Chapter Text
Nael was dubious of the proposal, steepling his fingers as he read through the compiled paperworks. It was a sound plan to promote business relations between the local suppliers and the legion, but the stability of this region was only a stepping stone. He would loath to be chained to Nagxia by economical deals.
“No, this would cut into the legion’s budgets too much.” The Legatus shook his head. “And it would require long term commitment between the VIIth and untrustworthy sources.”
The princess was a deft hand at management, perhaps far too excellent for mere deskwork meant for a mere assistant. Since her involvement in the day-to-day clerical operations, he'd found himself able to plan for the upcoming expedition and conduct inspections of the aerial forces. He was pleased with her work, surprised by her startling efficiency. However, it did not mean he would allow her to make such blatant changes and dip her hands into matters where it did not belong.
“That isn't true — my lord, this plan may be adapted to whichever territory you may be assigned to next, simply change some variables and it would secure a steady and affordable supply chain for the ground troops.” Crow balled up her hand, hiding it beneath the fabric of her light shawl. “Your spending on imports from the capital would decrease by almost an entire fifth of last year’s gross spend.”
“We cannot make such major changes to the supply chain on such short notice.” Her proposal was slid back to her across the wide, rounded desk. “With all due respect, you're trying to fix what is not broken, Your Grace.”
He was being stubborn, shifting in one excuse after the next to maintain an indiscernible sort of upper hand. Crow could not decipher his purpose of undermining her efforts like this.
Was he colluding with Nerva to even the playing field against her and Zenos? It was highly frustrating trying to read Nael’s intent through his voice alone. He had little tells of irritation and approval, but those alone were not enough to fully understand the White Raven. To the frustration of her curiosity, never did he ever go without his helmet, even in the comforts of his own personal office.
Crow pursed her lips, lifting it into a sheepish smile. “Of course, I may be overstepping my jurisdiction. My apologies, my lord.”
That evening, she marched into her shared chambers and sank herself into a near scalding bath. Her temper ran as hot as the water as she relived the scene in her head. Naberos ran the ivory comb she'd purchased through her hair, its length had grown thicker and longer in the months that she'd been here. A healthier appetite had grown with this newfound freedom, even Zenos seemed to approve whenever she cleaned her plate.
They're unable to see your vision, mistress. All at present seem to have their own motives and desires here, not so different from my homeland.
Naberos’ voice echoed in her head, the sound was like an indistinct susurrus from a parched throat.
“If you've something to say, then spit it out.”
Crow glared at the flat water, the soap could hardly produce suds to be of any real use.
Do you really need the viceroy’s authority when this is for the legion's own good?
“You're suggesting I go over Nael’s head on the matter?” She shifted to prop her legs up next to the tub’s bronze faucet.
Denying a proposal that benefits all over such petty power is the mark of a poor leader.
Crow scoffed, amused at the voidsent’s commentary. “And what would you know about leadership, you gluttonous thing?”
Naberos clutched its chest, feigning injury as though it was struck by the pointed sting of her skepticism. You doubt wounds me, mistress. I once turned my cloak upon the great queen, Scathach, and fooled her into imprisonment, I am the Paragon of ploys and wicked stratagems, my council is one you should keep the closest.
She reached back and slid her hand beneath her thrall’s chin in a hard grip, forcing it to lean over the rim of the stone tub. “Your anecdote does not help you in the least.”
Cunning enough to tell your current master of your past traitorous misdeeds. Crow rolled her eyes. Over her shoulder, Naberos’ lips curled into a sharp toothed grin, face pressing into her touch like an overeager hound as rivulets of water slid down its angular jawline.
I digress, mistress, what could the viceroy do against you? A scolding and a light slap on the wrist? You are the First Princess of this empire, you should do as you please.
It was goading her into a hasty decision, however, it did have a point. As long as things went the way she wished and all benefited from her efforts, even the White Raven would be hard-pressed to discipline her. It would risk his image in the eyes of his own soldiers to punish the princess who sought to better their lives.
Water cascaded off her body as she stepped from the quartz tub, tugging the towel from her thrall’s hands to wrap around her slim form. Modesty was an irrelevant concept in the company of a creature whose sole pleasure was through consumption. Right on cue, timing was impeccable as always, she heard Zenos’ return.
“Go feed yourself — leave the soldiers alone, though. I'd rather not file paperworks for missing legionaries.” She waved at him before wringing out the last of the wetness from her long, dark hair.
Ever so generous she is, my mistress. Naberos bowed low before slipping through the crack of the tiny square window of the bathing chamber, its form as flat and dark as a pool of dark ink.
He was waiting for her outside, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. His hair, the color of deep honey, was left untied, damp sweat only just drying from the day’s exertions. His eyes locked onto her the moment the door opened, taking in her parted lips and dewy skin. The towel’s hem barely reached past mid thigh, clinging on by a mere simple tuck above the swell of her bosom. Yet for all these tempting little details, he could only focus on the hawkish gleam in her eye He knew that look, the flickering ember in her singular gaze stoked by the heat of ambition.
“And what have you been planning?” Zenos drummed his fingers against his bicep and braced himself against the doorframe.
Crow smirked, eyes narrowing into feline crescents, head lulling aside in that familiar angle.
“Before I tell you, I have but a small favor to ask.”
****
Zenos eyed the headman of the city’s mercantile guild as he sat next to Crow. He saw a Nagxian man, born and bred, chocked full of bitterness and an obstinate resistance to change. Said man was tan-skinned with a head of closely cropped black hair. His eyes were dark and his broad nose was dotted with a flat, notable mole. He carried himself highly, with an air of mild contempt for any who he deemed as foreign. Namely Crow and him, in this particular case. Blonde strands of his hair spilled from the cowl he wore to conceal his third eye, the mere sight of them seemed to be enough to brand him as an outsider. Crow was even less well received, her elezen heritage placed on full display without any concealing garments. Her pointed ears and growing height was a noticeable thing indeed, the top of her head now reaching his chest. After leaving the oppressive air of the imperial palace behind them, he was pleased to see her shed her reticence towards food and tentatively thrive beyond the capital’s borders.
He digressed, such exclusionary attitudes were understandable from the influential forces in Valnain. However, he was putting up more of a fight even when Crow cornered him with an undeniable boon of a contract. In clear form, the headman was a trapped animal who was too stubborn to acknowledge the fact of his capture.
“These demands are too much, the city does not have sufficient means of production to provide in the long term.” He picked at the bands of gold on his fingers, doughy cheeks flushed as he sought for yet another reason to deny her his approval.
Next to him, Crow smiled. Any protest her opponent had brought up was swiftly resolved by the ironclad draft of her contract. “If you read the print I provided, it offers a trial period of a year, after which renegotiations may take place.”
The headman sputtered, face growing a ruddy red. He looked as though he was about to burst like an overripe, bearded tomato.
“A year is not so long, and the dividends are so generous. We may scale down riskier importations to boost production of domestic goods.” Reasoned one of the representatives, this one a horned, pale-coated hrothgar dressed in intricately patterned silks. His voluminous sleeves fluttered as he beseeched to their leader.
It was a relief to hear a voice of reason from the other side. Crow had asked Zenos to accompany her down to the city since it was a rest day, but she did not wish to spend the entirety of the outing with her rear planted on cushioned ratan furnishings.
“Do not make us bear the brunt of your hasty avarice, Dansch.” The headman turned to glower at the hrothgar.
The other representatives, two hyuran women and a vieran man, dressed in colorful embroidered garbs, looked at one another. It seemed they were caught between the headman and the horned hrothgar, still on the fence as they gauged which way the winds would favor.
Something to tip the scale was needed, something small but significant enough that it could not be refused. “You face heavy tax on exports, do you not?”
The room seemingly started upon hearing his voice, his question placing a stopper on the imminently approaching debate. He'd remained silent throughout the exchange, sitting in as the imposing bodyguard of the diplomat. Now, however, the room tipped uncomfortably toward him after his trenchant observation.
Crow paused at his words, smoothly picking up on his hint once she realized saw the merest hint of a smirk on his lips. She now owed him more than just for the favor of his company.
On cue, she extended a gregarious hand to them. “We could lighten the load of taxation for the trial period, in exchange for a little bonus surplus in goods.”
“Under what authority? The viceroy has denied our petitions time and time again, sneering at us from the lofty perch of his castrum!” The headman slammed his palm against the table between them, the inkpot and fountain pen rattling on impact.
“To not look a gift horse in the mouth — is that how the saying goes in Othard?” Crow tapped her chin, recalling the Doman adage.
“Our terms are generous yet you're spitting into the hand of friendship I offer.” She stood, retrieving the trade agreement from across the table with a drag of her fingers. “Perhaps it's time we take our leave.”
Zenos got up and watched the headman stiffen, the four who stood behind him had their eyes trained firmly on Crow. They had the cast of worry about them, caught between their loyalties and their need for succor from the iron fist of Nael. Even if temporary, the reprieve from the White raven's harsh policies was desperately needed by the peasantry and merchants of Valnain.
“Please wait, we need a moment to convene.” Dansch, the horned representative called out.
“What are you saying? We’ll be feeding the very same hands lashing our backs!” The headman, who was content with letting a good thing slip by to appear his resentments, exclaimed in outrage. He whirled upon his fellows, stark indignation on full display despite polite company.
Collectively the four shuffled off behind closed doors, none looking back to their supposed leader.
“While that is true, would you rather continue receiving the whip or take the rest that's offered?” The slim elezen wench folded her hands on her knees as she sat back down.
This was no kindness, the headman realized. They'd stepped into the awaiting jaws of a croc.