"When under attack, no country is obligated to collect permission slips from allies to strike back."
— Charles Krauthammer
Zapada Portik iz Terrasa Imeniye, Khram Gora, Khrustal Gavan, Dazhokhrana iz Sineva
The West Portico of the Terrace Estate, the Temple Mount, Chrystal Sound, Evenguard of Azura — Thursday, April 3rd
The compunction to quench the spirit of the living was not a mantle easily rented from one's conscience. Calixte had sipped from the poisoned chalice before, during the Succession Crisis and the Azur Insurrection. Yet the hour of her former deliverance had occurred in the midst of the travails of war; the hand that silenced an innocent this day was far-removed from the horrors of conflict. She could have sent the intelligence officer away from the Obsidian Sepulcher, and spared him the cruel taste of death's kiss. Instead, she leveled an automatic pistol at his brow and felled him, in cold blood, upon the sacred alter of her people. There was no forewarning, no imminent alert to the presence of eternal silence; she simply put the gun to his head and shot him dead. She had to watch as her helpmates removed Maksim's cooling body from the chamber.
The Kozhukhina sighed, tracing numb fingers around the raised edge along the stone balustrade, staring off at the setting sun over the seascape below. The encounter with John Cailean in the Obsidian Sepulcher had been a most unpleasant rendezvous, changing the very paradigm by which she ruled over her Children. The murder of her intelligence officer in the heat of her fiery disposition had been the sorrowful end to a regretful episode in the day, and her countenance had waxed ever-weaker in the wake of the confrontation. Though Cailean's explanation had done well by her, inasmuch as it had spared his life and his status within the Nera Strega, Oleg Korzakhov was even at a loss for words over the incident with the Vedma representative. Calixte had refused all counsel and accompaniment for a time after the meeting, preferring isolation.
As if the solitude of the portico could ease the burden of having killed a man without hesitancy...
Everything that had happened in the preceding weeks had been a tremendous drain on her emotional health, and though she had made the best of things, Calixte was beginning to lose her patience. Suren was settling in to his country estate in New Tsyion, preparing to form his cabinet and begin bringing new programs online for the Tsyionnes to graft them into the fold. Darya had flown back to Legnica for the weekend, allowing her parents the opportunity to meet their grandchildren for the first time; had the Komitet not alerted her to the stolen file, she would've left the island with her for the trip. Instead, she put herself within arm's length of an assassin, yet it was the life of an innocent staffer that was snuffed out. Between giving birth, interrogating her most proficient spy and murdering a government agent, Calixte was having just a banner day.
At least, when all other options were exhausted, she could rely on the promise of the serenity afforded her by her private estate. The Temple Mount was perfect for avoiding the lurid eyes of the press and her subjects, but it was also a refreshing hand that massaged the grievous wounds to her soul. Being separated from her family was proving more burdensome a travail than labor had been—certainly, she wouldn't have admitted as much during labor, but the principle remained. Things had been so very conflicted inside her heart over the past few months, from the political transitions being made on the mainland to the unsettled conditions inside her own House. And though her protégé, Dr. Alexei Chernykh had done a fantastic job wresting control of political matters from the Saeculum in Legnica, she still valued her own judgment above all else.
That's why her respite from the mainland had become such a boon to her personal well-being—and, indirectly, why spilling blood upon the Temple Mount had dealt such a macabre blow to her spirit. Standing in the waning light of the early evening's light, allowing the cool breeze blowing off the ocean gently caress the loose strands of hair upon her face, Calixte could embrace the simpler pleasures of life. Simplicity was a condition not often entreated to the Kozhukhina; between the Children of Azura crying for her sustenance, and the bureaucracy of governance vying for her commendations, life was typically a burdensome morass of diplomatic headaches and potential governing pitfalls that befell her every waking moment. Having a few moments to herself, sipping on a glass of Vin Amende circa 1932 like she was now, helped to keep her on the level.
Calixte shook her head, savoring the last of her second glass and whimsically wishing to revert the flow of time, that she might have reacted differently in the Obsidian Sepulcher earlier in the afternoon. Of course, wishing things didn't make them true, but it often gave her some small source of comfort, to hope that somewhere in time, she might have done something differently. In any event, she still had much that she needed to accomplish for the day expired, and watching the sky burn with orange and pink via the setting sun upon the ocean was every bit as futile for her itinerary as it was gratifying for her mind. There would be time before she laid down for the night to recollect on matters further, but there was work to be done, and she was the only one who could undertake the effort to accomplish it, as much as it pained her to admit such things.
"Gelmek edin," the Kozhukhina called in the native tongue of the Aydzhansk, which being interpreted meant "Come, friend." She knew full well that Oleg Korzakhov had gone to lie down, which meant he would have dispatched one of his staffers. And because the Temple was running a skeleton crew to give her more privacy, that meant only one person: Callah Samryha Aliyeva-Razulzade, former Minister Plenipotentiary to Karlikovaya. Sure enough, her intuition was proven correct: Callah appeared from inside the study that led out onto the balcony in short order, her cropped blazer and pinstriped Capri pants standing out amongst the more traditional garb traditionally worn on the island. The ballpoint pin tucked behind her ear was a sharp contrast from the elaborate, emerald-encrusted choker that was adorning her neck; she obviously cared about her visage.
"Dolu Imperatrice," Callah said respectfully, tucking a plastic clipboard under her left arm before speaking again in Cirazur: "Hail Kozhukhina! How may I be of service to you this evening, Your Graceful Eminence?"
"Do you not regret being appointed as a general counsel to my staff, Callah?" Calixte asked inquisitively, ignoring the ex-minister's question entirely. "Were I in your position, I would chagrin every time I was summoned."
"Fate chose a different path for me, m'lady," Aliyeva-Rasulzade said with a trace of sadness. "I have no regrets."
"I don't buy the lie you're selling, but I appreciate the attempt at creating a façade there," the Kozhukhina said respectfully, deciding to shift gears. "Perhaps we could put you to good use here on the Temple Mount."
"I'm more than ready to serve in whatever capacity you would have me to serve."
Calixte nodded politely, motioning for the minister plenipotentiary to follow with her along the length of the portico. "We have met our strategic objectives in short order," she began, "with respect to the transition to our new government ministries. But we haven't cleared every hurdle just yet, and the public will not blindly support us forever."
"M'lady?" Callah frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "Your public approval rating—such as it is—hasn't been this high since the Succession Crisis. You've begun to make the lives of your people better, and they love and worship you for it."
"I wish I could hold to that optimism," Calixte said with utter dejection, remembering in one shot the painful lessons she'd been taught during the Insurrection. "But in my experience, Pax Azuras only lasts for so long—we need to be prepared for any and all eventualities that could stunt our progress in the modernization campaign."
"What did you have in mind specifically, m'lady?" The ex-minister asked intently.
"Your old stomping grounds came to mind, personally: Karlikovaya," the Kozhukhina responded in short order, turning to face her directly. "We already have a large garrison being established in Alkharania; now with the new missions opening in the keys, the Pardesian powers are certain to take notice. We don't want to be caught unawares should regional threats present themselves."
"Karlikovaya is a strategic hub for our southern base of operations," Callah said with some concern; her olive skin flushing a bit. "And we are positioned very close to the Ross Archipelago and the Saint Viktor Islands—that's the CDI and the RCO, both on our doorstep. But we lack any real allies in the region, sans our dependencies."
Calixte nodded, building up to her ulterior purpose in calling her otuside. "That's why I want to place a call out to meet with the member-states of the Fellowship of Imperial Realms. We need to show the Pardesians that our Evenguard remains strong even now, but we also must show them the price for daring to challenge our rising hegemony throughout the region."
Callah slowly caught on to the logic, though its implications were not lost on her. "We establish some sort of diplomatic forum in Karlikovaya, inviting the leadership of the Fellowship to take part in a conference. It would certainly ruffle the feathers of our adversaries in Pardes, m'lady..."
"And it would give us the political cover we need to militarize the islands," Calixte added. "We know there's some type of military contingency on the archipelago, and Rodarion is bound to have a military presence in the Saint Viktor Islands."
"I believe it's a good plan, m'lady," Callah said respectfully, resolving the issue for the Kozhukhina.
"We don't have time to waste; the ball needs to get rolling quickly. Contact Loys Tumanyan in the Foreign Ministry, and have him prepare a communiqué to be dispatched privily. I want the wires sent out before nightfall to all pertinent parties."
Aliyeva-Razulzade bowed at the waist, placing a clenched fist over her heart. "It will done, Your Grace."
The Kozhukhina sighed, tracing numb fingers around the raised edge along the stone balustrade, staring off at the setting sun over the seascape below. The encounter with John Cailean in the Obsidian Sepulcher had been a most unpleasant rendezvous, changing the very paradigm by which she ruled over her Children. The murder of her intelligence officer in the heat of her fiery disposition had been the sorrowful end to a regretful episode in the day, and her countenance had waxed ever-weaker in the wake of the confrontation. Though Cailean's explanation had done well by her, inasmuch as it had spared his life and his status within the Nera Strega, Oleg Korzakhov was even at a loss for words over the incident with the Vedma representative. Calixte had refused all counsel and accompaniment for a time after the meeting, preferring isolation.
As if the solitude of the portico could ease the burden of having killed a man without hesitancy...
Everything that had happened in the preceding weeks had been a tremendous drain on her emotional health, and though she had made the best of things, Calixte was beginning to lose her patience. Suren was settling in to his country estate in New Tsyion, preparing to form his cabinet and begin bringing new programs online for the Tsyionnes to graft them into the fold. Darya had flown back to Legnica for the weekend, allowing her parents the opportunity to meet their grandchildren for the first time; had the Komitet not alerted her to the stolen file, she would've left the island with her for the trip. Instead, she put herself within arm's length of an assassin, yet it was the life of an innocent staffer that was snuffed out. Between giving birth, interrogating her most proficient spy and murdering a government agent, Calixte was having just a banner day.
At least, when all other options were exhausted, she could rely on the promise of the serenity afforded her by her private estate. The Temple Mount was perfect for avoiding the lurid eyes of the press and her subjects, but it was also a refreshing hand that massaged the grievous wounds to her soul. Being separated from her family was proving more burdensome a travail than labor had been—certainly, she wouldn't have admitted as much during labor, but the principle remained. Things had been so very conflicted inside her heart over the past few months, from the political transitions being made on the mainland to the unsettled conditions inside her own House. And though her protégé, Dr. Alexei Chernykh had done a fantastic job wresting control of political matters from the Saeculum in Legnica, she still valued her own judgment above all else.
That's why her respite from the mainland had become such a boon to her personal well-being—and, indirectly, why spilling blood upon the Temple Mount had dealt such a macabre blow to her spirit. Standing in the waning light of the early evening's light, allowing the cool breeze blowing off the ocean gently caress the loose strands of hair upon her face, Calixte could embrace the simpler pleasures of life. Simplicity was a condition not often entreated to the Kozhukhina; between the Children of Azura crying for her sustenance, and the bureaucracy of governance vying for her commendations, life was typically a burdensome morass of diplomatic headaches and potential governing pitfalls that befell her every waking moment. Having a few moments to herself, sipping on a glass of Vin Amende circa 1932 like she was now, helped to keep her on the level.
Calixte shook her head, savoring the last of her second glass and whimsically wishing to revert the flow of time, that she might have reacted differently in the Obsidian Sepulcher earlier in the afternoon. Of course, wishing things didn't make them true, but it often gave her some small source of comfort, to hope that somewhere in time, she might have done something differently. In any event, she still had much that she needed to accomplish for the day expired, and watching the sky burn with orange and pink via the setting sun upon the ocean was every bit as futile for her itinerary as it was gratifying for her mind. There would be time before she laid down for the night to recollect on matters further, but there was work to be done, and she was the only one who could undertake the effort to accomplish it, as much as it pained her to admit such things.
"Gelmek edin," the Kozhukhina called in the native tongue of the Aydzhansk, which being interpreted meant "Come, friend." She knew full well that Oleg Korzakhov had gone to lie down, which meant he would have dispatched one of his staffers. And because the Temple was running a skeleton crew to give her more privacy, that meant only one person: Callah Samryha Aliyeva-Razulzade, former Minister Plenipotentiary to Karlikovaya. Sure enough, her intuition was proven correct: Callah appeared from inside the study that led out onto the balcony in short order, her cropped blazer and pinstriped Capri pants standing out amongst the more traditional garb traditionally worn on the island. The ballpoint pin tucked behind her ear was a sharp contrast from the elaborate, emerald-encrusted choker that was adorning her neck; she obviously cared about her visage.
"Dolu Imperatrice," Callah said respectfully, tucking a plastic clipboard under her left arm before speaking again in Cirazur: "Hail Kozhukhina! How may I be of service to you this evening, Your Graceful Eminence?"
"Do you not regret being appointed as a general counsel to my staff, Callah?" Calixte asked inquisitively, ignoring the ex-minister's question entirely. "Were I in your position, I would chagrin every time I was summoned."
"Fate chose a different path for me, m'lady," Aliyeva-Rasulzade said with a trace of sadness. "I have no regrets."
"I don't buy the lie you're selling, but I appreciate the attempt at creating a façade there," the Kozhukhina said respectfully, deciding to shift gears. "Perhaps we could put you to good use here on the Temple Mount."
"I'm more than ready to serve in whatever capacity you would have me to serve."
Calixte nodded politely, motioning for the minister plenipotentiary to follow with her along the length of the portico. "We have met our strategic objectives in short order," she began, "with respect to the transition to our new government ministries. But we haven't cleared every hurdle just yet, and the public will not blindly support us forever."
"M'lady?" Callah frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "Your public approval rating—such as it is—hasn't been this high since the Succession Crisis. You've begun to make the lives of your people better, and they love and worship you for it."
"I wish I could hold to that optimism," Calixte said with utter dejection, remembering in one shot the painful lessons she'd been taught during the Insurrection. "But in my experience, Pax Azuras only lasts for so long—we need to be prepared for any and all eventualities that could stunt our progress in the modernization campaign."
"What did you have in mind specifically, m'lady?" The ex-minister asked intently.
"Your old stomping grounds came to mind, personally: Karlikovaya," the Kozhukhina responded in short order, turning to face her directly. "We already have a large garrison being established in Alkharania; now with the new missions opening in the keys, the Pardesian powers are certain to take notice. We don't want to be caught unawares should regional threats present themselves."
"Karlikovaya is a strategic hub for our southern base of operations," Callah said with some concern; her olive skin flushing a bit. "And we are positioned very close to the Ross Archipelago and the Saint Viktor Islands—that's the CDI and the RCO, both on our doorstep. But we lack any real allies in the region, sans our dependencies."
Calixte nodded, building up to her ulterior purpose in calling her otuside. "That's why I want to place a call out to meet with the member-states of the Fellowship of Imperial Realms. We need to show the Pardesians that our Evenguard remains strong even now, but we also must show them the price for daring to challenge our rising hegemony throughout the region."
Callah slowly caught on to the logic, though its implications were not lost on her. "We establish some sort of diplomatic forum in Karlikovaya, inviting the leadership of the Fellowship to take part in a conference. It would certainly ruffle the feathers of our adversaries in Pardes, m'lady..."
"And it would give us the political cover we need to militarize the islands," Calixte added. "We know there's some type of military contingency on the archipelago, and Rodarion is bound to have a military presence in the Saint Viktor Islands."
"I believe it's a good plan, m'lady," Callah said respectfully, resolving the issue for the Kozhukhina.
"We don't have time to waste; the ball needs to get rolling quickly. Contact Loys Tumanyan in the Foreign Ministry, and have him prepare a communiqué to be dispatched privily. I want the wires sent out before nightfall to all pertinent parties."
Aliyeva-Razulzade bowed at the waist, placing a clenched fist over her heart. "It will done, Your Grace."
