Wealth Thread
Skill: Empathy
Preface: In New Tasks Pharan was instructed to meet with the son of a foreign merchant to show him around the city—and dig up any information that might help renegotiate a deal that was struck between the merchant's family and the Avriel during the previous cycle.
7th Cylus, 719
“The colder seasons are a burden on his health… but he is as well as anyone can hope.” Victoire Eddard Marchland, only son of Wendell Marchland, sported his father’s lean, elm-tree build and eyes so gray they almost appeared colorless. For the past half break, he had hovered at the edge of the landing pier, shouting and cursing at the sailors who lightened the ship moored at its far end. When he finally did shift his attention to Pharan, a smile rode his lips. It was an easy expression that seemed as if it belonged on his broad, clean-cut face.
Maybe he didn’t know that his guide understood enough Common that he spend the time waiting, trying to make sense of his colorful cussing.
Maybe he didn’t care.
“My father conveys his sincere apologies for not being able to make the journey in person,” he said, as he pushed away from the waterside. “He hopes the outcome of our last meeting won’t sour what has been a long, beneficial relationship for all sides so far.”
“I won’t try and say that we hadn’t hoped for more,” Pharan said as he fell in step beside the other man. “But surely we can make an arrangement everyone finds agreeable.”
By his side, Victoire absently waved at two men struggling with his luggage to go ahead. “You changed the leader of your side of the negotiations?”, he asked.
“Ambassador Ryvern is going to handle our side of the negotiations now,” Pharan confirmed as he led the way across wooden planks and towards the quay. “We didn’t anticipate you would arrive so early—there was no time to recall his predecessor from Nashaki.”
“The war?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Pharan said. “A trade deal or other.”
Victoire whistled. “Can’t be easy with all the saber rattling between them and the empire. But I imagine you got the contacts in the city.”
Pharan inclined his head. “The harbor’s still open,” was all he said.
“I guess it is true what they say… war does breed opportunities.”
“Nashaki is our ally,” Pharan replied with just as much affront as the statement required. His eyes found the small, heavy-bellied ship at the end of the docks, swaying in the sea’s perpetual pull. “War isn’t in our interest.”
“It’s beautiful, no?”
It took Pharan a moment to realize Victoire was talking about the ship. Again, he looked at it; at the ships beside it, straining against their anchor chains. He saw the variations in their builds, the different trappings of their hulls and rigging, but he realized he couldn’t put a name to either of them. He tried to see them as the products of apt craftmanship they probably were, but his mind turned them into little wooden coffins trust out onto the sea to sink or float.
“… she does seem like a formidable ship,” he said, hoping he conveyed enough genuine enthusiasm to be left off the hook—but Victoire wasn’t even listening. He had his face turned to the ship, expression unreadable.
“A recent addition to your father’s fleet?”, Pharan asked once the Victoire had finished his quiet observation.
“More a little, private indulgence of mine. One of three. The others are being finished in the dry docks back at home as we speak,” Victoire admitted as he loped up a set of stairs to duck into an alley and away from the cutting winds. Pharan followed, slower, struggling with the wind and his wings caught under the woolen cloak.
The tall buildings of the city proper rose around them. Here and there, cast-iron lanterns dotted the streets. Their light, sheen dimed by soot-covered glass, flooded near empty streets. The pallid blue twilight of the midday hours had become the gloomy, gray-purple haze of late afternoon.
“Your business in Rharne must have gone well,” Pharan said, as he caught up with the other man at the corner.
The momentarily look Victoire cast him, immediately told him he had been a mistake. He could see the other man’s eyes knit briefly at the admission he had been kept tabs on before he strode forward as if their eyes had never. “Well enough—I couldn’t complain,” he said easily enough.
Fool, Pharan cursed himself. He felt his smile fray around the edges, just a little. “Your business in Athart—”
“Can hopefully wait another day,” Victoire interrupted. “It has been almost a year since my last visit—I am curious about the city. What changed.”
Pharan nodded. “Of course,” he said, even as he willed the other man’s tangle into existence before his eyes. The threads, pulsing with subdued color, were strung taut. They looked orderly. Controlled, almost. “It’s not your first time visiting Athart,” he said, his voice casual.
It didn’t sound like a question, but this time Victoire only laughed.
“No. Not at all. I have been seen the city… well, a dozen times maybe, in the last three arcs,” he said as he pulled his coat tighter around himself.
“You speak Lorien well,” Pharan observed.
“I had a good teacher.”
A thread, flashing drab purple, unwound from the ball of emotions coiling around Victoire. Pharan nudged at it without thinking. “If the negotiations go well, I would think there is no reason why we shouldn’t welcome you in Athart more often. If only, to spare your father the long sea travels.”
Victoire cast him a glance Pharan couldn’t quite fathom. In the half-dark of the alley, he appeared, almost, amused.
Pharan turned his attention back to the streets. Cyclus was a poor season to walk around the city. Any season was a terrible season to walk (all things considered), but lacking flight as a possible alternative, he had to make due. There was a tavern frequented by Avriel and human both he knew Ryvern enjoyed for his diplomatic endeavors. Their wines were expensive but rich and the food just on the right side of exotic to entertain visitors. And the people running the place were used to the manners and occasional outbursts of strangers. He corrected his course but stopped when he noticed Victoire didn’t follow him.
“They probably gave you a few places they want me to see—but there was one place I hoped to pay a visit to.”
