RE: Monarch - Chapter 217: Fracture XXII

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” Balan asked. Rather fortuitously, he’d been the one to suggest the balcony. Same as the rest of the noble houses, his considerable estate sat near the highest point of the city, providing us with a bird’s-eye-view of the sprawling valley of middle commons, the denizens of Topside and its more perilous infrastructure smaller than ants. He was taking this opportunity to seize control of the negotiations, and for the moment, I let him. The only tell that he was nervous at all was the rippling of his wine, the glass held in an otherwise steadfast hand. “Truly the jewel of Uskar.”

“Built on the backs of the less fortunate.” I quipped, instilling apathy in my voice.

It was part of what made Thoth’s demeanor work. I was sure of it. Violence and tragedy excited her. Everything else was boring. It forced whoever she was dealing with to hold the conflicting positions of attempting to keep her attention whilst simultaneously steering the discussion away from that which she desired most. In most cases it was a losing battle.

But Balan was unbothered. Unlike the many softer nobles, his wealth and success had been hard earned. Despicable trade and inhumane methods aside, he had managed to do what so many bandit kings and mercenary slavers hadn’t—spin the accumulated blood-wealth and resources into legitimacy. My father had always spoken poorly of him but did little else. And considering how often the King killed those who annoyed him, I was beginning to understand the reason.

“An odd observation coming from one benefitting so richly from the inequity they decry.” Balan cocked his head, then smiled ruefully. “But there’s truth to it. In any walk of life there are victors and victims. Winners and losers. And despite more modern concepts of fairness, it is unfortunately rare that a pivotal loss by one’s ancestors does not incur a generational debt. Just as your father’s many victories have won you the very privilege you loathe.”

The small part of me that wasn’t completely immersed in the role was tempted to engage with him. He was clearly armoring up for a debate, seeding points to draw from later, outlining the inherent hypocrisy of my position. At the very least, it would have been interesting to see how he rationalized his position. But such an exercise would be pointless. His beliefs and mine—at a fundamental level—were completely incompatible. He enslaved people and sold them for profit. The concept of slavery never felt right to me long before I’d ever met a Demi-human.

It was better to play this Thoth’s way.

I leaned back on my chair and tapped the stem of my untouched glass with the edge of the sword breaker, producing an idle ting. “Did we come here to talk philosophy, or negotiate?”

Balan breathed a long-suffering sigh. “We are negotiating. You started the conversation the moment you invaded my home.”

“Hm. Are you sure? There wasn’t much talking involved.” I mused idly, tapping the glass again, enjoying the flash of irritation across his face.

To his credit, he didn’t lose composure or lash out. Instead, he sat down across from me and steepled his fingers. “Absolutely. The chosen method—a violent incursion, conveys intent and gravity. It also serves as a cold reminder that you have a regiment of well-trained men under your command, and those men are loyal enough to follow even when led into an unsanctioned conflict with a powerful and well-connected noble house.” He hesitated for a half-second, then pressed on. “The fact that there were no casualties in the conflict speaks to careful coordination and considerable restraint.”

“I thought it was mercy.”

Balan sat very still, then shook his head.

“No?” I goaded him.

“Even for someone of my experience, it’s easy to conflate them.” Balan mused. “They hold many similarities. But when you wrested my nephew from the ground and held the blade to his throat, I realized my mistake. No man—even one with aspirations of lenience—would place themselves in that position if there was even the slightest chance they’d be forced to back down.”

“Maybe I’m a gambler.” I rotated the sword breaker idly.

“I might have wondered the same.” Balan admitted. “But there was no bluff in your eyes. Just challenge. One you genuinely hoped was tried and proven. Like your father in his golden era, you’re a soldier. And there are two types of soldiers. Those who fell enemies because they are at war, and those who kill simply because it is required. You are the latter. And you would have slit that boy’s throat in a second.”

My smile was brittle. “Since we understand each other so well, perhaps we can reach an accord.”

“That is my hope.” Balan drained his glass and put it down, placing his palms flat on the table. “So tell me, Cairn, Son of Gil. What is it you want?”

“An excellent vintage, a warm fire, and a woman on my arm.” I raised my glass in faux cheer, then dropped it. Glass shattered. Balan himself was impassive, but the pale-faced attendant beside him cringed. “Most days, anyway. But today’s a little different. This morning, I received some troublesome news.”

Balan nodded. “The King warned you’d be displeased with our arrangement and counseled caution. But I doubt even he foresaw how volatile the conflict would be.”

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“The fact that a man as unflappable as King Gil told you to watch your ass really should have been the first sign you were getting a raw deal.” I waved dismissively. “But no matter. Now that I’m here, I may as well attend to matters that should have been dealt with long ago.”

He frowned. “That sounds broader reaching than I expected.”

“Indeed. But the list itself is rather short.” I held up a hand, raising a finger for each point. “Something better than this swill you served me. Naturally, my sister’s location. A definitive end to the practice of indentured servitude in Uskar.” I leaned forward. “And of course, the dissolution and destruction of House Westmore.”

Behind me, there was an outburst of whispers amongst my regiment. Balan’s expression grew more and more perplexed until he finally barked out a laugh, harsh sound stretching as it crescendoed into a guffaw. I watched coldly, maintaining stoicism until the man came back to himself. “You—you can’t be serious.”

“The man thinks I’m funny.” I cocked my head towards where Maya stood beside me, her expression empty. “Am I funny, Maya?”

“Completely humorless, my lord.” Maya deadpanned.

Balan’s dumbstruck gaze bounced between us before it settled on me. “Perhaps, considering you’ve been away for some time, a quick review of local history is in order. When your father suddenly—many would argue haphazardly—decreed the end of slavery, it was chaos. Farmers found themselves suddenly unable to provide their goods to the masses. Good crop wilted on the vine. And it wasn’t just them. Every industry was brought to the brink of collapse. The economy bottomed out, and for a very real moment, Uskar was on the brink of crisis.”

“Until House Westmore rode in on a white horse and saved us all from facing the consequences of our actions,” I mocked.

“I am not some egocentric sycophant looking to shout my House’s many accomplishments from the rooftops. What I am, is a realist.” Balan rested his forehead on his palm for a moment before straightening up and looking me dead in the eye. “And as a realist, I can tell you with nary a doubt in my mind that the path the king set us on with that decree was a road to ruin. Just as surely as I will state plainly that our widespread adoption of indentured servitude averted that path. The means of production and supply-lines have stabilized.”

“All it took was slapping a new label on an old practice.” I drummed my fingers on the table.

Balan’s eyes-widened. “On the contrary, your majesty. We found a better way. A method that not only provides a more rational framework for those employing an indentured, but the indentured themselves. There will always be individuals in this world who require a leading hand. It is the reason commoners will always need the noble class to guide them. And in return, we receive a much needed commodity.”

“Commodity…” I rolled the word around in my mouth distastefully. Lillian’s visage hovered in my mind’s eye before I banished it. “Production… supply-lines. You talk about them like they’re not even capable of agency and thought. Just more gold padding your purse. But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“I speak of them kindly.”

“In the same manner one speaks of a prize cow set for slaughter. No matter. To reiterate, I have no interest in talking philosophy with you.” I leaned forward. “Now. You already have my demands. The question is, what are you going to do about them?”

A mess of emotions, barely suppressed, played across his face before he settled into a blank expression. “The last two items for ransom—”

“The end of indentured servitude and dissolution of your house?” I poked at him.

“—will take a great deal of time to oversee.” He finished unhappily. “And given the princess’s rather imminent circumstances, I suggest we table the longer discussion for a later date.”

“How convenient.”

“In the meantime.” Balan emphasized through grit teeth, “I will provide the princess’s location as a show of good faith, alongside a gift, to signify that there is no bad blood between us. Whatever I stood to gain from the engagement is clearly not worth what I’ll lose.”

“Hmm.” I rubbed my chin, then glanced up at Maya. Maybe it was petty, but Balan didn’t seem to like it much when I included her in the conversation. “How do we feel about gifts?”

“Depends on the gift.” Maya said blankly.

“True.” I turned back to Balan. “Start with the location. Then I’ll evaluate this… offering.”

Two of Balan’s attendants exited the balcony and disappeared into the house, flanked by members of my regiment. His remaining attendant placed a piece of parchment and an ink quill on the table before him. Balan wrote, muttering as he did so. “The princess is being kept in a nondescript building on the edge of Topside that houses some of our more precious goods in proximity to the southern exit.”

I thought back to Kilvius’s ledger. There’d been about fifteen listings, a reasonable number to memorize. And if memory served, there was only one listing at that location.

“Gold and furs, right?”

Balan stopped writing directions mid-sentence and slowly looked up. “What?”

“The warehouse. House Westmore uses it to store gold surplus and furs. A small fortune’s worth, if the books are accurate.” I asked again.

“How did you…” He trailed off, paling, mouth working in a silent stammer. In the far distance a building was consumed in violet fire, flames reaching up towards the horizon where the sun was setting. Balan was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. The moment I set the spurs to him he’d started looking for an escape, and failing that, a way to stall until my father arrived to ‘save him.’ Like so many entitled lords, he was used to living in a world where people bent over backwards to please him, and he had all the time in the world to come up with a solution when faced with a problem he didn’t like.

Now that I wasn’t telling him what he wanted to hear, he was getting greedy, assuming my father would check me for overreach. For all I knew, he might have been right. And this was a straightforward method of communicating a simple truth.

Now that I wasn’t telling him what he wanted to hear, he was getting greedy. Assuming my father would check me for overreach. For all I knew, he might have been right. And this was a straightforward method of communicating a simple truth.

Stalling would cost him everything.

“You’re insane.” Balan whispered. Frail as he looked, even the slightest breeze might push him over the railing.

I steepled my fingers. “Now. Let’s try this again.”