Petyr walked down the long hall of the chancellor’s mansion, following the ornate red and gold runner that muffled his footsteps in a very satisfying way. He had been here once, as a young child. The vaulted ceilings and oak-paneled walls had seemed bigger then, almost cavernous. Now the dark paneling made him feel claustrophobic. There had once hung pictures of battles, the banners of Zephyrost and Sephiria flying side-by-side. His father had made sure to point that out. Always together, that’s how we will survive. Now the walls were hung with edifices of the Solarian Emperor, scenes depicting his supposed descent from the heavens and other rubbish that Petyr had to work hard not to openly scoff at lest he offend his chaperons.

He was led into what he perceived as a small reception hall or a large study. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books along either wall. Two wingback chairs, one of which was occupied, were set on either side of an unlit fireplace to the left. It would have felt too dark, had it not been for the two large glass-paned windows set into the back wall, such that a large garden that extended to the edge of the forest was visible. A sizable pine table was set at the end with room, just before the windows, with room for at least ten chairs. He eyed the windows. Outside of Zephyrost, such craftsmanship was rare. He wondered if these were remnants of the old alliance or if the construction was new. He didn’t remember this room from his childhood, but then again he hadn’t really had an eye for architecture as a child. Now he did so by necessity.

The Chancellor, a fairly unassuming man in a red tunic, rose from his seat by the unlit fireplace. “You honor me with your presence. He gave a short bow.

“And I yours,” Petyr replied with a bow of his own. He kept his gaze even, eyes bright. He had learned long ago that eye contact was important to his position. Many nobles wouldn’t look a person of lower station in the face. His father had taught him that was a mistake. The face was the best way to understand someone. And being of noble blood didn’t mean that someone lesser than you couldn’t make your life more difficult. Since most princes didn’t receive this valuable lesson, Petyr had the distinct pleasure of pleasantly surprising people. And in negotiations like this, that was never a bad thing.

“Your father was most courteous when we met during the harvest at the end of the war.”

“He has said the same of you. He told me that you emptied your entire larder for his troops when they stayed over on the way home.

“Indeed. Though , I must say that it was mostly the two of us. Our numbers had…dwindled at that point.” He offered the prince the seat opposite him. “I am interested to know what merits your visit, as welcome as it is”

“I’ll get right to the point then.” Petyr seated himself as instructed. “Prime minister, I have been tasked with warning our brother nations. You have spies here, spies working on behalf of the empire.”

“There are always spies, your grace. Always. I speak with at least three people a day who are on the take for the empire. Not to mention the scores of others who work for our ‘brother nations. Half of diplomacy is simply knowing who the spies are and what their actual goals are.”

“I understand. And you are wise - keeping enemies closer is certainly a matter of course in politics. However, my father’s concern stems from a warning he received. And an omen.”

“Omen? Warning? I must beg your highness to speak plainly.”

“Very well - we received word that the Solarian empire is mobilizing ships for a direct invasion."

“And who told your father this?”

“His cousin, the emperor, sent his personal envoy to deliver the message.” His face darkened. “He asked him to join in the effort." Petyr passed over a small scrap of paper, on which several names unfamiliar to him had been written. "He also gave us the names of several of his spies. A show of power more than a favor.”

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"I recall from the war - he wasn’t terribly proud of his relationship to the Solarian line. And yet, the King of Zephyrost is a Luminary.”

“Quarter Luminary, actually.”

“Even a drop of that bloodline is considered holy in parts of the world that aren’t here. To them, you yourself are a descendant of the empire, a relation to the illustrious Helianthus, third of his name. Some would say that you are related to a god."

Petyr bristled internally; this was not what he had expected. Was the chancellor sympathetic to the empire? It would make things so much harder if it was.

Saving him from having to respond immediately, a knock came at the fine oaken door.

“Yes,” the chancellor called. A page boy with the patchy hint of a mustache peeked in.

“A Master Felquest to see you, sir?”

“He is expected.” The aged man glanced over at Petyr. “Do you mind, your grace?”

“Not at all. I was hoping to encounter some of the lesser folk during my journey.” And he really didn’t mind - it gave him time to think.

Arthur Felquest was about what he had expected of the local officials. He was polite, affluent by non-royal standards, and woefully uncultured. For all of that, the man seemed a good person overall. This was largely a trade agreement - importing spices from Leviland was a business he was attempting to enter, but tariffs were too high. If the chancellor could bring some business to the council to ease those, the township of Fellow’s Glen would be much obliged and would likely find a higher percentage of taxes in their coffers. It was all so mundane, but Petyr fought the urge to turn up his nose. This part of politics was best suited to the councilmen and women of the world - if they didn’t do it, then every prince and duke on the continent would be stuck wheeling and dealing from dawn until dusk.

Once their economic tedium was concluded, the men shared a small drink of brandy to seal the deal. Petyr gracefully declined his share - it wouldn’t do to have a child drinking, despite his status. Plus he hated the stuff.

“Any other business to discuss, Master Felquest?”

“Well, there is a small local matter. I almost hesitate to mention, but my wife was adamant that I bring it to your attention. There is a boy, merely an indentured servant and I have been asked to argue for clemency on his behalf.”

“And I would assume he is indentured for a debt he owes - what grounds do you have to dismiss this debt? While I find the practice detestable, it is still protected by law?”

“None but that his servitude would be uncommonly cruel. The man who would be his master seems to do so out of grudge rather than anything else. He is…” he seemed to choose his words carefully, “rich above his station, and could to with hiring other servants as necessary, but he is fixated on the boy.”

“But the law itself says he is property, if this has already been decided. Surely it’s a simple statute.”

The gentleman from the country seemed aware of this argument, however. “For a fixed period, master chancellor. After that, his life is his own.”

“And thus?”

Petyr was finally catching on. This was all double-speak. The moment Felquest had requested this favor, it had been done. All that had followed was the two men getting their story straight, smoothing out a road map to ensure that the legality of this decision wasn’t threatened. If nothing else, his visit was proving valuable in learning western diplomacy.

“And thus, if his life is shortened by abuse and cruelty, his debt has been far overpaid.”

“I see. Are you willing to put forth the funds to buy out this debt?”

The man looked sheepish. “I had hoped that the treasury…”

“Fine fine. We shall provide a writ and you will personally pay this man for his debt. But I shall want something in return when the time comes. What is the boy’s name?”

“Kelvin Fellow”

Petyr’s ears perked up and he felt his face grow hot. What were the chances?

“Are you quite alright, young prince?” the Felquest fellow was looking at him strangely.

Petyr roused himself. “Oh yes, I was simply moved by your generosity.”

“Indeed." The chancellor stepped in. "Well Felquest, if that is all then I shall see you again upon harvest season. There is much money to be made and we are all due to pay our betters when the time comes.”

“But of course, Chancellor. I look forward to seeing you again at that time. God’s mind you.”

“Gods mind you,” the chancellor said without looking up.

When the other man was gone, he turned to Petyr. “A rather irksome practice, exchanging favors with the various baronies of our country, but without this I dare say our country wouldn’t function. All this talking has left me absolutely famished - let us sup together. I want to hear all about how your father is doing”.

As he followed the Chancellor out into the hallway, Petyr hoped their conversation would not pick up where they had left it - gods among men and the like. He was beginning to doubt he could trust the Chancellor, but only time would tell.

The unfolded note he had presented lay unread on the table. Among the list of spies was written the name Johan Densk.