Chapter 25 - Negotiations

  Halfway through the afternoon, Elizia found herself in what appeared as High Lord Caranel's study. A simple room, with three windows as tall as she, polished panes showing a clear view of the quiet and homely courtyard below. There was a desk and chair to one end, with shelves of old tomes filling the entire wall behind it. On the opposite end was a stately hearth with glowing coals, and at the very center, a pair of cushioned couches with a simple mahogany table set above a finely worked rug.

  There was memory here of her father's own study, but Elizia felt this place had a more somber air. She finished giving the room its due measure and huffed, staring at her rather inhospitable host's back. No courtesy was extended to her. No offer of refreshments, and indeed no acknowledgement at all of her high social standing. She was being treated as an inferior, as a mere footman come to report rather than the first princess. Even Lord Galadin would not have such gall had he invited her into his home.

  All the more infuriating was knowing Lord Caranel was around her age and treating her so.

  The manor itself was sparsely furnished from what she'd seen on her way here. It lacked color, luminite stones rare and only placed in the darkest corridors. Agrienne Caranel was a man of excess, but his bastard turned out to be the complete opposite, despite his alleged time as a rogue. The manor's servants were few, and all of a dwindling age. One such woman in a grey gown stood by the entrance to the study, ready to serve. She was hunched, and her hair white enough to shame the snow outside, old oil stains marring her garb. Flames, this place feels drab…

  Aside from, of course, for the bright haired girl sitting at the lord's desk and leafing through papers while scribbling furiously. 'Saintess' the town's people had called her. A Trillian spy? No, she would not be allowed through his books if that were true. Rask would have warned me if this boy lord was under the Order's thumb.

  He should have been under their thumb. They'd installed him here, hadn't they?

  Elizia cleared her throat. She'd been standing in the room for a good minute. Her palms grew sweaty with every stretching second of silence. He could at least offer tea. Though she much preferred a mug of ale. Or even some of Red Vine's famed wine.

  No. He wouldn't offer her such luxury. Elizia's shoulder ached as much as it might have had she fallen on it. She'd been wrong to think the high lord wouldn't spurn her before his people. Surely he wasn't that upset about the insults she'd given? That would make him stuck up, and Rask would not warn her so if this man was arrogant and haughty like many of noble lineage tended to be.

  “You're free to take a seat… your highness,” Aarondel suddenly said, not turning to face her. He had his left hand still wrapped around the hilt of his blade. Elizia went rigid, stifling a shiver come pricking at her spine. That instant at the temple had shown her a glimpse of death unlike any danger she'd previously faced. That posture, and that wrathful glare that Aarondel had given her in that moment… Elizia had seen her end, but it had not come.

  “I'm quite fine,” she uttered, lying out of sheer stubbornness. In truth, her feet throbbed with each step. Long walks through snow and slush to and from her encampment had taken their toll. Elizia sucked a breath through her lips to center her focus. “My lord, if I've offended you in anyway—”

  “If, Lady Serene?” he said, half turning his head.

  Elizia let her nails bite into her sweaty palms. She eyed the girl at the desk, wondering how much of this conversation should be heard by an outsider —a high ranking Trillian no less. I should apologize, Elizia thought. But she did no such thing. Her rash words were not so harsh as to elicit physical assault. He's done me wrong too. I've no reason to bend to his whims. That's probably his game. He wants me meek and accepting of any outlandish proposal or contract he throws my way.

  Elizia swallowed her pride and seated herself. “May I ask for tea,” she said, all but demanding it with the tone she'd given. I'll give you every bit the stuck up noblewoman act.

  The boy lord turned at last, waving to the elderly servant to fetch tea. For the first time, Elizia got a good look at his face. It was… overly plain? A bit rugged with his unshaved chin, but his jaw was neither strong as his father's was said to have been, nor his face as fair. His eyes were the color of weathered stone. They had a tired light to them. A look of… deep age? He was youthful, and had a build much akin to Kalin or any other disciplined soldier of the army, but something about his eyes felt so hollow. It felt like staring into the mouth of a grotto, knowing not its depth or its secrets. Elizia shuffled, only then noticing the slight twitch of his brows, and the grinding of his teeth behind a closed mouth. His palm twisted around the pommel of his sword.

  What did I do to earn such a spiteful gaze?

  “You trekked mud into my home,” Aarondel said suddenly.

  “Sorry?”

  Lord Caranel folded his arms, taking what appeared a deep breath, and looked down at her boots. Elizia followed his gaze, noticing the dried splatter of a muddy road painted all over her boots. Dried bits stained the carpets beneath her seat. “Uh…” she managed, confused. Her mouth started drying as anxiety crept up, reminding her of all her failures and her moral depravity in what was her original intent here in northern Xenaria.

  He's still just trying to throw you off, El. And you're letting it happen.

  What would her mother, the real Huntress, have done in such a situation?

  She'd have been blunt, and forward.

  Elizia sat up straight. “So I see. Apologies, I did not have the luxury of waiting to clean them. Alas, had I been granted an audience earlier when the roads were clearer…”

  Aarondel narrowed his eyes. He undid his weapon belt, keeping his ageless glare fixed on Elizia's eyes. She struggled not to reach for her knife and reveal her fear. She'd left her guards in the courtyard outside out of sheer respect, of which none was being returned.

  Aarondel sat down opposite her, letting his scabbard rest on his lap. This time it was his right hand curled around the hilt of his weapon. That hand went ghastly pale, the teal veins within them bulging as if trying to pry themselves free of the skin that contained them. Elizia found herself sweating beneath her clothes. If there was one positive thing that could be said of this aged and dreary manor, it was that the inside was surprisingly more warm than what appearance would suggest.

  Right now, that was a negative than not.

  “You will halt all iron imports from High Lord Galadin, effective immediately upon your return to your lands,” the young lord said. “Further, you will place a trade embargo on both High Houses Coraine and Galadin.”

  “Pardon? You cannot—”

  “These are not words I'm speaking to you, your highness. These are words that you shall carry to your father upon your return. Should you return at all.”

  Elizia narrowed her eyes. “I should hope that was not a threat, my lord.” Her lances still outnumbered his forces almost two to one, and they were surely better trained, even if General Rask was here. Where is Rask, she thought, palms bleeding more sweat.

  “More a question of your caliber. Or has the Wolf of Metsiphon not informed you of my need to venture into the Spinewood with an army?”

  Elizia shifted again. She could see the 'Saintess' watching the two of them from the corner of her eyes. “He has informed me of such. But I fail to see how an embargo on the other high houses is preferential to us in anyway.”

  “Have it done and I'll sell you my iron for a tenth of Lord Galadin's prices from three years ago.”

  Elizia flinched. She could not mask her surprise. So cheap? Had he really found such a rich vein to make this bold a proposal?

  “All on written contract, course,” Aarondel continued. “Signed by myself with the Saintess Ophelia as witness to our words.”

  Galadin aside, to void all contracts with Lady Coraine when she was beset by pirates and Lord Jasim's mercenaries alike? He's leaving me no room for negotiating. Ashes. He's dangling something before my eyes I can't refuse, but the price… “And how exactly do you benefit from… our embargo?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  At this Aarondel raised a brow. “You cannot tell? High House Serene's lands pale in comparison to mine, but your farmlands are of the second largest in Xenaria. I hear your, er, relations with the other High Houses are rather strained of late since the new queen's ascension.”

  Elizia's mood darkened, and she let it show. “What of it?” she almost hissed.

  “So it is true, then.”

  Flames!

  “Well, in that case, the Eagles will be none the worse for wear. To everyone else, this will seem like the final swipes of a cornered and wounded beast. And I'll be much better for it by releasing my storages to flow to them.”

  “This only fattens your pockets while our exports are more than halved!”

  Aarondel shrugged. The hunched servant returned, setting a tea tray down, pouring Elizia a cup. The woman moved to pour her lord some as well, but he covered his own cup with his hand. “Sell your grain to Tarmia then,” he said, smiling at the maid.

  Elizia ground her teeth. How does he smile so sweetly while spouting such obscenity? And still he glares at me afterwards! “You want us to sell to our enemies? Do you understand just how much Xenarian blood those wretches have spilled?” It wasn't as if Lord Serene didn't have contracts with Tarmian merchants, but to export large quantities of food to their cities or garrisons? To feed the very soldiers that were sent to shed Xenarian blood?

  “Money is money, Princess. It does not matter where it comes from.”

  Elizia found herself growing more agitated, but she couldn't just say no. She'd be a fool to.

  “You will, of course, have access to our salt and leathers as well for a fraction of the price I sell it to the others,” Aarondel continued. He turned to his desk. “Ophelia, you're noting this all down and drafting the contract, yes?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the girl answered, still scribbling.

  Drafting the contract as if my signing it is a guarantee. But it was, Elizia knew. There was no room for negotiating here. This would strengthen her house, and give way to an alliance with High House Caranel, who would soon see it that he held the reins of the kingdom. The reins… “What exactly is your objective here?” Elizia asked.

  “Wealth.”

  “Now you're just insulting me. If you cared about wealth, your home would not look like a rundown orphanage lacking in donations.”

  Aarondel smiled. His hand —the one curled around the hilt of his blade, eased, but he kept his palm touching it still, veins oddly still bulging. “You've a perceptive eye, if nothing else, Elizia Serene.”

  That was an insult for certain. Fine by her if he wouldn't tell her his ambitions. She'd just have to figure it out with her perceptive eye, as he said, and return that insult in kind then. “Then on matters of these Virk barbarians. What is it you'd ask of me?”

  “A foray into the woodlands with you leading the charge.”

  “My men will not be bodies for your needs. Especially when we don't know what's lurking in those woods.”

  “You seem to think this is up for negotiation.”

  “My men will not be bodies,” Elizia reiterated. On this she would not back down. She at last took her teacup in hand and sipped from it, flinching as it scalded her lips. She did not, however, pull her gaze from Lord Caranel's grey eyes.

  “I will be at the front with you,” Aarondel said. “My men will march behind yours. There should not be problems regardless if you've scouts among you as adept as some of my woodsmen.”

  “And pray tell, why haven’t your woodsmen ventured in to scout further?” Elizia questioned.

  “I am lacking in manpower, Elizia Serene. I would not risk provoking a potential force when I've not the means to defend this town from a committed assault. Further, the Virk barbarians attacked our miners. Our foray aside, I would ask for troops stationed here.”

  “We cannot spare any.”

  The young lord leaned forward. “Two years. Give me three —no, two thousand trained men for two years. Put that in a contract. That is all I need.”

  Elizia braved another sip of her tea. It was black, pure and bitter, no honey or sugar added. “And what will happen within those two years?” She finally felt a measure of control over this conversation. He lacks manpower. So he's willing to divulge a weakness this easily.

  “Who knows,” Aarondel shrugged. “I can hardly see the future.”

  Still infuriating though. “I will consider this proposal should we come out of this foray alive, then.”

  “Do not dwell on it too long, Princess. This mining venture is now as much mine as it is yours. If I cannot protect my mines, you don't get your cheap iron, and lifting your trade embargo in the event of that will be a bad look. No high lord will swallow their pride and renew relations with your house then. And neither will lesser nobles and merchants who dance at their whims.”

  Elizia closed her fists. “You will have three thousand trained soldiers, and I'll further leave every pony we've captured from the Field Burners for your needs. The soldiers will be rotated every six months with a new legion so that they may return and have a chance to see their families. I'll also pledge to fill in any numbers should there be deaths during this two year period while our armies defend your interests. And I'd I'll also add a recall clause in the event a war breaks out along the eastern border.”

  Aarondel smiled. “Did you get all of that, Saintess?” he asked without taking his eyes off of Elizia.

  Elizia got the distinct impression that she'd just been played.

  “Yes,” Ophelia said. She brought forth several pages with fully written contracts bearing her signature as a witness.

  Elizia, much to her own chagrin, signed the papers as acting authority in place of her father.

  “Then we are done,” Aarondel said. “You're free to utilise an empty room in this manor during your stay in my lands. The maids will see to any needs you may have, including heated baths or any clothing pieces you may wish to purchase. Many a tinker and merchant have come for tomorrow's fete if you're willing to partake.”

  “I'm quite fine in my encampment, thank you,” Elizia lied. She'd just about love a hot bath right now. Cold buckets of water over her head every other morning in cold weather were painful to say the least. All the more discomforting was being bare for those few minutes surrounded by all of her soldiers. She had the privacy of her tent, of course, but it didn’t make the process feel any less shameful every time.

  “Suit yourself,” said the young lord. “We will venture into the Spinewood on the morning after, then.”

  Elizia nodded, leaving her tea mostly unfinished as she rose, offering a respectful bow before seeing herself out, and clenching her fists only after she was out of eyeshot. All that remained was a long walk back to her encampment through the soggy ground and the gnawing winds of an undying winter. Perfect.

  ***

  Aaron let his posture slide as the princess disappeared behind the corridor. He pulled his hand away from Butter Knife's hilt, hesitant to let so much power drain away without being used. It left him feeling empty, and pitifully weak afterwards. So much power coursing through him unused for so long made it feel as if a large part of him had just disappeared.

  “Are you alright?” Ophelia asked.

  “I'm fine,” Aaron lied, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. His thoughts were a maelstrom. Holding down the darkness fed him by his ancestors had taken its toll. But he needed those memories of cruelty and malice. He needed to see the horrors his predecessors had suffered through. Without them, he felt strangely barren before Elizia Serene. The very sight of her bred a weakness he did not want to abandon. Whose memories are these? Who is it that remembers a woman with her face so fondly?

  Ophelia moved to place her hand on his forehead but Aaron caught her wrist in a hard grip inches before his face. The girl blushed. “I only meant to Heal you, my lord. I can cleanse exhaustion away.”

  Aaron loosened his hold, sighing. Ah, lass. Magic did not work on him lest it come from Chronary or the Blessed Flames. Those with the Gift of Healing could not aid him. Ophelia would only induce a splitting headache in him if she tried. A fact he could not disclose. Aaron could only spurn her kindness. “I said I'm fine. Leave me be for a few minutes. Get yourself something to eat at the pantry.”

  “Er, I haven't finished sorting the ledgers. And I already had some soup at the temple…”

  “Just a few minutes, Ophelia. Please.”

  She nodded, gaze averted, her blush even deeper. “Of course, my lord.”

  The poor girl shuffled out of the room with her head hanging low. With her gone, Aaron let his posture slide further. He closed his eyes, very much aware that he was still not alone.

  “Was that so difficult?” asked a harsh, rasped voice. “You seemed in control throughout the entire discussion.”

  Aaron snorted. “Maybe I'm just good at pretending.” He rubbed his face with a pair of sweaty palms, groaning all the while. “She's done me no wrong, Viper. Yet I feel the need to hate her. I don't know why.”

  “Done you no wrong aside from insulting you, I hear.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “Edgeless words said in a moment of excitement,” he said. He let a moment of silence stretch for several breaths. “Hahh… Who am I, Viper? Who am I really?”

  The Shadow Walker folded his arms. He was dressed in all black as usual, seeming a tree in the dead of night. “You are Aarondel Zz'tai.”

  “Yet that name holds less and less value to me with each passing day. I am too many people all at once. It took everything I had to… to be myself just now. And even then, I don't think I was. I thought controlling these feelings would be easy, but these incessant voices in my head demand justice for wrongdoings done centuries ago. Justice dealt upon those whom had nothing to do with such incidents. But there's others voices opposite to that, seeking something even I don't wholly understand.”

  Viper sat down where Elizia had seated herself. “You once hated the very word 'Xenaria' yet here you are, living in this kingdom, playing the part of a high lord.”

  “I am,” Aaron agreed. “But I… I am afraid, Viper. One wrong impulse at the wrong moment… Even if I do supress the voices, the memories are beginning to become mine.” Just as every memory of Lera was already his own. “I am… slipping away, Viper. I do not know if I can build the world that I promised I would. I'm afraid I'll do something heinous by mistake. Just as I did to that woman in Eurale.”

  “That woman, might I remind you, is still alive,” Viper insisted.

  Still alive… But she hadn't been. Even if it was for a few fleeting seconds, he had slain her. “Not even stone can resist the weathering of ages,” Aaron mumbled. What was he but a man bearing the lashes of storms millennia old in a single, frayed vessel?

  “And yet forevermore every mountain stands tall with their heads tilted unto the sky.”

  Aaron cast a sidelong glance Viper's way. Something of a poet's instinct and melancholy still resided within him. He'd not gotten rid of the notebook Eksa had gifted him, but Aaron had not seen him write in it in a very long time, though he leafed through what words he had put to paper often. “Do you liken me to a mountain, Viper?”

  “I have known none stouter. Nor any taller, nor one sharper and more eager to touch that which cannot be. I will always be here to remind you of your name, Aaron, and that it belongs to you, so long as you don't pull yours eyes from the sky you see for us on the other side.”

  Aaron took in his hand Elizia's hardly finished cup of tea. He poured its contents in his mouth, downing it in a single swallow, letting the hot liquid burn his throat as it went down and settled inside. It felt as if a burning coal had just passed through his chest. His face twisted in pain and Aaron pressed down on his eyes with his hands, clutching the ends of his hair with the tips of his fingers. “Thank you, my friend.”