A Little Chat [Vasiliev Party]

[Nesrin Aziz]

The compliment, and that’s how she took it, prompted the shadow of her own smile. She was surprised at the glow recognition left inside. Nesrin was accustomed to being unseen; excelled at it. Such self-reliance never paused to consider the opinions of others, and she’d certainly never had parents to make proud. Even Balthazar did not know her true nature, for all that he might assume they were close. Nor did Nesrin desire that kind of connection, familial or otherwise. Yet neither could she say it left her unmoved.

“I’ve learned to be resourceful,” she admitted. She did not choose to say it with humility, or apology. The confidence was well earned for all her unassuming manner. Whatever he might come to make of her past – presuming it was something he even ever learned – Nesrin only saw it as the fires from which she had been forged. Perhaps she would have shared more if she’d imagined it might leverage a useful sympathy. Possibly it would only cast aspersions though. For now his curiosity was more to her benefit. “And it was the only way for me to get answers.”

He finally sat. Nesrin felt some relief, though she wished she knew if it was out of respect for her mother’s memory or if it spoke something of his intentions. It didn’t seem he had known about her existence, but he clearly had reason enough to believe it possible. In his poise and thoughtful expression he gave precious little away, and she was accustomed to being able to more easily read people. Was he simply placating the feelings of an orphan, the same way he might kiss a baby to charm the cameras? Or did his presence reveal a knot of obligation she might pull tighter and to her own ends? That he met with her at all was enough to spin to her advantage in the circles Nesrin ran. Rumour was powerful. More powerful than truth a lot of the time. She had what she needed – enough to frame a useful narrative. So why did she still feel tendrils of anxiety?

For a brief moment she considered what she wanted from this, but no clear answer was forthcoming when it involved emotions she’d rather not dwell on. She knew what the Asquiths wanted her to do, of course, but Nesrin’s loyalties were not so easily won. She used them as much as they used her. And now she was here, it was solely for herself.

When he answered, a little interested hope stirred in her expression, albeit tempered quickly. She swallowed the disappointment down. The words were generic, for all that he shared them thoughtfully. Her heart ached for how little it told her, and she put a cage around the emotion. It wasn’t like she had expected to learn their liaison had been anything more than ephemera – the ease with which his people had swept her into this private room in the middle of a very large party spoke for itself really. Which meant he was probably being kind to the girl with a dead mother.

“I never knew her, only of her; she died when I was a baby. I’m sorry if you didn’t know that. Lots of people died in the earthquakes that year – I grew up in Cairo.” Her gaze had taken a break from his, unwilling to share the crests of emotion within. Mariam. She didn’t miss her mother – there was nothing to miss – but she was a talisman Nesrin had gripped fiercely at many terrifying points in her life. It wasn’t sadness she felt in reflection, but it was certainly a kind of grief. If he chose, there would be plenty of time to shade in the story of her life. But until she could read him better, she was cautious of committing herself to what kind of daughter she would ultimately prefer he perceived of her. At least he showed interest. She just couldn’t decide if it was perfunctory.

“My name is Nesrin,” she told him, glad he chose to ask. She took a breath, as though she had intended to ask more, but stopped herself on the cusp. She bit her lip, and then schooled herself to patience, though clearly the curiosity continued to burn. He acknowledged the ingenuity that had engineered their meeting, and if her competency was the hook to bait him she would certainly make use of it. But for now it was important he felt like he retained control. He wasn’t a man to be led by emotion, and she wagered nothing she could say to forge a connection would have proper impact until he knew the truth of their blood. A truth she couldn’t actually be sure about, but the odds felt favourable; it was a risk she was content to take in the circumstance. “You have my consent for any test that is needed. Perhaps it is better if we first know the truth.” Though would he want to know? She still wasn’t sure, and it showed honestly. “What will happen next?”