Amalia
For my part, I know nothing with any certainty
One by one they rise and write, casting votes to decide their future without (much) discussion or protest. Only Remi, surprisingly, has anything to argue, suggesting that the need for secrecy seems overdone. In another time, another place, Amalia might have agreed, would have been the first to advocate for openness and discourse, discussion and plans.But after last time? In this place? She would rather not invite conflict, not worsen the disaster they find themselves in.
She responds to the alchemist's reinforcement in kind, silently assuring him she does not take it personally. In response to his question, a simple reply: Jigano. He didn't enlist. It does not occur to her to keep this secret - they are allies here after all, already united by treasonous ties.
The baker looks at them all in turn as they deposit their votes into the bowl. So many are Outlanders, but there are Naturals, too, familiar faces from the market and workplace, masons and blacksmiths and priests. It gives her hope to see them here, cooperating, agreeing, to build something new. The last paper is entered by Rory, and Amalia smiles wanly at her friend, their expressions mirrored, a painful understanding that the world must change, and they must with it, as much as they wish they could stay.
It only takes a minute to count the papers, but the result is obvious from early on. Slowly, methodically, she lays out the scraps, making sure they can all see the results, that there are no accusations of favors or falsehoods. Before her lie twelve scraps of paper. Two bear a W.
Ten bear an R.
Turning to Ronin, Amalia nods, silently pleased with this result. "By popular vote- Ronin Taliesin, I yield to you the floor."
And then with a look he will understand: Don't fuck this up, star boy.
Take it away, Ronin!
but the sight of the stars makes me dream
