Politeness as a Blade

The clock in the main hall’s sitting room ticked so loudly. It always did. Amir and Baron Rictor Crowch sat across from each other. Sienna had never met Baron Rictor before now. He was a tall man, older than Amir - in his late thirties at least. Sienna stood in the corner as they began their conversation. He’d asked her to be here; to record their conversations. It appeared as if Baron Rictor was putting words in Amir’s mouth every time they spoke. False promises of more tax, fake provocations of compensation, fabricated agreements to a business deal that Amir hadn’t agreed upon. As soon as the Baron sat down his eyes found Sienna.

“She’s here as my scribe,” Amir said gently after reading the look in his eye. “For clarity’s sake.” Barron Rictor cleared his throat.

“Isn’t she the - ” he began to say, but he cut himself off after Amir’s gaze turned so sharp it could cut. Baron Rictor cleared his throat again, this time more deliberately, as though swallowing the end of his sentence. His gaze lingered on Sienna a moment too long, weighing her not as a girl, but as a liability. “She writes, then?” he asked with a small, patronizing smile. “Charming. I suppose every house has its… eccentricities.” Sienna didn’t blink.

She inked the date at the top of the page and waited for someone to speak. Amir leaned forward, resting one elbow casually on the armrest.

“She doesn’t just write. She records. Word for word.” Baron Rictor’s brows raised.

“A curious choice,” the Baron mused. “A noble child serving as scribe. Is she not of more… ceremonial use?”

“She’s useful exactly where I place her,” Amir replied, voice even. “Now, let’s return to the matter of land rights. You claimed we discussed a fifty-year lease?”

“Yes. During our supper in Khorvain, you told me - ” Amir cut him off again.

“I never agreed to such a thing,” he mentioned harshly, glancing at Sienna. A silent command to begin writing. “‘No such agreement took place. Lord Amir Oulteiar states clearly for the record: I never discussed a fifty-year lease. Nor would I.’” The only response was the crisp, steady scratching of her quill, interspersed with the rhythmic, dreadful ticking of the clock behind them. Baron Rictor’s jaw ticked once. Then again. It wasn’t just Amir’s dismissals - it was the sound of every word being memorialized, weaponized. The parchment was becoming a blade.

He leaned back in his chair with theatrical nonchalance, gaze skating to Sienna with thinly veiled disdain. Amir could immediately tell what he was thinking. She’s not even a real member of the Oultiear house. That’s what you’re thinking.

“Tell me,” he said, voice oiled with sarcasm, “does House Oulteiar always employ child scribes for state matters?” Sienna paused, her pen hovering just an inch from the parchment. Her expression remained neutral, but her shoulders tensed slightly, just enough for Amir to see it.

“Child scribes?” Amir chuckled, a deep smirk on his face. His brown eyes flicked to Sienna. “Go ahead and write that down too. Do be sure to note the tone of his voice when he said it.” Amir got up from his seat, coolly and looked Baron Rictor directly in the eye. "Child scribes, eh?”

He paused for a beat - just a moment before giving him a winsome grin. “Normally I wouldn’t mind a tongue that doesn’t know when to stop speaking. I deal with them every day. But to refer to my sister as a ‘child scribe’. . .” He circled behind the Baron’s chair. The Baron stiffened, unsure whether to turn or remain still. “My, you’re really towing the line. For your insight, I’ll offer you this.”

The air in the room dropped a few degrees. “This ‘child,’” Amir said coolly, leaning over the Baron’s seat and dipping his head low enough for his breath to brush the Baron’s ear. “Ensures my archives are clean, my reports accurate, and my treasury solvent. You may address her properly, or not at all.” Baron Rictor shifted in his seat, clearly not used to being corrected - let alone contradicted by a man who never once raised his voice. But Amir Oulteiar didn’t need volume. He had gravity.

He didn’t lean forward to intimidate, nor to loom. He did it to remind the Baron exactly where he was seated. The Oultiear house. His fingers steepled over the back of the chair that the Baron sat in, commanding the room, and the room listened, tilting toward him, as though the weight of his authority pulled the conversation into his orbit. Even the clock ticked slower when he fixed his gaze on someone. “We understand each other, don’t we, Rictor Crowch?”

“Perfectly,” he replied. He shivered as Amir walked back around and found his seat. Amir didn’t glance Sienna’s way again, just shook his head at the child scribe comment.

“I’m ready to resume the conversation when you are,” Amir said smoothly, settling back into his chair. Baron Rictor straightened his cuffs before answering.

“Of course,” he said, his voice carefully level now. Too level. “Let us speak plainly then, Lord Amir. The matter of the fifty-year lease may be in dispute, but surely there’s no contention over the timber rights in the Fardane stretch?” Amir leaned forward slightly and nodded.

“No, no contention there,” he said smoothly, smirk leaving his face. “It’s still part of the duchy, so you have full rights considering it’s in your territory. That, we did discuss.” Baron Rictor’s eyes gleamed, just faintly.

“Then I’ll proceed with the expansion. We’ve already begun logging deeper into the treeline.” Amir’s brow lifted, just enough to be noticeable.

“Deeper?” he echoed. “As in... beyond the Myrrhline?” Rictor stilled for a breath and glanced at Sienna. Still writing.

“There’s ambiguity along that border,” he said, too quickly. “Surveyors marked the forest line incorrectly a decade ago. I'm simply... correcting the record.”

“Ah,” Amir murmured. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I dispatch my own surveyors to verify the corrections. We wouldn’t want misunderstandings to persist.” Rictor’s jaw tightened, but he gave a measured nod.

“Of course.” Sienna’s quill scratched against the parchment again. She kept her expression neutral, but inwardly she marveled at the way Amir lured men into traps built from politeness and ink. Amir smirked as he continued, voice still measured.

“For the record, Baron Rictor Crowch confirms that he has commenced timber operations near the Myrrhline border and asserts that it falls within his rightful territory. He consents to a secondary survey to reaffirm said claim.” Sienna wrote as he spoke, the words crisp and clean. Rictor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Is that all, sir?” Baron Rictor nodded his head.

“I believe that is all I wanted to discuss. Thank you for the summons, Lord Amir,” he said politely. Amir nodded and Baron Rictor turned to leave.

“Oh, one more thing, Crowch,” Amir called, catching him at the door. “I’d advise you to stop invoking dinners we never had.” His eyes were steely, and they did not sway from the Baron at all. Baron Rictor nodded and bowed stiffly. Amir’s smirk returned. “Have a good evening.” Sienna dipped the quill, and the door closed like a casket.