princesstatiana:
The use of her childhood nickname made Tatiana smile; once upon a time, when things had been easier and there were no worries in her mind, Tanechka had been one of her father’s prefered names for her. “You always use the same excuse, brother, even while in Russia” she responded and dismissed said ladies with a nod of her head. “One of this days I might start thinking you dislike my company.” She frowned at the papers and tomes sprawled across the table. Her ever restless brother, she couldn’t understand how Ilias never allowed himself just a moment of peace. “Or perhaps it is that you find me less interesting than-” she picked one of the papers from the pile and read the title, “-harvest records. Have these not been revised and filed already?”
She pursed her lips at the switch of language, not humoring it once her retinue had left the room. A sigh escaped her lips at the question, so far she hadn’t been able to voice anything but praises of the French and their land, always too cautious, too prudent with her words. But Ilias was someone she could trust, her worries and concerns would be safe with him. Her eyes didn’t leave the paper in her hand, scanning it absentmindedly as she spoke. “ I’m torn, Iliusha. I know myself to be more than able to walk through Paris with grace, but I cannot shake the fear in my heart. I might be getting closer to Ivan, but this is the Frenchwoman’s land,” the vile could be heard in her voice but wether it came from talking of the Tsar or his wife -she would never dignify her with the name of Tsarina-, was unknown even to her. “It scares me that I will fail in my duty and end like father.”
⋯
Ilias could only shake his head and laugh in response to his sister's insinuation, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I apologize, my dear sister, for hiding away with our family's harvest records as you brave Paris alone." He sat back up, pulling the parchments scattered all around towards him, the smile sliding off his face. "But I do find this curious. Mayhaps you can make better sense of it than I have been able to." He pointed at a yellowing slip of parchment, dated in the year of our Lord 1411. "These were our grain totals almost fifty years ago." He turned to the book in front of him. "And these were our grain totals last year. Clearly, we are harvesting less now than we did before, but why would that be, when the estate's population has evidently swelled?"
He had an inkling of the cause of the matter, but he was curious to hear his sister's explanation.
Catching the shift in Tatiana’s tone, Ilias grew serious once more, knowing that they were heading into dangerous territory. Suggesting and implying was one thing, but to discuss the tsar and his family in this direct manner was something Ilias approached cautiously, and very rarely outside of the safety of the Bezukhov family estate, far away from prying eyes and ears. "Be careful, Tanechka," Ilias beseeched. "And do not forget that the very Frenchwoman you speak of is as much a victim of her circumstances as we are." He grimaced slightly, running a hand through his hair. He'd known about his brother and sister's machinations, but had been foolish enough to hope that they would be sufficiently distracted by the trip to Paris to make any progress. "So our brother still has you pursuing this quest of his?"
