06-09-2023, 12:48 AM
Robinson Rooms, Royal Palace, Zongongia
“Mum, who was my father?”
Carmen Robinson almost spat out her tea at Natasha’s question. It was something of a taboo for a Daughter of the Council to ask – not that Natasha held that title any longer. If you didn’t come from a family which kept the father around illegally, most Daughters never discovered the answer to that question, and often it went unasked.
“Why do you ask?” Carmen replied after she managed to prevent herself choking on her tea and biscuits.
“All the others can trace both sides of their family back to pre-Founding,” Natasha shrugged, using the Kerlian term for prior to 1924. “The other teenagers here, I mean.”
“Zongongian nobility, you mean,” Carmen sighed. “You and Imogen were both conceived via IVF from a sperm donor. I neither wished to use some man who wouldn’t be allowed to stick around, nor endanger him through the other route. If you want to discover his lineage to impress that gaggle of overdressed fools, you’ll have to contact Council Family Services. If they’ll take your call.”
“Were we from the same donor? Imogen and me?”
“I don’t know, Natasha,” Carmen shook her head. “I wanted to know as little as I possibly could, given the circumstances. I was born into my mother’s plans, the ones that led to, well, this. Anyone associated with me would be in danger.”
“Great,” Natasha said sarcastically. “So, my father could’ve been anyone from anywhere.”
This was indeed true. Natasha was as mixed-race as one could get. It was another reason why she was trying so desperately to fit in with the Zongongian noble teenagers who hung around the Palace like moths to a flame. They were, for the most part, vain and selfish beings whose ideas of gender relations were probably not dissimilar to those of the pre-Founding ancestors they could name so easily. They were also racist, as much as the Zongongian monarchy was using the Robinsons to seem like they weren’t.
“Natasha, why does it matter so much?” Carmen asked, exasperated at the way her daughter had begun to behave since their exile from Kerlile. “Is this about that prince of yours? How serious is your relationship?”
“Mum, I like Kristofer,” Natasha stood up, slamming down her empty teacup and pacing over to the window. “Why do you disapprove so much?”
“Natasha, I have nothing against Kristofer the person,” Carmen pushed herself up with difficulty, though it was easier every day, and went to stand next to her daughter. “But he is the Crown Prince. Any long-term relationship with such a person in this country would be unlike anything that exists in Kerlile. There’s no way you could cohabit without marriage for one thing; and in marriage you would be expected to take his name, dress up like the others every single day, and act like, well.”
“The opposite of a Kerlian, you mean,” Natasha laughed. “Mother, you are the chief reformist; or were, anyway. Why do you care if I take a man’s name, wear makeup daily, and act like a good patriarchal wife?”
“Is this some kind of teenage rebellion?” Carmen scoffed. “You know fine well that reform isn’t about bringing back the patriarchy. Or have you been reading Women’s Party propaganda for entertainment? I listen to you talk like this and worry that I picked the wrong side, sometimes! If this is what we’re up against, perhaps Kerlile does indeed need the supposed guidance of the Council!”
“I don’t think I’m the one who’s been reading propaganda,” Natasha replied.
“Daughter,” Carmen snapped finally. “Do you honestly think Zongongians would accept a Kerlian as Queen? Because Kristofer will be King one day. If you marry him, you’ll both end up getting strung up by an angry republican mob.”
“This isn’t the nineteenth century,” Natasha laughed. “But whatever.”
Then, she turned and walked away out of her mother’s rooms and along to her own down the hallway that she now shared with Camille Pierre. She entered her en-suite bathroom, locked the door, checked the lock, and then reached up on top of the cabinet behind the mirror. She pulled down the pregnancy test again, with its positive markings, and stared at it for a long time.
*
King’s Meeting Room, Royal Palace, Zongongia
“What would you have me do, Prime Minister?” the King of Zongongia asked Ivan Kristensen.
“You have seven Kerlians here, one of whom is pregnant. There is an eighth in hospital, in a coma recovering from,” he looked down at his notes, “being tortured by her own mother. Surely you understand that this situation is untenable. It was one thing when it was the Robinson trio, but now we have a pregnant Xia Chiu plus two children, and a loose thirteen-year-old Pierre officially in the care of the just-turned-eighteen Natasha. Do you think it will end here? This is becoming the go-to place for Kerlian political exiles.”
“The majority of those ‘political exiles’ are, I will remind you, children. Would you truly consider deporting them back to Kerlile? What about the boy? He’s a Lauchenoirian citizen, but his mother and sister are not. Would you send a two-year-old to Lauchenoiria alone?” the King asked.
“You know fine well that’s not what I’m asking!” Kristensen snapped. “I’m already hearing rumours that your eldest son, the Crown Prince, is infatuated with Natasha Robinson. I hope for your sake they are false. We both know that won’t look good. It’s beginning to look like Republic Now! Will win seats in September’s election.”
“Is that a threat, Prime Minister?” the King asked, but he chuckled, shaking his head to indicate that he intended it as a joke. “Look, I understand that more Kerlians is a political problem. Still, there’s nothing we can do. I don’t think we need to worry about a flood; the only other Kerlian likely to join them is Olivia Pierre. It will be fine.”
“Fine,” sighed Kristensen. “Keep your Kerlian collection. But on your own head be it!”
*
Royal Stables, Zongongia
Eight-year-old Jia Chiu was recounting the story of how she managed to successfully flee Kerlile on horseback accompanied by a toddler to Imogen Robinson and Camille Pierre, with added demonstrations as she groomed her horse. The pair had already heard this story several times by now, but Jia was still surprised she pulled it off.
“And then we crossed the border and the Zongongians jumped up and out of the way. They thought it was a wild horse at first but then they saw me and Cheung. Then they pulled out their guns, then they saw we were kids and put them away, and then I showed them our passports and then they…”
“Quick, hide!” Imogen said suddenly, pulling Camille into the stall with them, closing over the door and ducking down.
“What are we hiding from?” Jia whispered. She did as instructed however. Given her recent experiences, such a command was one to be heeded. Just in case.
“Males,” Imogen hissed. “Teenage male humans.”
“Um, okay,” Jia said. Camille rolled her eyes and went to get up, but Imogen pulled her back down.
“You haven’t been here long, Jia, so let me educate you,” Imogen whispered, keeping an iron grip on Camille’s arm. “Everything you were taught in Kerlile is true, kind of. The patriarchy is real, and it is alive. It is here, all around us. They make comments. They expect us to dress up fancy and wear a different thing every day. They don’t make girls clothes with pockets. Stay away from the males!”
“Um, isn’t your mum a huge reformist?” Jia asked.
“Let me tell you a story,” Imogen said.
“Let go, you’re hurting me,” Camille hissed. The thirteen-year-old was still recovering from her Alt-Ed ordeal and the last thing she wanted to hear was Kerlian propaganda.
“The King has a son my age: his third son; fifth kid. He’s the most annoying boy to ever exist. He pulls my hair all the time. When I told the tutor, he laughed at me and replied with ‘that just means he likes you’! That is literally on the list of phrases warned about in the Kerlian Foreign Travel Guide! And also, when the boys run around and get dirty, the adults don’t care, but if a girl has so much as a speck of dust on her clothes she gets told off. I really, really wish I could go back to Kerlile.”
Imogen burst into tears all of a sudden, finally letting go of Camille, who fell back onto the hay. The teenager groaned, looking at the crying eleven-year-old and unsure what to do in this situation.
“Hey, Imogen, it’s okay,” Jia said, hugging the older girl. Camille could only watch. Anything she could possibly say would only make matters worse. Camille despised the Matriarchy, and the thought that Imogen wanted to go back disgusted her. So, she stood up and quietly slipped out of the stall while Jia tried to comfort Imogen.
About ten minutes later, Imogen managed to stop crying when Jia distracted her by getting her to help groom the horse. Imogen had no idea what she was doing, as horses were more her sister’s area. It took a while, and then they cleaned up and walked back to the Chiu rooms. Xia and Cheung weren’t present: she had another hospital appointment about her pregnancy and had taken the toddler. Jia went into the bathroom to wash while Imogen waited by the window.
When Imogen heard the shower switch on, she pulled out her old Kerlian phone that she’d charged up several days ago. She looked at it again, still undecided about whether or not she would send the message she was considering. She stared, but when the shower went off, she quickly hid the phone away again and stared out of the window, thinking.
“Mum, who was my father?”
Carmen Robinson almost spat out her tea at Natasha’s question. It was something of a taboo for a Daughter of the Council to ask – not that Natasha held that title any longer. If you didn’t come from a family which kept the father around illegally, most Daughters never discovered the answer to that question, and often it went unasked.
“Why do you ask?” Carmen replied after she managed to prevent herself choking on her tea and biscuits.
“All the others can trace both sides of their family back to pre-Founding,” Natasha shrugged, using the Kerlian term for prior to 1924. “The other teenagers here, I mean.”
“Zongongian nobility, you mean,” Carmen sighed. “You and Imogen were both conceived via IVF from a sperm donor. I neither wished to use some man who wouldn’t be allowed to stick around, nor endanger him through the other route. If you want to discover his lineage to impress that gaggle of overdressed fools, you’ll have to contact Council Family Services. If they’ll take your call.”
“Were we from the same donor? Imogen and me?”
“I don’t know, Natasha,” Carmen shook her head. “I wanted to know as little as I possibly could, given the circumstances. I was born into my mother’s plans, the ones that led to, well, this. Anyone associated with me would be in danger.”
“Great,” Natasha said sarcastically. “So, my father could’ve been anyone from anywhere.”
This was indeed true. Natasha was as mixed-race as one could get. It was another reason why she was trying so desperately to fit in with the Zongongian noble teenagers who hung around the Palace like moths to a flame. They were, for the most part, vain and selfish beings whose ideas of gender relations were probably not dissimilar to those of the pre-Founding ancestors they could name so easily. They were also racist, as much as the Zongongian monarchy was using the Robinsons to seem like they weren’t.
“Natasha, why does it matter so much?” Carmen asked, exasperated at the way her daughter had begun to behave since their exile from Kerlile. “Is this about that prince of yours? How serious is your relationship?”
“Mum, I like Kristofer,” Natasha stood up, slamming down her empty teacup and pacing over to the window. “Why do you disapprove so much?”
“Natasha, I have nothing against Kristofer the person,” Carmen pushed herself up with difficulty, though it was easier every day, and went to stand next to her daughter. “But he is the Crown Prince. Any long-term relationship with such a person in this country would be unlike anything that exists in Kerlile. There’s no way you could cohabit without marriage for one thing; and in marriage you would be expected to take his name, dress up like the others every single day, and act like, well.”
“The opposite of a Kerlian, you mean,” Natasha laughed. “Mother, you are the chief reformist; or were, anyway. Why do you care if I take a man’s name, wear makeup daily, and act like a good patriarchal wife?”
“Is this some kind of teenage rebellion?” Carmen scoffed. “You know fine well that reform isn’t about bringing back the patriarchy. Or have you been reading Women’s Party propaganda for entertainment? I listen to you talk like this and worry that I picked the wrong side, sometimes! If this is what we’re up against, perhaps Kerlile does indeed need the supposed guidance of the Council!”
“I don’t think I’m the one who’s been reading propaganda,” Natasha replied.
“Daughter,” Carmen snapped finally. “Do you honestly think Zongongians would accept a Kerlian as Queen? Because Kristofer will be King one day. If you marry him, you’ll both end up getting strung up by an angry republican mob.”
“This isn’t the nineteenth century,” Natasha laughed. “But whatever.”
Then, she turned and walked away out of her mother’s rooms and along to her own down the hallway that she now shared with Camille Pierre. She entered her en-suite bathroom, locked the door, checked the lock, and then reached up on top of the cabinet behind the mirror. She pulled down the pregnancy test again, with its positive markings, and stared at it for a long time.
*
King’s Meeting Room, Royal Palace, Zongongia
“What would you have me do, Prime Minister?” the King of Zongongia asked Ivan Kristensen.
“You have seven Kerlians here, one of whom is pregnant. There is an eighth in hospital, in a coma recovering from,” he looked down at his notes, “being tortured by her own mother. Surely you understand that this situation is untenable. It was one thing when it was the Robinson trio, but now we have a pregnant Xia Chiu plus two children, and a loose thirteen-year-old Pierre officially in the care of the just-turned-eighteen Natasha. Do you think it will end here? This is becoming the go-to place for Kerlian political exiles.”
“The majority of those ‘political exiles’ are, I will remind you, children. Would you truly consider deporting them back to Kerlile? What about the boy? He’s a Lauchenoirian citizen, but his mother and sister are not. Would you send a two-year-old to Lauchenoiria alone?” the King asked.
“You know fine well that’s not what I’m asking!” Kristensen snapped. “I’m already hearing rumours that your eldest son, the Crown Prince, is infatuated with Natasha Robinson. I hope for your sake they are false. We both know that won’t look good. It’s beginning to look like Republic Now! Will win seats in September’s election.”
“Is that a threat, Prime Minister?” the King asked, but he chuckled, shaking his head to indicate that he intended it as a joke. “Look, I understand that more Kerlians is a political problem. Still, there’s nothing we can do. I don’t think we need to worry about a flood; the only other Kerlian likely to join them is Olivia Pierre. It will be fine.”
“Fine,” sighed Kristensen. “Keep your Kerlian collection. But on your own head be it!”
*
Royal Stables, Zongongia
Eight-year-old Jia Chiu was recounting the story of how she managed to successfully flee Kerlile on horseback accompanied by a toddler to Imogen Robinson and Camille Pierre, with added demonstrations as she groomed her horse. The pair had already heard this story several times by now, but Jia was still surprised she pulled it off.
“And then we crossed the border and the Zongongians jumped up and out of the way. They thought it was a wild horse at first but then they saw me and Cheung. Then they pulled out their guns, then they saw we were kids and put them away, and then I showed them our passports and then they…”
“Quick, hide!” Imogen said suddenly, pulling Camille into the stall with them, closing over the door and ducking down.
“What are we hiding from?” Jia whispered. She did as instructed however. Given her recent experiences, such a command was one to be heeded. Just in case.
“Males,” Imogen hissed. “Teenage male humans.”
“Um, okay,” Jia said. Camille rolled her eyes and went to get up, but Imogen pulled her back down.
“You haven’t been here long, Jia, so let me educate you,” Imogen whispered, keeping an iron grip on Camille’s arm. “Everything you were taught in Kerlile is true, kind of. The patriarchy is real, and it is alive. It is here, all around us. They make comments. They expect us to dress up fancy and wear a different thing every day. They don’t make girls clothes with pockets. Stay away from the males!”
“Um, isn’t your mum a huge reformist?” Jia asked.
“Let me tell you a story,” Imogen said.
“Let go, you’re hurting me,” Camille hissed. The thirteen-year-old was still recovering from her Alt-Ed ordeal and the last thing she wanted to hear was Kerlian propaganda.
“The King has a son my age: his third son; fifth kid. He’s the most annoying boy to ever exist. He pulls my hair all the time. When I told the tutor, he laughed at me and replied with ‘that just means he likes you’! That is literally on the list of phrases warned about in the Kerlian Foreign Travel Guide! And also, when the boys run around and get dirty, the adults don’t care, but if a girl has so much as a speck of dust on her clothes she gets told off. I really, really wish I could go back to Kerlile.”
Imogen burst into tears all of a sudden, finally letting go of Camille, who fell back onto the hay. The teenager groaned, looking at the crying eleven-year-old and unsure what to do in this situation.
“Hey, Imogen, it’s okay,” Jia said, hugging the older girl. Camille could only watch. Anything she could possibly say would only make matters worse. Camille despised the Matriarchy, and the thought that Imogen wanted to go back disgusted her. So, she stood up and quietly slipped out of the stall while Jia tried to comfort Imogen.
About ten minutes later, Imogen managed to stop crying when Jia distracted her by getting her to help groom the horse. Imogen had no idea what she was doing, as horses were more her sister’s area. It took a while, and then they cleaned up and walked back to the Chiu rooms. Xia and Cheung weren’t present: she had another hospital appointment about her pregnancy and had taken the toddler. Jia went into the bathroom to wash while Imogen waited by the window.
When Imogen heard the shower switch on, she pulled out her old Kerlian phone that she’d charged up several days ago. She looked at it again, still undecided about whether or not she would send the message she was considering. She stared, but when the shower went off, she quickly hid the phone away again and stared out of the window, thinking.
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax