Chapter 14.2

The Sijarkes Has a New Playground

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"Du Quam Tavhaii, come here and tell me," the Sijarkes said in that strange slithery tone of hers as she slipped behind a silk screen to dress. "How would the Margijer address her people? How does she capture their interest and twist and beat them around like egg yolks on a bowl?"

"She lets her Du Quam Kedrik do all the talking, Domma Sijarkes," replied her Du Quam Tavhaii from afar.

"Oh."

An awkward pause.

Toruaz swore that the Sijarkes took her time for a decent reply. There wasn't much anyway, seeing as she had led them already to her dressing room, pushing the inauguration ceremony further up the timeline and letting the temple Quams deal with the rush.

The Du Quam Tavhaii had already prepared her ceremonial robes made to match his. In some way, Du Quams were contracted in a 300-year long marriage with their respective Dommes or Dommas. But Toruaz was sure this 'marriage' would be nothing more than a relationship between a brat and her pet. The Sijarkes made no other expectations clear.

"Well, I shouldn't let you do that on this occasion. But you have to stay close to me in case I forget something." She stuck a hand out, wiggling it. Nubejul handed the decorated golden gown he had chosen for her.

Toruaz sat far away, but watched closely from his seat by the window. On the way to the Tirkju'a's chambers, she'd given them a rundown of her rules, especially since they would be her constant companions. He tried not to mind her appearance, peculiar as it may be. Most disturbing of all were her eyes, he had to admit. It reminded him of parrots—like Moluccan cockatoos, to be specific, but without the iris. Just the whites.

And where was her tail? Were the murals wrong?

As far as he knew, Dommes do not have the ability to shift. But she might have it. The murals can't be wrong—unless they had been inaccurate all along.

"Du Quam, my headdress. Careful, careful. This is worth your entire family lineage." The Sijarkes took her headdress, still hidden from him and Nubejul's sight. She must have a true form, one she could not take during her sea travel.

"So what I think I'll do is that," she paused. She made a few noises. "Alright, so I'm going to have to imagine the crowd naked. I read about it somewhere."

"That helps," Nubejul affirmed. He must have read about that technique also. "But keep in mind: poise and a delivery full of conviction. That is how you establish yourself to a crowd, with them naked or otherwise." He tried to be helpful.

"Y'know, for some reason, the Tirkju'a didn't like images of bare naked people. Back then, the people of Gu'ambiss pretty much went bare. You can see their figure from beneath their clothes is what I'm saying."

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"Have you seen the murals on the Margijer's chambers, Domme Sijarkes?"

"Oh, the people on those murals should've been practically naked."

"It was the Tirkju'a who had those paintings redone."

The Sijarkes huffed, poking her head out of the silk screen, her visage elongated and bedazzled by an overbearing headdress made of gold. A preference, as Toruaz could gather. All must be dipped in shades of gold.

She exits the silk screen, now dressed up exactly how Toruaz expected. "Was he that intrusive with the Margijer's side? Like, who cares?" She stretched her arms to emphasize her point. A vase got knocked over. It shattered. Nubejul and Toruaz stared.

"Goddammit," She growled. "How much was that worth?"

"About 500 o'aras, of jades." Nubejul said slowly, careful of his demeanor. The amount itself was enough to buy a house on the outskirts of Gu'ambiss. Toruaz winced internally, thinking back on the property of which his uncle had helped him acquire, on the very northern countryside of Gu'ambiss, a place for him to settle into middle age. It costed them just as much.

He could admire Nubejul's manner of addressing the vase's worth; maybe he had much to learn from Nubejul and his perfect manners.

"I need to get that cheap shit replaced. Someone write that down." That was his cue. As he shuffled for some paper and quill he'd brought, something flew past. He looked up in alarm.

"Is that your speech manuscript, Domma Sijarkes?" Nubejul looked in interest.

The Sijarkes had unrolled a long piece of parchment covered in her writings.

"Uh huh. I wrote it on the way," the Sijarkes said proudly as she made her way behind the silk screen. "Be done in a bit. So come over here and set my tail straight." There it was. The moment of truth. Nubejul went and did as the Sijarkes commanded.

Dommes come in a variety of forms, some with wings, some with tails—or both. Toruaz had seen only four Dommes in his life: the old titan Tirkju'a, with the wings and a tired disposition; the Margijer, a rather surly toad with no love for others but herself; the Avigrijer, only from afar, he could still remember the locks of his mane and the strength in his wings; and then the Oranseh, veiled and silent, almost ghostly in his demeanor. He had never seen the Lugsoranno before.

The Sijarkes reveals herself once again, followed shortly by Nubejul, dragging behind a tail skirt. Toruaz rested back, confused.

"What's wrong, dog? Missing out on the glory?" the Sijarkes gave him a smug look. She looked him over, her expression turning sour. "Ew. Du Quam, is there anything to be done with this attire of his?"

"There are laws dictating what he can wear in the temple, Domma Sijarkes. I'm afraid he'll have to miss out on the gold, for now."

The Sijarkes looked like she was about to throw a fit. Nubejul watched them both, anticipating a reaction.

The Sijarkes shrugged. "The Du Quams aren't staying young forever." Then she walked off, fully decked and built like a golden statue. Toruaz isn't sure how she could manage having multiple articles of robes hanging over her shoulders in this Ambissan heat.

Nubejul nodded to Toruaz as he strutted after the Sijarkes. "Lord Rozkamoro, you follow behind the Domma Sijarkes at a constant distance of five feet. I walk ahead of her as per custom. Should there be anything that concerns you, simply stomp a foot twice."

The sound of the cheering crowd erupted from outside. Toruaz and Nubejul looked over simultaneously.

"This is it," Nubejul gasped. He skipped ahead of the Sijarkes and readjusted her headdress using his staff as they rushed to the balcony. "Steady now, Domma Sijarkes."

"Why'd you build this tower of a headdress?" the Sijarkes barked.

"You won't need to speak a word. Neither of us do." Nubejul said to Toruaz, now walking backwards as he readjusted the Sijarkes' attire.

"Sounds about right." The Sijarkes mused.

Together, they stepped out unto the balcony from which the Sijarkes was to deliver her inaugural address and make an appearance to all of Ori'ehem.