Chapter Text
The firelight dances across Cleo's face, casting sharp shadows that make their features look carved from stone rather than warm flesh. She definitely doesn’t feel warm - Autumn has started and the nights are getting a little cold. Their house in the Southern capital is not so big, but always drafty, so the flames give much needed comfort.
Cleo looks at the letter as if it would give them more information the longer they stare at the large, slightly uneven lines. It’s definitely Scar’s writing, and it looks like he was in a haste, which also makes sense, considering everything he’s written.
Cleo should be relieved, and still… he’s not safe. Not yet. If Scar is to be believed - questionable decision even for his own mother - he hired a small team of mercenaries to protect him on the road to the capital. He’s always been a resourceful child, but no sellsword can be fully trusted. And while he’s a capable fighter himself, his leg never healed properly, and on especially bad days, it aches so much he has trouble walking.
That’s the worst thing about scars left by alchemical fire - one day they might not bother you at all, and the next, they make you wish you didn’t wake up. Sooner or later, Scar will have to drop his stubborn attitude and replace his injured leg with a prosthetic made by alchemists, but until then it’ll continue to be a problem. And if he’s unlucky enough to get a very bad day on the road…
Oh well. Cleo sighs. There’s nothing to be done about their idiot of a son, so they might as well focus on other things. Like the dinner with Gem she has in an hour or so.
Gem is precisely four minutes late – not enough to be rude, but enough to establish that she comes on her own terms. Her dress is sharp and expensive, but not overly so - suited for a successful merchant.
"Lady Cleo," Gem says, dipping into a curtsy. "You look well, despite these troubled times."
"As do you," Cleo gestures to the seat opposite. "Please, join me. I've had your favorite white wine set aside, perfect for the roasted quail.”
They dismiss the servant - no need for him to hear them talking - and pour Gem a glass, the golden liquid catching the fire’s reflection.
“How is your wife?” Cleo asks. “Still doesn’t want to visit?”
“Pearl has… a lot of work to do. And I’m the public face of the company anyway.”
“Hmmmm…”
Cleo watches Gem’s hands as she brings the glass to her lips. There is something about her that draws the gaze, holds it. A woman who moves through every corridor, certain she could burn down the building and rebuild it prettier and with more flowers.
"I imagine we have much to discuss, given recent events in the North," Gem says.
"Indeed. The Red Prince - well, I guess he’s calling himself a king now - makes his move at last."
"A bold one," Gem says, swirling the wine in her glass. "Declaration of independence, destruction of the royal ships at Point Harbor... not the actions of a man seeking compromise."
"The King was furious when he heard," Cleo says. "He threw his goblet across the throne room. Hit some minor noble from the eastern provinces."
Gem giggles quietly.
Cleo continues, “He feels betrayed and hurt by a close family member, the one he believed to love him. He isn’t going to hold back.”
Gem nods.
“There's going to be a war… So what is your plan, my lady? Somehow I don’t think you’re going to just follow the orders of your liege,” she says quietly, but with a cocky smile.
Cleo pauses to think about it. Not the plan itself, but the part they are going to share with the merchant.
“Well… let’s just say that I won’t be rushing into the battle. I’ll wait and watch, give the king some symbolic forces, and lie about the rest. Let the brothers exhaust their resources with their armies fighting each other."
There’s no point in hiding much from Gem - Cleo needs her support, needs her resources, and knows that she has no reason to support the current ruler with his wild taxation ideas. Of course, the details will remain secret, but…
"And then?" Gem asks.
"And then I’ll step in to bring peace, stability, unity." Cleo leans forward slightly. “And a new king of the united realm - me, of course. The problem is-”
“How far are you from the throne in terms of blood?”
“Not too far.”
Cleo shrugs. A few people who know a lot about laws, precedents, and succession have been working on the whole legal issue for a few months now.
“The problem is, I’ll need a big and well-supplied army to back up my claim,” Cleo says, stabbing the roasted quail in front of her with intent and a lot of emphasis. “And this is where you come in.”
Gem smiles, slow and sharp as her blade. She tilts her head, and her antlers cast hooked shadows onto Cleo’s tablecloth.
“I was hoping you’d say that. What exactly do you need?”
“From you? Weapons, armor. Enchanted weapons and armor, if you catch my meaning. I know your company has its little secrets, Gem, and I know you can get what no one else in the South can, not in bulk at least.”
Gem makes a show of savoring her wine, but her clever green eyes are sharp and calculating. Cleo knows very well that Golden Bowl has big shipments of the Northern arms and armor waiting in their storage after the recent royal decree disrupted their business. They want to get all of it.
“Weapons… It will be expensive, my lady,” Gem grins. “But, you know, with the right tax benefits and recognition from the potential new king, we might be able to give you some discounts.”
Cleo wonders if she can get something more out of it.
“Discounts will be most welcome, but I believe we can arrange something more beneficial for both of us. After all, a new king needs more than just weapons; she needs loyalty and support from those who stand to gain from the change. Is there a way to make our deal exclusive?”
The question is quite direct - Cleo never was that good at dancing around the main point. But Gem doesn't seem to mind. If anything, her smile grows wider.
"Exclusive…" Gem sets down her wine glass with deliberate care. "My lady, that can mean a lot of things. But I assure you that we will support you as the best candidate to keep the kingdom united and the trade flowing.”
Gem pauses. It’s implied that if Cleo stops being their best bet to keep the North subjugated and the taxes low, the support will stop. Not quite what she hoped for, but you can’t count on the loyalty of a merchant. It’s not like Cleo is planning to settle for anything less than the throne of the united realm anyway.
Gem adds, “And, no matter what happens, you can always be sure that the Golden Bowl will fulfill its contracts.”
Cleo leans back in their chair.
"Then here’s my offer,” they say, trying to add some weight to their words. “When the dust settles and I'm sitting on the throne, the Golden Bowl will be the crown's preferred trading partner. Reduced tariffs, priority access to royal contracts, protection from... less favorable competitors. Think about it. "
"And in return?"
"You supply my forces with everything they need to win this war. No questions asked, no records kept that might prove inconvenient later."
Gem laughs, a bright sound that cuts through the crackling of the fire.
"Oh, Lady Cleo. You really do know how to make an offer attractive."
She picks up a piece of quail with her fingers, tearing the meat with sharp, white teeth. What a… predatory little reindeer she is, Cleo thinks.
"But what about the other merchants?” Gem asks. “The established southern houses? They won't appreciate being pushed aside."
"The established houses," Cleo says with distaste, "should be glad I’m getting rid of King Ren and his wild ideas. And if they aren’t, well. It’ll be their problem. Not mine or yours.”
"Meaning you'll create a more... dynamic... marketplace."
"Meaning I'll crush them if they don't fall in line."
Gem wipes her fingers on the white napkin, her expression thoughtful.
"Pearl will want guarantees. Written agreements, sealed documents. She doesn't trust verbal promises from nobility."
‘Especially from you’ was left unsaid.
"Smart woman. I can provide those." Cleo refills both their glasses. "But I'll need proof of your commitment first. A gesture of good faith."
"What kind of gesture?"
"I know the Golden Bowl has been stockpiling Northern goods since the trade restrictions began. Weapons, armor, enchanted items. Things that are now technically contraband."
Gem's hand stills on her wine glass.
"Technically."
"I need a shipment. Something significant enough to equip a proper squad, but not so large as to draw unwanted attention. I’ll pay you when I get the goods, of course. Can you manage that?"
"When?"
"Within five days. Before the king's forces march north."
Cleo will have to send some of her forces with King Ren to maintain proper appearance, she might as well use it to equip them. Gem is quiet for a long moment, her antlers casting shifting shadows as she considers. Finally, she nods.
"It can be arranged. But if everything goes badly—"
"It won't." Cleo's voice carries absolute certainty they don’t quite feel. "The brothers will tear each other apart, and when they're both weakened, I'll step in as the reasonable alternative. The nobles will rally to me because I represent stability. The merchants will support me because I represent profit. And the people will welcome me because I represent relief from crushing taxes."
"And if nothern-" Gem begins to ask a question, then stutters slightly. "If one of the brothers wins decisively?"
Cleo waves away her concern.
"Then I'll be the grieving noble who fought bravely for the rightful king, of course. But that won't happen. I know both of them too well."
Gem raises her glass in a toast.
"To the new king in the South, then. And profitable partnerships."
Cleo wants to ask so many questions. Like, how does Gem feel about the whole separation of the North thing - after all, the North is her homeland. And doesn’t she have a lover there - or is it Pearl? The rumors never were certain about it. Or what will they do if the war comes to the capital itself, or…
"To the future," Cleo says instead, clinking her glass against Gem's.
There will be time for questions. Later.