Estiang-Style Negotiation (5)
The atmosphere inside the banquet hall remained lively and cheerful. No matter that someone out on the terrace was sobbing uncontrollably with irrepressible sorrow, those within were fully immersed in their social whirl. And for Estiang, who had returned to the hall...
'Put the spirit mage at center stage and flip the coke switch.' He was firmly etching his post-return tasks into his mind.
First off, he'd recruited useful talents across various fields, so naturally he'd take them back with him. He'd already gathered experts from diverse professions, but Aisha the spirit mage would be the crown jewel of that collection. The only potential snag was her status as Leste Duke's daughter—officially registered on the family register despite being illegitimate.
'Leste Duke will probably send her off with glee.'
Taking away a filthy illegitimate child? The duke would be thrilled. Finally, that headache—the trace of my sin—vanishes from my sight!
Considering Aisha's boundless versatility, a touch of political risk was more than worth it.
As Estiang sorted through his future plans, those who'd been biding their time began approaching one by one.
"Greetings, Your Grace. We met when you inherited the Berg Grand Duchy title—you might not remember. I am the head of House Rittersbach—"
"Ahem, Count Rittersbach. I get your delight at beholding His Grace's countenance, but order must be kept, yes? Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace. I am Count Meissen, Dietrich of House Betin. An honor to meet you."
"I've longed to see Your Grace, but Geltner stole a march. Pleased to meet you, Your Grace. I humbly run a modest merchant company called Kranbalt—might Your Grace spare me a moment?"
Middle-aged men in somber attire popped up here and there, thrusting their heads forward.
"Hm?"
Estiang had been lost in thoughts of putting his rare spirit mage to work. But he'd overlooked one key point.
In the empire's social circles, Estiang was every bit the rarity Aisha was.
'So that's the Berg Grand Duke we've only heard tales of.'
'Not even engaged yet, they say?'
'Berg iron and timber are famed for quality. Must snag that contract to crush those bastards.'
Their aims differed, but they all agreed: the chance was now or never.
Estiang hadn't set foot in the capital once since his succession ceremony—a stark contrast to nobles who haunted these scenes constantly.
No telling when he'd appear again, so they fixed him with bloodshot, desperate eyes, eager to forge any connection.
In an instant, the middle-aged men swarmed, encircling Estiang.
'Troublesome.'
Chatting one by one would burn through the whole banquet.
How to handle this?
As Estiang pondered, a familiar face smoothly parted the crowd and approached.
"Your Grace."
"Ah, the Court Count."
Ludwin Court Count. The emperor's special envoy who'd delivered the missive to Berg Grand Duchy.
The Court Count offered a soft smile. "I hadn't realized Your Grace's popularity ran so deep, but it seems you must spare a moment. His Majesty wishes a word with you."
"His Majesty?"
"Indeed. His Majesty commanded me to fetch Your Grace."
"Then I'd best go at once. Can't keep His Majesty waiting."
At the Court Count's words, the nobles smacked their lips and withdrew.
Who could object when the emperor summoned?
Following the Court Count, Estiang slipped naturally into a private parlor.
Upon entering, the emperor—already seated—raised one hand lazily, speaking in a drawling tone.
"Grand Duke, you owe me a debt."
"A debt, Your Majesty?"
"Weren't all manner of flies buzzing 'round you? Or did you have business with the pests?"
"Hardly. If anything, the sudden swarm gave me a headache. My ears rang."
Sinking into the chair the emperor indicated, Estiang replied with feigned innocence.
"I pulled you from that mess, so call it a debt. Repay it keeping me company here. Old age makes these festivals a mental drain."
"You're still vigorous, Your Majesty. Not even seventy yet, by my reckoning. The empire needs another decade of your rule."
"Forcing this doddering fool to bear the crown another ten years? I'd sooner abdicate and retire."
The emperor clucked his tongue.
"My one so-called son being such a wet rag... Doubt he'll manage after I'm gone. Everyone covets the throne, but it has its burdens."
Estiang held his silence.
Couldn't very well say your son's no normal fellow in the original tale, nor join in bashing the crown prince.
The emperor, mid-ramble, proffered a paper resembling a letter.
Promissory Note
His Imperial Majesty hereby pledges payment to Estiang Berg of the sum of five thousand five hundred ducats.
"A promissory note."
"Precisely five thousand five hundred ducats."
"Easier than lugging sacks of gold, no?"
"Beats carting heavy wagons."
"See to my full-body statue properly."
"Rest assured. I'll engrave the base clearly: Erected with His Majesty's silver."
"Good."
Grumbling, the emperor reclined fully against the chairback.
"So, seen my youngest daughter's face yet?"
"Not yet."
"No doubt holding court amid the banquet girls, playing big sister. Who'd she get that fierce streak from?"
Muttering, the emperor added as if it just occurred. "Then without glimpsing my girl's face, what've you been at?"
"Business chat with Geltner's head. Gave him a thrashing for toying with grain monopolies."
"A thrashing?"
"Haggled down magic stone prices, made him pave roads. Planning mines, so he covers startup costs."
"Saw you as easy prey and got stung."
The emperor cackled.
"Heard the north's rich in fine ore. You didn't swing just the whip."
"No need to shatter outright. Seize justification, claim fair profit. Sustainable fleecing beats one gutting."
"Carrot-and-stick basics. Words are key. Empire's founding myth: the Founder wheedled a dragon's heart with honeyed tongue, forging our bedrock."
"A few solid iron veins, and Geltner breaks even. Silver or gold? Windfall. But dev costs mean they'll bet the farm on the north awhile."
"Whip when called for, carrot too."
Nodding along, the emperor halted.
"Wait. Why're we droning on like musty fossils again?"
"Pardon?"
"Blast it, didn't summon you for geezer gab. Shift gears. On that note: why no dalliances at your age?"
The emperor perked up, pressing.
Estiang's face soured instantly.
"Even if Your Majesty brings it up so abruptly..."
"Youngsters these days skip house politics for 'dating' before wedding."
"Not universal. Political matches still ace cards. You urged one on me, Your Majesty."
"That's separate. Dating a time or two pre-marriage a scandal now? Big men sow bastards amid great deeds."
"..."
Estiang's expression shifted from discomfort to something more nuanced.
Offering the emperor an indescribable look, he spoke.
"Then you wish me romancing some other house's noble lady?"
"What's to stop a youth's fling or two? Ideal if you date and wed my youngest, but hardly forbidden."
"As emperor?"
"Aye. Berg: imperial stalwart, my kin private, north's shield public. Succession-wise, to encourage. Youthful flings build savvy."
"And as father Giovanni, daughter-haver?"
"Hm."
The garrulous emperor fell quiet.
Gauging Estiang warily, he replied. "Couldn't recommend."
"..."
"..."
Silence hung.
Ahem, harrumph. The emperor cleared his throat.
"Keep mum from my girl. She'd fly into a rage knowing her old man said that. Temper's all her mother's—fiery sort."
"Fear not. I'll bear the tale of Your Majesty urging debauchery to my grave."
"Now, Grand Duke—that phrasing's off. Not debauchery, but youthful dating for relational polish."
"Best revert to dull drivel. Work over bastards fattens lands, steels troops. Far more efficient."
"Urgh."
Scratching his head, the emperor flicked his chin.
"Fine. Geltner for roads and mines. Recruited heaps from the capital—what for?"
"Artisans'll build coking kilns for coal. Much to do homeward. Glassmen know fireclay; need crucibles for smelting."
"What's that mean?"
"High-grade steel, plain. North ore's low-impurity gem; tweak fuel and process for stellar output."
"Stellar steel..."
An army clad in stellar steel.
"Mentioned Geltner paving roads?"
"Ongoing deals; roads ease both sides."
"Roads..."
Roads linking empire's heart.
"Hm..."
The emperor's gaze warmed ambiguously on Estiang.
Grasping it, Estiang sobered.
"No. No plans."
"Haven't spoken yet. Just... thoughts on renewing vassal oath? Reward Berg's toil with extra clauses."
The emperor flashed an awkward smile.