Widow
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Cynan Obaith
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Vitaly Antantonio
Well-spoken and well-acquainted with grief, the distinct Nabooian accent distinguishing Lord Cynan’s words. A flicker of something like disapproval flashed over his structured face before smoothing back into appropriate solemnity and genuine sympathy.
Not well-acquainted with Epican history, it seemed.
Calypso looked down at her hands then over at the casket and then returned her gaze to the nobleman. “Yes, thank you. If you’d be so kind to leave that information with one of our footman droids . . . You have our thanks.”
Senator Vitaly Antantonio approached in that moment, greeting her in the traditional style still favored among Epican nobility and old houses. Whether he meant to ambush her with both the traditional greeting and native tongue or he meant to establish Epican cultural unity in front of an outsider did not matter to Calypso.
She would match him.
“Senatore Antantonio,” Calypso said, receiving him. “Ci onori della tua presenza. Grazie per le tue gentili parole in questo momento di lutto.”
Lord Cynan excused himself as the senator continued and offered his support. A grieving widow she may be, Calypso had flung herself into the deep end of Epican politics. She knew when an opportunity was being presented. She also knew when that opportunity was likely a double-edged blade.
Still, she’d rather take the blade offered openly than take it in the back later.
“Truly, thank you, Senator,” she said again. “We are in the middle of going through my late husband’s effects but it seems as though he had planned on scheduling a meeting with you, shortly after your appointment.”
It had been one of her ideas, planted months in advance when she’d seen the steady rise of the Antantonio name in politics. But Faustus had dragged his feet on it, saying his plan to meet with the Borgias was far more important and advantageous. Going so far as to slap her when she tried to reason with him again.
Her fingers tightened over one hand as her eyes drifted towards the casket.
Now look at him.
“Perhaps we can rectify that in due time, Senator,” Calypso said demurely, dutiful wife that she was. “It is no small thing to represent Epica’s interests in the High Republic.”
