New day, new problems. The Sijarkes thought so as Nubejul set down crates unreasonably filled to the brim with scrolls.
"Here they are, Domma Sijarkes. These were all sent by the Margijer's Du Quam." He gestured proudly to the rest of the Tirkju'a's Chambers, to mountains upon mountains of crates and scrolls— the tasks left abandoned by the Tirkju'a in the last two years.
The Sijarkes gulped audibly. "The last two years, huh?"
Toruaz materialized from behind a curtain, checking off items in his list. "Yes. The rest shall arrive over the next few periods. For now, I suggest you work at this at a constant pace so we keep to the timeline."
Due to the lack of a response, Toruaz shot her a look of concern. He found the Sijarkes staring dumbfoundedly at their expectations for her.
"I didn't expect it to be...this much!" The Sijarkes cried out with gritted teeth, cringing at the prospect of having nothing better to do than sit all day; she'd been doing the exact same thing in Katill Broiis! At this point, she might just end up doing it all her life.
"Oh, but this is not even an exact estimate of how much the Tirkju'a does in a period, Domma Sijarkes."
"I know, I know. But...," the Sijarkes gestured wildly in an attempt to find the words to express her annoyance. "But this? This totally beats the amount of work I had to do in a period back in Katill Broiis!"
Nubejul gave Toruaz a playful glance as the scribe tilted his head, attempting to understand where she's coming from. Knowing Toruaz would not put in a comment, he decided to leave his own encouragements. "Wait 'til the end of the year, Domma Sijarkes." And of course, his pep talk style was tied with a fascination for something of a larger consequence. "I witnessed the Tirkju'a power through scrolls of this quantity, five—no, six!—six at a time! It was incredible! Truly a sight to behold!
It does not always work with the Sijarkes whose outlook on life is entirely focused on herself alone.
"But I'm not—"
Unwilling to admit to her incapabilities, the Sijarkes shook her head, shutting her mouth. She turned instead to Toruaz in search of rapport. "He can't be serious, right? The Tirkju'a probably didn't read them well. I bet all that was for show."
"Don't worry. You've plenty of time," Toruaz said gently. She could only groan in frustration, stumbling back to her throne and throwing herself over.
"...Domma Sijarkes?" Nubejul approached in concern.
"I'm quite used to this, I swear. The Tirkju'a made sure of that." The Sijarkes rolled over, running her hands through her face, eager to tear it off. "But, I don't think it's fair to dump this on me now that I'm practically the Tirkju'a as well."
She looked around the room, taking in the apocalyptic view. From her cushioned seat, she could see the hall extend far beyond, to a curtained exit leading down to the rest of the temple. The entrance to the Tirkju'a's chambers was situated high. It had taken huge amount of work to move all these crates before her. But now that they were here, she'd lost all interest. But she had to do him credit for his rather minimalistic taste, there was still space for more.
And if there was space for more, her court might squeeze in extras. As unbearable as it sounds, the Sijarkes knew she can't keep running from the problem.
"It comes with the position." The Principal Scribe said all too suddenly, catching the Sijarkes off guard from her trail of thought. She could feel Nubejul's nerves rising.
"Domma Sijarkes, the Principal Scribe will attend to these as soon as possible." He was quick to save, bowing respectfully, side glancing Toruaz to see if he'd do the same.
The pale scribe did not. "I did not mean to challenge you in any way."
The Du Quam would get a word in, she just knew it. So the Sijarkes stood up, brows furrowed as she raised a chalice. "No, no. He's right. I am the Tirkju'a now, that is true." She nodded her head a couple of times, willing Nubejul to come forward and pour her a drink which Toruaz could not even picture was fit for someone who looked to be about her age. Though, Nubejul was having his own struggle as well, what with the Sijarkes moving her hand around, his levitation trick on the wine jug could only do so much.
"And as the new Tirkju'a I am obligated to see through all these matters," She said with the airs and grace of a monarch. As much as she'd like to get this whole backlog over with as soon as possible, she can't prove she's any better than the original Tirkju'a if she won't prove to be anything noteworthy on her first few months in rule. It was a shallow idea but that's how it worked. There will be talk.
"For the time being, our most pressing concern at hand is regarding the increasing backlog of....whatever's needed to be addressed and resolved—but wasn't—by a missing comrade." She rolled her eyes internally, annoyed at having to make such a fact clear first. But it was necessary. She had to walk her subordinates through to reach her conclusion; that to show Katill Broiis and the Order how she's not afraid to take action.
"So I'm entrusting you this task, Lord Rozkamoro. This backlog is all yours." She gave him a generous, inviting smile, which he never liked, but was sure he now hated. This was her grand conclusion, her grand solution.
Toruaz and Nubejul stared at her in disbelief. Her antics had begun to be difficult to differentiate from the truth.
"Are you going to say no? You can read, can't you?"
"Yes. But all these have to be reviewed by—" Toruaz stuttered.
"-IT COMES WITH THE POSITION! HAH!" The Sijarkes shouted at his face, revealing her fangs, long and thin, transparent in this lighting. She tilted her head after the vulgar outburst, appearing challenged. "This should be no problem for you, right?"
Toruaz took a pause. "Yes, Domma Sijarkes."
The Sijarkes claps in glee.
"Then good. That's perfect. I expect nothing less from a State Governor's son, alright?" She helped herself to a few grapes, throwing it up in the air to land in her mouth.
"—late State Governor, Domma Sijarkes…" Nubejul interjected rather meekly, afraid of causing offense to either.
"Right." The Sijarkes said with a mouthful of grapes. "I'll deal with the big ones so just go finish off the small ones. Do it now." She knew this Scribe was not as easy as he looked. He's got spirit. He just doesn't seem to know where to put it. But spirit goes hand in hand with a good, well-supported spine, and well...
He seems the unfortunate kind.
"This is a task that ultimately falls unto your hands as the new Tirkju'a," Toruaz said firmly, just as the Sijarkes was beginning to lay back on her seat. "I cannot simply take it upon myself to decide what's truly appropriate for those that fall under your jurisdiction, especially at this time."
As the Sijarkes unleashed a—somehow immune to choking—grape-mouthful rant on Toruaz about respecting his elders, Nubejul stepped back, looking about the room to see where he could pitch in some help at least. If they would keep arguing like that, nothing would get done, the Sijarkes knew that. But the scribe had to be dealt with.
Nubejul knew she needed the interaction anyway.
And there, among the piles, almost invisible if it weren't for the harsh temptation of a reflection it shone back, was a scroll so golden that Nubejul felt his jaw slacking at his discovery.
"Gold lining?"