I dust my black cloak off. "So you're strong-arming me?"
"No, I just wanted her to show up," Leara, completely unperturbed, turns to Valeria. "What was that for?"
Valeria spits in my direction. "He's weak and a cripple. I don't see the point in this."
"You never see the point," Leara rolls her eyes, gently shoving the hungry animal aside, taking several steps towards me.
"The Blackwoods and Stamkos…?" I ask.
"Allied with the Landeskogs."
…Seemingly against the Mateikos, who are now backed by the Drysdales.
The Big Five are turning their swords against one another
I don't need any more questions to figure out the rest. In essence, I'm completely dependent on her to liquidate my secrets.
I'm dead if I go to the Blackwoods or the Stamkos, and going to the Drysdales will be the same as going to the Mateikos due to their alliance.
Leara dictates the market for my secrets, as she is the only one with demand.
"Cold civil war is on the horizon," Leara turns sour. "It'll end with House Mateiko's eradication. My father doesn't see that."
"Tell me what you want already." This is an uncharacteristic level of meandering.
"A contract."
"The terms?"
"You ally with me."
"That's ridiculous," I say, though truthfully, it piques my interest.
"You can hoard your secrets, Auren. And I'll pay you to do so, so long as you use them for my gain."
"What?" Valeria shakes her head and approaches her allied heir. "Allies with a Baron weakling? You're fucking joking."
Especially with such… generous terms. She realistically could milk my secrets dry or even enter a trade deadlock with me until I crack first—some other kind of negotiation tactic that would better her position.
Instead, she wants a full monopoly at the heavy cost of making me an equal. But why? Is she so desperate that she'd sacrifice negotiation position in exchange for an amicable relationship that would all but guarantee the information?
Leara glares at Valeria. Her piercing gaze seems to dwarf the devilish Bloody Wolf's, who shrinks ever so slightly. "You tested him, did you not?"
"Lucky dodge." Valeria sneers.
"Useless." Leara waves her off, irritated.
"It was lucky."
"No need to lie." Leara turns back to me. "Does Imprint utilization count as luck these days?"
"He's not Imprinted," Valeria chuffs disbelievingly.
Honestly, I'm floored. I used Empower once in a near-imperceptible manner. Sure, it was a feat that used some form of extra power, but there are plenty of other potential explanations.
I really do not like Leara's trait. She simply knows things that shouldn't be known to her.
Though I suppose very few Dim students would have been able to dodge a sneak attack from the 6th rank war animal.
Leara and I exchange a few silent looks.
This is a clever play. She wants the information, as well as my vassal-like allegiance. It just might work. This couldn't be more perfect for me, but I'm cautiously skeptical.
In the meantime, Valeria acts like an oblivious dullard.
"Show me then." She points at my arm.
"No."
"So it does exist!"
"Maybe."
"Ugh!" Valeria angrily groans and starts walking away. "How I loathe this stupid game you play, Leara. Seems this bastard loves it just as much as you do!"
"Where are you going?" Leara asks.
"Away." Valeria waves off with finality. "Just don't fuck the lesser bastard after."
The Bloody Wolf disappears into darkness, seemingly frustrated with the existence of witty dialogue and basic intuition.
That leaves me and Leara alone, playing The Stupid Game, ignoring Valeria's final crass comment.
"Why would I want to join the losing side?" I can't jump at the first opportunity; time to hardball.
"It's the only side available to you," Leara says it as fact. "The money and influence as well, certainly."
"You assume I can't join the Landeskogs."
"You can't. They are not nearly as meritocratic as I am." She steps a bit closer, then paces. "This war will be all-encompassing; you are either on the shoulder of one of the giants or you are crushed underfoot in their battle. All the power, influence, wealth, will manifest in the middle of this conflict." Fair point.
Leara continues. "And disregarding any potential grievances between you and the Landeskogs—especially considering your sale of their sensitive secrets to direct competitors—you'd have to be the best student at the Dim for them to look your way—being a Baron—and even then, it's more likely that Alexander has you killed in your sleep before he begs for your allegiance."
"I didn't realize you were begging."
"Somewhat." She concedes. Strange. Desperate. Time to press.
"It takes a bit more than begging for me to willingly sell my agency." I shrug off her emotional appeal. It smells like a feint; showing weakness to get me to lunge at it—to feel wanted, and elicit a strong desire to fulfill that want.
"I'm not asking you to sell your agency. 'Ally' implies equality, does it not?"
"It implied fealty. Valeria looked more like a subordinate than an ally."
"Quite insubordinate for a subordinate, no?" Can't argue against that.
"Then what's the catch?"
"The catch is that you stay true to our verbal contract and aid me as an ally would."
Every logical fiber screams 'too good to be true' and I refuse to give in to the primitive ape that jumps up and down screaming 'A girl wants us! Get in there!'
I'll be dead if the ape ever wins. Best be thorough, no matter how strangely truthful she acts.
"Imprint or not, I'm unproven. This is a stretch."
"True, I suppose I should rescind the deal then." Her way of jesting is overtly deadpan.
"Quite unfortunate for me."
"Indeed."
…
"How much Gold are we talking?" I finally crack.
"Need-based."
"Let's say I need a one-million Gold prosthetic."
"As good as done."
"Artifacts? Manuals?"
"Within reason."
"Are you typically in the habit of buying friends?"
"Such is the life of a Duchess."
My heart pounds. Life-altering decisions often unnerve me, more so than killing people. Lingering narcissism, though my definition of 'narcicism' severely lacks a negative connotation.
This is all so strange.
Leara, rank two, the Mad Raven, genuinely believes that a random Baron who ranked above-average on the placements is a potential difference-maker in an imminent, massive civil war.
And she couldn't have been more right. There's no potential ally better than I.
I outstretch my gloved hand, receiving a firm grip in return.
"Allies then," I say.
"Allies."