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Lancer 2.37
🕑 Added 2023-01-01 06:17:24 +0000 UTCYou know how some rich people just, like, don’t live in fancy houses? Which, you know, kinda makes sense. Houses are freaking expensive. I always thought if I got rich someday, I’d live in a normal house and save a bunch of money.
Anyways, the Voranetti were not that kind of rich people. They were the other kind, whose builders had wandered past the intersection of Extravagant and Loaded to settle on Wealthier Than You Boulevard. I didn’t even wanna think about how much they were spending to upkeep this architectural monster.
The typical Estheni estate plan was kind of like a big square around a central courtyard. People messed around with it, particularly if they were rich and/or graced. The Vitares compound, for example, was what you’d get if you put four of the normal estates together and knocked out most of the inner edges, leaving the workshops as their own thing in the middle of the courtyard. You generally saw the wealthy throwing around decorations to make the courtyard look better—like that Jeneretes mansion with its ghostlights and artificial ceiling—to impress their customers and political allies as they entered through the gate.
House Voranetes had apparently decided to skip that step. There were no rooms in the front of the compound, which the architect had compensated for by stacking the compound’s rear wing twice as high. I don’t know how the fuck they even managed that without rebar and tower cranes; you’re supposed to need those to get past three stories or something. Obviously they’d figured it out, though, and the result left them presenting sixty to eighty feet of concrete walls to the street.
Those walls were covered in stained glass. It must have been made with brightflowers, because it didn’t look like any stained glass I’d ever seen before—it was practically glowing at us. Transparent glass windows set into the front wall of the compound ensured that everyone walking past got a full blast of their ridiculously ostentatious display.
They’d whitewashed the inner courtyard with some kind of pearly lacquer that reflected the light from the window display. My breath caught in my throat as we approached.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“Indeed, even the greatest of our works fails to compare to the excrement of the goddesses,” Kuril quipped. Her tone darkened. “Vitares Steelsinger built this palace as a gift for the Lady Voranetes, her loyal ally. To summon us here under the circumstances is a cruel repayment of that generosity.”
“Small dick energy,” I agreed.
Kuril eyed me sidelong. “I suppose it’s true that the men of House Voranetes are quite reserved, but I don’t get your meaning.”
“Uh, I just meant they’re throwing their weight around,” I said—then rescued myself, quickly adding “in an underhanded kind of way.” Good one, Lilith.
Kuril let it drop with a noncommittal hmph. We lapsed into silence as our clockwork carriage rolled through the gates of House Voranetes.
*
Socially speaking, I was technically on the same level as Eloi Voranetes. But the technicalities of Estheni social customs had a habit of giving way to practicalities, like—to give a completely random example—if you were a financially insecure House doing hostile business negotiations with your friendly neighborhood business sharks. Or whatever the equivalent was around here. Why didn’t they have sharks? They’re like an evolutionary constant. Did Kives kill off all the sharks just to annoy me?
“Godsmile, Lady Kuril,” said Eloi Voranetes in her withered rasp. The pale, slender specter of a woman turned her baleful eyes on me.
Her black hair was starched back into a sleek arch that looked like something H.R. Giger might have sketched at some point. I would worry she might accidentally poke someone’s eye out if she weren’t nearly seven feet tall.
She wore thin robes of midnight black, woven with silver threads that sparkled in the ghostlight whenever she moved. A winter blue sash swept over her hips, denoting her authority as Lady Sael’s number two. I imagined it was doing its sash-y best to intimidate the sunflower yellow sash slung across my hips.
“Godsmile, Lady Sael,” I replied to the woman sitting behind Eloi.
Sael Voranetes herself was set up on a platform in the back of the room. The first thing you noticed about the Voranetes family head was that she was heavily pregnant, courtesy of a deep blue dress whose patterns and fit drew the eye to her swelling stomach. That was the second-weirdest thing about the dress; the first was the pair of rubies sewn on either breast. Those were clearly supposed to be nipples. It would have been obscene on an Earth dress, but somehow the message it sent was more “expecting mother” than “this is sexy.” Something about the cut of the dress, or the dress’s evident agnosticism about her cleavage?
“House Voranetes welcomes its ancient allies,” said Eloi without a trace of irony. I refocused on the task at hand. “Thank you for coming. Please accept our hospitality.”
The Voranetti sashbearer skewered our bench with intent eyes, and somehow it was immediately clear to everyone that Kuril and I had been invited to sit down. We didn’t.
After a moment—almost too long to be polite—Eloi seated herself. Only then did we sit.
Having concluded the formalities, Eloi peered at my sash, then at my face. She leaned back, satisfied.
“Lady Sael extends her congratulations,” said Eloi, wearing the blank face of someone performing a rote action. “Great-Mother’s blessings upon you and your daughter.”
“Great-Mother’s blessings upon you and your daughter,” I replied.
It was going to be like this the whole negotiation—sashbearers were the Estheni version of maternity leave, dedicated assistants for important pregnant women to delegate to. That meant as long as we were wearing the sashes, we didn’t personally exist: we were just mouthpieces for our family heads. It also meant the family heads couldn’t speak for themselves without making themselves look dumb—contradicting your own sashbearer meant you couldn’t find someone else who better understood your goals.
That was, of course, the entire reason we were pretending Kuril was pregnant—she was going to do that a couple of times to make us look vulnerable. Estheni indirection was kind of annoying, but honestly it was nothing compared to Velean social fencing.
I might not be the best at it, but at least the skill I wasn’t best at could still beat their skill with one hand tied behind its back.
“Your news comes late to this House,” said Eloi, who knew for a fact I wasn’t wearing a sash when we visited House Kessim yesterday. “Our regrets.”
“The news is recent, but we’re of course honored to inform you in person,” I said. “Divine serendipity, perhaps.”
Eloi didn’t react to the oblique invocation of Kives, but she did give off a pulse of attention. “Then we will not keep you from your festivities. Our purpose here is simple. We have learned of your House’s”—she paused—“other recent triumph. You need a business partner.”
I exchanged a choreographed glance with Kuril. “What have you heard?”
Eloi gestured to an attendant at the door. “Enough.”
The attendant returned with a set of scrolls, which he set respectfully on the table. Eloi carefully selected one with spindly fingers, unrolling it in front of us.
“The honorable treasurer of Vitares may of course correct any mistakes made by our analysts,” she said. “We doubted the numbers ourselves—you would not be this stupid.”
“What did you say?!” Kuril growled.
“Shhh!” I told her.
Sael’s mouth curled into a smirk, dark eyes considering us from above. Eloi pointedly ignored us, which somehow did a better job of highlighting the faux pas than pointing it out directly.
“You asked Erephine Kess for a thousand ingots,” she said. “A ruinous expense, whose refusal did not surprise you. Treasurer.” Her articulation was perfect, making the title into an insult. “But you did not ask the Jeneretti. Is the legacy of your ancestor worth so little?”
“This is incredibly presumptuous,” I said, glaring. “Lady Kuril demands an apology.”
“Let her first demand our calculations,” said Eloi. “You don’t have the capacity to produce a thousand ingots of brightsteel.”
“Our process is proprietary—”
“Your process is divine intervention or it does not exist,” said Eloi. “That is, unless your House intends to abandon its ancient duty to the city. But we would not dare accuse the honorable Treasurer of that.”
“You dare to insinuate it just fine,” I said.
Eloi stared at me long enough that I started to feel uncomfortable about the informal language at the end. It was just a power move, I told myself. I endured worse from Val over breakfast.
“There is one way to forge a thousand ingots of brightsteel,” said Eloi. “Vitares Steelsinger, with all of her House, could forge no more than two in a day. But those were ancient days. The city is larger, your House with it. Yes, even in its current decline. You could meet your ridiculous quota—if,” she stabbed a finger at the scroll, “you reassigned your guildswomen and commandeered their forges. The guildswomen who execute your House’s ancient promise to supply the city with devices.”
“Total speculation,” I shot back.
“What should we think?” Eloi countered. “Your envy of the Jeneretti is known. Eschewing their aid is transparently political. If that is worth more to you than your House’s only remaining purpose, then you do not deserve to be here. But perhaps we are wrong.”
She turned her attention to Kuril directly.
“Perhaps I should inform the Oathkeepers that our treasurer gave contract in bad faith. There are witnesses; they will speak. So—are you liars or oathbreakers?”
“Some hospitality this is,” I said.
“Ah,” said Eloi. “Of course. We have not offered refreshment. Pirineia?”
The attendant nodded. A moment later he returned with three other men, all carrying baskets. They hastily assembled the food on the table and withdrew, leaving us with the sight of several bowls of dipping sauce and bread. It was fucking dvoli, that super spicy thing that Eloi had gotten me with at the ball. There were no drinks.
Not today, fuckers.
“Val,” I subvocalized. “I need you to turn off my spicy receptors.”
The only response I got was approving laughter and a ping in the affirmative. I took a piece of bread and slathered it in the murderous hot sauce, making eye contact with Eloi. I took a calm bite and didn’t break eye contact. Her brow furrowed slightly.
“What do you want?” I asked. “I assume you haven’t gone to the Oathkeepers already.”
“Justice,” she totally fucking lied.
“As do I!” Kuril broke in. “If our craftwork is suspended for a year or two, what does it matter? This city is named for our ancestor! Let the Jeneretti found their own city. This one isn’t theirs.”
“So you admit it,” Eloi said in a low tone.
I eyed Kuril. That was a little too convincing to be an act. But that was all she had to do. Now it was my turn.
Go for the throat.
“We’ve admitted nothing,” I said, taking another bite of dvoli. “Are you done threatening us? What was the point of this?”
Eloi looked at me. “Resign the treasury to us. Contract with us to produce brightsteel.”
“You did just threaten to destroy our House,” I pointed out.
“Is that not enough motivation for you?”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. You know what? I think you know you overstepped.”
Eloi tilted her head. “What?”
“The craft subsidies?” I asked. “The price of iron? You trusted someone you shouldn’t have.”
“If you think this nonsense—”
“We think someone in this city is buying up iron,” I said. “The Henadim don’t have the resources. There’s no reason for the Jeneretti to cause this kind of trouble, it makes them look terrible. And thanks to our contract offer, the Kessim just confirmed it wasn’t them. The brightsteel is real. But think it through.” I gestured dismissively to the scrolls. “Tell me what happens to the demand for iron if we start production. Tell me what the treasurer should do about that.”
Eloi tapped thin fingers on the table, her bread untouched.
“We went looking,” I said. “We found you. What was your phrase? There are witnesses; they will speak.”
“Is that so.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. I took another bite of molten death, blissfully ignorant of its attempted destruction of my mouth. “Huh. This stuff is actually pretty good. Anyways, you’ve got a point about the thousand ingots. We don’t want to get into any problematic areas with our oaths. After all, it’ll make it hard for us and our business partners to challenge the Jeneretti.”
Eloi’s eyes narrowed. Sael leaned forward in her seat.
“You’re bluffing,” Eloi said.
“Of course not,” I said, chewing. “You’ve met me before. You’ve seen me afraid. Do I look afraid, Eloi?”
She watched me silently, her expression frigid. “Courage comes easily when there’s nothing left to lose.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “We’ll show you the brightsteel. You knock it off with the market manipulation. You get rich, we restore the prosperity of the city, and both of us get the Jeneretti out of the picture. If your craftswomen think the brightsteel is legitimate, we’ll negotiate terms. We can slip away during the ball and sign the contract. Deal?”
Every good con needs bait.
“We will, of course, give this proposal the consideration it deserves,” Eloi said. Sael said nothing.
But the comm said they were hooked.
