Terms and Conditions
The Concord chamber was designed to feel temporary.
That was the trick of it.
No carved emblems. No raised dais. Just a long, low table of dark wood polished to warmth, surrounded by chairs that matched nothing else in the room. The walls were draped in neutral fabric meant to soften sound and intent alike. Everything whispered this could be removed at any time.
Iria knew better.
She took her seat three days after the silk letter arrived.
Officially, she was an independent consultative listener—a phrase so carefully empty it almost impressed her. Unofficially, she was proof that Noctyrrh consented.
She felt the want spike the moment she crossed the threshold.
Not from the Concord councilors alone, but from the observers lining the room—local delegates, scribes, merchants invited to watch transparency in action. Relief surged through them at the sight of her, sharp and bright.
Good.
She's here.
Now it will be handled.
Iria kept her face neutral and her spine straight.
The lead facilitator, Marrowin, smiled as she sat. He was older, silver-haired, and impossibly calm. His desire was muted—not absent, but disciplined. That frightened her most of all.
"Thank you for agreeing to join us," he said. "Your presence speaks to mutual trust."
Iria did not return the smile. "My presence speaks to vigilance."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Of course."
Lumi and Blake stood at the back of the chamber—not participants, not symbols. Just witnesses. Kael lingered near the exit, posture loose, attention razor-sharp.
The session began.
Trade routes. Infrastructure aid. Security coordination. Each topic presented as an option, each option framed as inevitable. Iria listened, felt, mapped the wants beneath the words.
Efficiency. Access. Leverage.
None of it malicious. All of it hungry.
When discussion turned to border stabilization, Iria leaned forward.
"You're proposing joint oversight," she said. "Define joint."
Marrowin folded his hands. "Shared responsibility. Shared risk."
"And shared authority?"
"Temporarily," he replied smoothly.
The want swelled—agreement, comfort, trust.
Iria pushed back. "Temporary structures have a way of becoming permanent when they're convenient."
A murmur rippled through the observers. Not dissent—unease.
Marrowin tilted his head. "Isn't that true of most successful systems?"
Iria met his gaze. "Only when no one remembers what existed before them."
The facilitator's smile thinned. Not vanished. Adjusted.
"Your role," he said gently, "is to advise, not obstruct."
Iria felt the word land like a boundary drawn around her.
She inhaled slowly. "Then here is my advice. Any agreement made without an expiration date is not support. It is acquisition."
Silence followed—real silence this time, not the curated kind.
From the back of the room, Lumi shifted her weight. Blake's eyes narrowed.
Marrowin broke the pause with a soft chuckle. "You speak as though we're adversaries."
Iria heard the want beneath it—Don't make this difficult.
"I speak as though power should be named," she said. "Even when it's polite."
The session ended soon after, wrapped in civility. No decisions finalized. No objections recorded.
Outside the chamber, Kael fell into step beside her.
"They'll revise," he said. "They always do."
"And push again," Iria replied.
"Yes," he said. "But now they know where you stand."
Iria stopped walking. "Do they?"
Kael considered her. "They know you won't let them pretend this is neutral."
She exhaled, tension bleeding from her shoulders. The want receded slightly—not gone, but dulled.
Lumi approached, eyes searching Iria's face. "How does it feel?"
"Like standing in a current that keeps changing direction," Iria said. "And realizing it's learning from me."
Blake nodded once. "Then be careful what you teach it."
Iria looked back at the chamber doors—plain, unmarked, quietly confident.
"They think this is about governance," she said. "But it's not."
Kael raised a brow. "Then what is it about?"
Iria's jaw set.
"Who people trust to carry their wanting for them," she said. "And what happens when they stop carrying it themselves."
The doors closed behind them with a soft, final sound.
The night beyond remained open, watching—not with judgment, but with interest.
And Iria understood that the terms had been set.
Not on paper.
In choice.