After Claudia had left, only the soft clinking of porcelain remained in the VIP box for a moment.
Princess Indulan was standing by the small buffet when the door opened.
Anya entered.
She was still wearing the black mission outfit beneath her protective cloak of lead-spun fabric. Nothing remained of the emerald green of the reception.
“Ms Amasova,” said Indulan. “I was expecting you.”
“That is presumably unusual in monarchical circles.”
“Not always. Sometimes I just hope no one comes.”
Anya looked towards the buffet.
“So am I an inconvenience?”
“No. You come after Claudia. That is different.”
“More taxing?”
“More strategic.”
Anya helped herself to a Chinese bowl of vanilla pudding. “You have a remarkable way of turning defeats into gifts.”
“In Denmark, that’s sometimes called diplomacy.”
“In Moscow, it’s called safeguarding one’s position.”
Indulan took a slice of steamed pineapple.
“And in Havana, probably liberation.”
“In Havana, they’d probably call it: Paloma was quicker.”
For the first time, they both smiled at the same time.
Anya stepped up to the glass front. From up here, you could see the empty ice rink, the stands, the advertising hoardings, the place where cadets quoted Nestroy, children danced to Seegras, players fought for five goals, and a vanished physicist had delayed things for a whole night.
“You treated Stromberg very well,” said Anya.
“No,” said Indulan. “I transformed myself very well.”
“That’s a polite way of saying you went easy on him.”
“It’s a monarchical form of control.”
Anya looked at her.
“Monarchy is a peculiar system. A few decide for the many and call it tradition.”
“And collectivism?”
“Many work for many and call it the future.”
Indulan nodded slightly.
“That sounds nicer.”
“It’s also more correct.”
“Beauty and correctness are not the same thing.”
Anya took a bite of the pan-fried fig and marvelled at the buttery taste. “Beauty is often just a curtain for possession.”
“Sometimes,” said Indulan. “Sometimes it is also proof that people need more than bread, plans, tables and the next production quota.”
Anya leaned her shoulder against the window sill.
“That sounds like a sentence very rich people say when they want to explain why they need crystal chandeliers and workers have to be content with a tallow candle.”
“Perhaps. But poor people also decorate windows, graves, hair, festive occasions, bread and children’s clothes. Beauty isn’t the preserve of the rich. Rich people have simply bought it at a higher price.”
Anya was silent for a moment.
Indulan handed her a small plate of chocolates.
“Here. It’s easier to talk about ideology when you’re not hungry.”
“Lenin would have disagreed.”
“Lenin probably didn’t have Danish chocolates in front of him very often.”
Anya took a piece.
“You underestimate the Soviet Union.”
“No. I only underestimate states that believe people are more useful if they admire less.”
“Admiration is dangerous. It makes one imprecise.”
“Only if one confuses it with submission.”
Anya now looked at her more closely, like a woman who didn’t want to shoot down an unexpectedly good argument straight away.
“So you want to teach me to admire rich snobs?”
“No, but I’d like to invite you not to see only their ridiculousness.”
“That’s asking a lot.”
“Not of you.”
Indulan walked over to the desk beside the throne and opened the same drawer from which she had previously taken Claudia’s invitation to Riga. This time she pulled out a gold-coloured envelope. The paper shimmered warmly, almost oily, and bore an embossed coat of arms of pearls, waves and a stylised sun.
She handed it to Anya.
“Manama,” she said.
Anya took the envelope without opening it.
“Bahrain? In the Ottoman Empire?”
“A jewellery auction in aid of children in need. Very exclusive, overfunded, and a good place to learn that decadent empires can do some good too, if they want to. And probably full of people who will consider you politically useless. It’s a question of will, not money.”
Anya opened the envelope.
Inside lay an invitation on cream-coloured card:
Manama Pearl & Jewel Yardım Müzayedesi
Özel Kraliyet Ön Gösterimi
Çocuk Klinikleri ve Denizcilik Yardım Okulları Yararına
Beneath it was written by hand:
For Mrs Amasowa. So that beauty does not always remain suspect. — Indulan
Anya read it twice.
“They’re sending me to a jewellery auction.”
“Yes. It translates as: Pearls & Jewels Charity Auction, exclusive royal preview in aid of children’s hospitals and maritime aid schools.”
“To convert me politically?”
“No, but to prove to you that even very rich, very spoilt, very ridiculously dressed people can occasionally have a heart for humanitarian causes.”
Anya looked up.
“Occasionally.”
“I’m a monarchist, not a dreamer.”
Anya laughed softly. It was brief, but genuine.
“And what am I supposed to do there? Admire diamonds?”
“Gather observations: Manama is a place where oil, pearls, ships, banks, charity, old families and new power are all very closely intertwined. You do like rooms where lies speak several languages.”
Anya didn’t put the invitation away straight away.
“You know I won’t be going there just for pleasure.”
“Of course.”
“The Soviet Union is interested in the Gulf.”
“Everyone is interested in the Gulf. Some just admit it more elegantly.”
“And you’re giving me an invitation even though you know I’ll use it?”
Indulan took a second poached fig.
“You are more dangerous than your throne suggests.”
“My mother’s throne, and one day my brother’s, suggests nothing at all. It just stands there and makes guests nervous.”
“It doesn’t make you nervous.”
“I grew up with it. That takes some of the edge off any threat.”
Anya folded the invitation carefully and slipped it into the inside pocket of her cloak.
“I still believe in collectivism. I believe that beauty without justice is decoration for exploitation. And I don’t believe that a jewellery auction will save the world.”
“I actually hope so,” said Indulan. “The world shouldn’t be dependent on necklaces.”
Anya looked at her.
“But?”
“But perhaps a necklace can pay for a hospital.”
Anya nodded slowly.
“You argue skilfully.”
“I snack skilfully. The argument follows.”
Voices came from outside. Presumably the cadets, being brought back into line after the photo. Magnus laughed too loudly somewhere in the corridor, then was apparently told to keep quiet by Mutoi.
“Manama, then.”
“Manama.”
“Pearls, oil, rich snobs and needy children.”
“And probably someone hiding something.”
“Then the evening wouldn’t be wasted.”
Indulan smiled.
“See? Beauty and utility needn’t be enemies.”
“But they aren’t comrades either.”
“Not yet.”
Anya looked at her for a moment, then tilted her head: a nod of recognition between two women who both knew full well that friendliness could be a technique.
“Your Highness.”
“Ms Amasowa.”
Anya walked towards the door but paused briefly.
“If I find a rich snob with a heart in Manama, I’ll let you know.”
“Do that.”
“What if I only find rich snobs?”
“Then don’t buy anything!”
Anya smiled faintly.
Indulan remained alone in the red velvet box, took a slice of salmon from the buffet to mask the taste of the chocolates, and looked down at the ice as it grew darker. The arena was now almost empty, but somewhere beneath her lay enough secrets to keep several nations awake.
“Manama,” she said quietly. “You’ll like it, even if it remains uncollectable.”
And for the first time that evening, the word didn’t sound like an escape, but like the next very pleasant problem.
Volume 2: Cold moments in Copenhagen
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Table of Contents
The first conquest of Copenhagen The Second Conquest of Copenhagen The Third Conquest of Copenhagen Bearish Appearances The Disappearance Emerald-green seduction at the buffet Anya’s second offer The game in Suite 169 The waiting princess Sex instead of Puck The Entrance The Weapon The Portal Shane’s Rescue Attempt The Cold Comes of Its Own Accord Magnus stumbles into the car park Missing Neptunium Closed Gates The Goods Lift The Compromise Offer A Princess Receives Ilya’s Wish Claudia’s Timetable Anya’s Oily Alternative Ravn’s BanishmentAnya’s Oily Alternative
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by 3 Armored Kittens · Prodromos v.1.1 - World Anvil 0.9.15.049 © 2017-2025 [en] | Anvil Time: 00:01, May 22 2026