksha have respect for Vau, it’s unlikely they have any interest in reviving Death Watch, even if he would have sworn Vau was Death Watch.
They may be at a dead end. Or Akaaniksha might have heard rumours.
“What about the less friendly faculty? Is anyone causing you trouble?” Almec asks, trying to cover up his confusion and anxiety with kindness.
“Some of the aruetiise are...odd,” Akaaniksha admits, getting a sharp, surprised look out of Vizsla. The teenager giggles. “They don’t like my accent. They think it’s abnormal.”
It’s a perfectly serviceable Keldabe City accent, even if it’s heavily undercut by Concordian, and Concordian that’s more Concord Dawn than Concordia at that. Even if someone wasn’t to guess that part of their accent came from off-planet, it would be obvious they’d spent much of their life in Keldabe City.
“It’s rather thick, I couldn’t believe someone like that could be related to Governor Vizsla,” the Keldabe City governor says snidely.
Almost all of them are catching onto him at this point and Almec is sure the exasperated looks on the other men at the table are mirroring his own. “You enunciate very well for someone so steeped in Keldabe City’s accent,” Almec says flatly.
Akaaniksha preens at that. “I’m surprised it’s not worse, sometimes,” they admit, looking down at their plate. “Jan was raised on Concord Dawn, up until our parents…”
They don’t continue the sentence and Vizsla looks ill.
“You got much of your accent from Jan and he sounds like he was a Concordian raised in the city,” Vizsla gets out, focusing on his appetizer.
“Well,” Almec says, dreading that incomplete thought and where that plays into the puzzle he’s been putting together in his head. “To go back to your school life. Beside the faculty who aren’t from the area being...particular...are there any issues you’ve noticed with the university? We always hear about political activism among the students. I’m sure that can be uncomfortable for some people.”
Vizsla’s gaze slides back to his cousin, a pointed expression on his face.
Akaaniksha cringes and looks away. “Well, there are certainly those kinds. Not a lot of them are actually students. They’re—.” They cut themself off as the waiters approach, setting entrées down in front of the proper people. The interrogation lulls as they all start to eat.
Unfortunately, it gives the Keldabe City governor the chance to be the one to bring it back up. “Are any of your fellow students idolising Death Watch?” he asks with no finesse or consideration.
Vizsla’s expression twists, which tells Almec what he thinks about that way of questioning.
At least, Almec thinks, the fool didn’t ask if Akaaniksha themself was idolising Death Watch or engaging in any rioting or violence. Frankly, it feels like they’re more likely to have violence inflicted on them, or maybe seen as a potential figurehead for anyone who discovers their connection to House Vizsla.
“Pre,” Akaaniksha says, ignoring the question, “I want dessert.”
“Of course,” Vizsla says, waving over a waiter.
The teenager orders a multi-layered chocolate cake with hot fudge before answering the Keldabe City governor’s question. “Most of the students interested in Death Watch bring that interest in from outside,” they say, voice completely flat as they continue to carve through their roast nuna breast. “And I would say they’re drastically few, even less than the aruetii’la students. If faculty are discussing those zealots, it’s derogatorily, and that is rare and usually outside of class sessions.”
“You feel pretty strongly about that, hm?” the Keldabe City governor asks, looking at Vizsla as if it’s some sort of slight against him.
“Unlike many who were simply scared of Death Watch’s activities, Akaaniksha’s side of the family has genuine reason to dislike the group,” Vizsla says instead of taking the bait. “Akaaniksha even moreso than their brother, if we’re honest. A footsoldier murdered their parents. Akaa had to be cut from Ba’vod Utrelsor…” He looks down, looking ill again, and Akaaniksha pushes their half eaten meal back.
It’s another rumour Almec had heard. People important to Death Watch killed by them, leaving behind at least a son.
A son who became the worse enemy of his uncle.
Almec’s stomach churns.
A son who the dead Duke had partnered with the uncle to take out, seeing him as the bigger threat. It was the reason that Governor Vizsla and Lady Bo-Katan had been betrothed and then married.
All of the puzzle pieces click together.
Almec smashes them apart—this isn’t information he can take to the Duchess. Vizsla adores his young cousin and, apparently, the older one too. If they make any...further...action against the little family, they will lose Vizsla and the respect he’s built for them on Concordia.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he tells Akaaniksha.
He doesn’t mean the parents they must not remember, admittedly, though he’d never admit to it.
Besides, he must be wrong. Jango Fett was taken in by Jaster Mereel, not a mysterious uncle. He’s not on the list of Vizslas. Walon Vau wasn’t known to be married to Mereel. There wasn’t a sibling of Jango Fett running around, in and out of cryostasis.
This has to be different.
“Thank you,” Akaaniksha says, looking at him like they can see right into his panicking mind.
He talks around other university topics, trying to get more information about the political activities of the students and staff, but he considers the whole thing over with even before the huge chocolate cake is set before the teenager. The Keldabe City governor tries to poke holes into stories, to invent things that probably aren’t actually there.
Almec comes to the conclusion that it is a normal university, just like the Republic has. There will be political upheaval, but it’s not really worth much to anyone off the campus, only existing to make certain other students uncomfortable.
Putting pressure there will only result in accusations of government overreach that they don’t want to face again.
Akaaniksha practically polishes off the cake, sweet tooth on display once again.
As they’re all wrapping up, Vizsla practically itching to remove his cousin from their company, the Keldabe City governor puts his foot in it in a way Almec didn’t expect.
“What about the militia? Do you know anything about them?” he asks, practically cornering the poor teenager.
“Keet,” Almec hisses. The militia rumours are almost less likely than the Death Watch university faculty rumours were.
Akaaniksha huffs. “Those guys? They call themselves a militia, but they just sit around, talk big, work out, and sniff at anyone who might raise their standing among the clans. You won’t find much from them except wishful thinking.”
“But they do wish for it, for the Duchy to be gone?”
Almec goes cold.
But Akaaniksha just rolls their eyes. “They’d rather Death Watch be gone than the Duchy.”
They make it sound like Death Watch is still active, but that’s probably about the students coming around more than anything.
“That’s enough, Keet,” Almec says, putting his hand on the Keldabe City governor’s shoulder. “Akaaniksha, thank you for answering our questions with such grace. And Governor Vizsla, thank you for arranging to meet with your cousin.”
Vizsla puts his arm around Akaaniksha’s shoulder again and nods, says a brief goodbye to all of them until later, and draws his cousin out of the restaurant.
As they’re leaving, he overhears Vizsla say, “We should get another of those frip things.”