"Hey!" Corvin came jogging over to her, a piece of the gilded, binding paper already clutched in his hand. "Let's write it down."
Daniela smirked. She took the quill he offered and quickly wrote down the details of their agreement, carefully detailing what she would owe him should she fail to fulfill her terms.
"You know this contract is skewed in my favor!" Corvin observed, looking up from the glowing text on the paper. He extended his hand, and Daniela met his grasp, sealing the agreement.
"I wouldn't worry about me." She offered him a wry grin before turning to walk away, leaving him standing by his table, holding the life-altering contract.
Not far from Daniela's negotiations, Princess Bethany, her crimson gown shimmering like spilled wine, approached Drusilla's booth. Drusilla, a woman with unnervingly still eyes and skin like aged parchment, meticulously arranged small, stoppered vials filled with a viscous, shimmering liquid. Bethany, a princess from the Fire Kingdom, moved with an arrogant grace, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the display.
"You are Drusilla, the Curator, I presume?" Bethany's voice was a low purr, yet it held an undeniable edge of command.
Drusilla, without looking up, merely inclined her head a fraction, her long, elegant fingers continuing their work. "Indeed, Princess. And you are here for the Concentrated Vitae-Tincture." Her tone was flat, devoid of the usual vendor enthusiasm.
"Such efficiency. It almost makes me wonder if you truly value your product." Bethany stepped closer, her shadow falling over the delicate vials. "As future Queen, I require a monopoly on this rare substance. An undisputed monopoly."
Drusilla finally met Bethany's gaze, a flicker of irritation in her ancient eyes. "The Vitae-Tincture is a rare and precious substance, Princess. Its creation is a delicate art, and its effects, as you well know, are unparalleled. Many kingdoms seek its benefits."
"And many kingdoms will be denied." Bethany's smile was thin, predatory. "I want every vial you brought tonight. And you will not sell to another soul. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever, unless it is to my kingdom alone."
Drusilla's thin lips tightened, a subtle tremor passing through her hand as she picked up a particularly ornate vial. "Such a demand comes with a price, Princess. A significant one. My usual rates are already substantial, given the rarity."
"I am not interested in your 'usual rates.' I am interested in securing a monopoly. Name your price, Curator. But be aware," Bethany raised her right hand, and a small, perfectly controlled wisp of orange flame danced between her thumb and forefinger, casting an unstable, flickering light over Drusilla's face. "Should I discover you've sold even a drop to another, or that the price you've given me is anything less than absolute exclusivity, I assure you, your booth will be the next thing to vanish in a cloud of ash." The flame intensified, making the nearest vial of tincture sparkle ominously.
Drusilla's jaw clenched. She disliked Bethany intensely, her blatant threats a crude display.
But a sale was a sale, and a large one at that. "Very well, Princess. For every vial I have here tonight, and for the exclusive rights to all future batches for the next five years, preventing any other kingdom from purchasing from me... the price will be triple my standard rate. And you will fill out the necessary contract now." She named a figure that would make even a royal purse wince.
Bethany's smile widened, a cold, satisfied expression. With a sharp exhale, she extinguished the small flame. "Triple? Excellent. A fair price for absolute loyalty. Draw up the contract." She watched Drusilla quickly retrieve the paperwork, then extended her hand. "Now, Curator. We seal this deal."
Drusilla hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but compliance was paramount to survival. She accepted the handshake, and a gasp involuntarily escaped her lips as Bethany's hand gripped hers. Even without visible flame, the intense heat of the Fire Conjurer was enough to scorch human skin. As Bethany released her, Drusilla quickly hid her hand, the distinct, painful sting of fresh burns blooming across her palm.
Bethany straightened, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "And ensure no other vendors even glance at your stall tonight. I expect discretion."
Drusilla nodded curtly, her face a mask of polite professionalism, though her heart pounded with a mixture of resentment and the thrill of such a colossal, albeit distasteful, transaction. She detested the princess, but the coffers of her business would sing for years.
Daniela, having concluded her bold deal with Corvin and feeling a definite buzz from the "Fancy Yellow Ale," signaled her maids. Ida and Lola, still awkward in their trousers but following orders, quickly pulled a heavy, carved wooden table and three plush chairs from a nearby empty alcove and dragged them right toward the center of the hall, ignoring the bewildered glances of the more genteel princesses.
Daniela flopped into her seat, hoisting her pitcher of ale high. "Enough of these stiff-backed sellers and simpering princesses," she declared, her voice loud enough to carry over the din. She slammed the pitcher down on the table with a resonant thud. "You are merchants! And what do merchants do when the stalls close?"
"We drink and we trade tall tales." Sim shouted lifting his own picture of ale in the air.
Lola, still nervous about their central position, whispered, "But Princess, we are not merchants. And this is not a tavern."
"Tonight, we are," Daniela stated firmly, then leaned in towards Ida, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tell a joke, come on, Ida! I heard a good one from that mad brewer, Starch. Your is better, tell them the one about the three princes, the goblin, and the donkey."
Ida, less delicate than Lola, allowed a small, rough smile to pull at her lips. She cleared her throat, adopting the gravelly tone of a road-weary traveler.
Around them, the room's energy had shifted. Corvin, having signed his contract with Daniela, was stacking his papers nervously but with a slight, hopeful smile. Bella's former botanist, Miranda, was animatedly talking to another princess, her glasses steamed as she finally found a comfortable rhythm for her sales pitch.
"So," Ida began, "there were three princes: a Demon, a Vampire, and a Human, all walking through the Cinderlands. They get lost and they run out of food. All they have left is one scrawny donkey."
A merchant across the room, who had just managed to sell a crate of questionable 'healing poultices,' cheered, "Go on, girl! Give 'em the Cinder truth!"
"The Demon Prince looks at the beast and says, 'My father demands I sacrifice everything for power! I must eat the donkey's heart to gain its strength!'
The Vampire Prince draws his silver knife and says, 'Nonsense! My people live on the essence of life! I will drink the donkey's blood to gain its vitality!"
Ida paused for the punchline, looking deliberately toward the edges of the crowd.
It was Starch, the ale vendor, who stepped forward, holding a shimmering decanter of his "Fancy Yellow Ale." He grinned, pointing a finger at the Human Prince's hypothetical choice.
"Then the Human Prince looks at both of them, sighs, and says, 'You know what? I'm just gonna eat the donkey's ass.'" Ida said expertly.
Starch raised his voice into a loud declaration, "they all must come from the Cinderlands Because when you're in the Cinderlands, every single deal you make leaves a bad taste in your mouth anyway!"
Daniela roared with laughter, slapping the table so hard the remaining ale in her pitcher sloshed onto the polished floor. Lola covered her face with her hands in mortified disbelief, while Ida smirked, pleased to have earned a laugh from her mistress and the merchant community. The loud, crude joke successfully cleared a small circle of air around their table, marking them clearly as outsiders, and the newly enriched vendors all shared a knowing, cynical chuckle.
Before she could take more than a few steps, Daniela felt a light, hesitant tap on her arm.
"Princess Daniela, I have the most perfect creation that would be a benefit to any kingdom. But I think you would be rather interested." She was glad for the distraction. She felt as if she was quickly on her way to becoming drunk.
Daniela turned, her gaze sweeping over the man. "Tell me all about it."
"Princess, I am Zarth, a Metallurgist. I specialize in soul steel. In the Demon Kingdom, you do not seek mere metal. You seek supremacy." He guided her decisively over to his booth to show her his medals that hummed with pure, destructive force. "You look at this ingot—this cold, swirling darkness—and you see steel. I see a captured storm!"
Zarth then launched into what quickly became a very lengthy sales pitch. "Your Demon legions are powerful, yes, but their might is untamed." Daniela didn't miss how he tried to flatter her by acting as if she were already the Queen of the Demon realm. "Your armor and blades are little more than sophisticated iron. This is a container for magic, not a conductor. They bleed your precious arcane energy into the air, wasting your power on the slightest scrape of the blade. It is inefficient! It is weak!"
Daniela couldn't help it as her mind drifted off to other places. This was insufferable. His passion was extraordinary but wasted on her.
Zarth lifted one of the crafted ingots into his hand, showing it to her. "The Power of Warp-Forged Soul-Steel. This material, Princess, is different. It does not contain magic; it devours and amplifies it. My process, honed in the lawless fires, specifically amplifies demon power—"
"You are not a very good salesperson. It is clear that you are a scientist—"
"Princess, I know everything about my product! It is an easy thing to sell because it is great in its form—"
Daniela raised her hand sharply for him to stop, not wanting him to dive into another lecture. She was here for a quick pitch, not to hear his life story of dedication to a world-changing gadget.
"I mean no offense. I only state that you are a scientist. You are passionate, you are serious, you are smart to seek out a princess whose Prince would ultimately benefit from your product. But you do not know how to sell a product."
"If only you would give me a moment of your time, because I know I can!" Zarth pleaded, throwing his hands out dramatically.
"You have sold me, sir! I am interested in a deal. I just cannot stand another moment of words. You have aroused my interest and intrigue in your product to an extent I will probably sleep tonight thinking about your words. So, what do you want?"
Zarth smiled, the largest grin plastering all over his face. He quickly regained his composure, sensing his leverage. "What I offer is exceptional, so the reward should be just as exceptional." Daniela nodded her head while taking another swig of her ale. "Because of the delicate nature of my work, I would need a steady stream of souls to create the steel. Ten thousand pounds of unrefined, pure, unstable elemental ore, preferably mined from a cool Nexus. I know the demon realm has quite a few active volcanic regions—those would do. A permanent relocation to the Demon realm, a permanent writ of protection from the King, along with a pardon. And I will not have to deal with governmental oversight or taxes."
"Is that all?" Daniela raised an eyebrow, tilting her head.
"For now!" Zarth knew that he had created something magnificent and specifically exceptional for the demon race. As a demon himself, if he was going to create anything exceptional, it would be for his own race. He was offering demons supremacy over the other kingdoms and security in times of war.
"Are you sure you don't want the crown off my very head?" Daniela deadpanned.
His eyes narrowed at her use of sarcasm, which he did not find the slightest bit amusing. "A demon amplifier is unheard of—"
"And with your demands, it will remain that way." Daniela leaned against his booth, crossing her arms. "Look, you found something new, exceptional, amazing. But it is no big issue if it remains in the Cinder Province, unused, untouched, unknown. You found me, which means the results must be just adequate for others, and glorious for the demons. That is not enough to sway me to give you everything but the crown."
"Okay, I see your point. I still need access to the ore, land to call my own, and a pardon, along with governmental protection. I will waive the taxation, but government involvement in my work is not negotiable."
"There's no way. I mean, I'm not even Queen yet, and you want me to risk my crown. As you know, demons are not known for their loving nature. I have a feeling my Prince would hate me if I showed him this reckless deal."
"There's not anything I'm willing to back down on."
"Okay, so let's think about this. I can grant you access to the ore, but it will be taxed, and you will need to buy it from the kingdom or trade it with your modified ingots. I'm pretty sure we can handle the souls. You will work without government oversight, but you are not going to be getting a pardon. You will have temporary citizenship to the Demon Kingdom. The second you leave our borders, you will be killed. It gives us a bit of security of your newfound fealty. Without that pardon, you can all leave our province. Also, you will be unable to sell to any other Kingdom."
"That would be making me a slave to the Demon Kingdom." He growled, his eyes turning black as coal, the whites completely disappearing.
"Call it whatever you like. If you want a deal, you will not be able to leave the Demon Kingdom. What did you do there? Why did you run?"
Zarth's lips curved into a smile, but he didn't say a word. "Something so heinous that even a demon wouldn't forget. I'm willing to open some of the terms to be negotiated. Only one of them: your pardon. Let's say we will decide on what your prison sentence would have been, and when that time arrives, you will be granted a pardon. But until then, yes, you are like a slave."
"I will not wait centuries for a pardon. The pardon will come under fifty years!" He tried to bargain, leaning forward aggressively.
"No! You can bargain with Jasper or the King on the specific length of time. But I don't know what you did. I cannot guarantee soft time. You are immortal. What is fifty years?"
"Fine, but the contract can be dissolved if we do not agree on an appropriate length of time until the pardon."
"Reasonable!" Daniela held out her hand, and her maids immediately handed her a slip of the binding paper. She took the quill and signed another deal, the confident scrape of the pen the only sound in their intense circle of negotiation.