Everyone was already on their toes with the arrival of the royal envoy, but when the scroll was delivered, sealed with the golden emblem of the Imperial Court, the tension in Unnatirajya became icy.
Sharath glared at the thick paper as if it would burst. "You know, for paper, that thing exudes the same vibe an execution is about to happen.
Lord Bassana snorted. "It is an impending execution. Financially, at least. You've destabilized three noble food markets in less than a season. The Crown was bound to notice."
Lord Varundar Darsha, always the calm center of the storm, broke the seal and read aloud:
By command of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Virendar Alok, Young Lord Sharath Virayan Darsha is commanded to appear at the Royal Court within seven days. He shall come with a working model of the device so named the 'Chill Box.' The Empire awaits explanation and answer to its economic and political consequences.
The envoy bowed, his own face rigid with phony courtesy that Sharath promised could shatter. "We anticipate your return in the capital next week. Do not tarry."
As they finally set off, Bassana whistled. "Well, lad. You've succeeded. Invented a box, chilled some meat, and now you're going to walk into the lion's den where half the nobility want to worship you and the other half want to eviscerate you."
đ§NeuroBoop's voice buzzed in Sharath's head like an ecstatic mosquito: "Oh yay, politics. My favorite sport. Honestly, you should bring popcorn. Or ice cream. Serve it in the throne room and watch half the court bow down before you."
Sharath sighed. "This is going to kill me. I'm fifteen and I'm going to negotiate with an emperor."
"Correction," đ§NeuroBoop replied. "You're fifteen and you're about to out-negotiate an emperor. No pressure."
The War Council of Darsha
The following night, the Darsha estate became the site of an impromptu war council. Bassana spread ledgers and profit charts across the long oak table, while Varundar calmly poured tea and pretended that his father's greed-driven cackling was normal background noise.
Lady Ishvari, pregnant and rounded, watched from a cushioned chair. "I trust you're all aware that if my son comes back from the capital in pieces, I won't forgive you."
"Noted," Bassana said breezily, writing percentages on parchment as a man might be inscribing battle plans.
Sharath leaned forward. "We can't give them all. If the Crown seizes complete control, they'll press down our land with the weight of their monopoly. But if we resist them, they'll just roll right over us with, you know, armies."
Varundar nodded. "So we compromise. A share for them, a share for us, and enough to keep everyone else happy.
Bassana struck the parchment. "I've run the figures. If we leave internal salesâthat is, within the empireâunder Darsha control, then external sales can be directed through the Crown. They can then reap profits from exports without suffocating our domestic economy."
Sharath looked slitted. "Fine, but how's the split?"
That was where the argument started.
Bassana had demanded 50-50. Varundar countered that was suicide. đ§NeuroBoop, predictably, poured gasoline on the flames: "I tell you, make a demand for 120%. Unpossible? Yes. But just imagine the headlines: 'Boy wonder creates profit beyond reality.'"
Hours of yelling, writing, erasing, and Thermo spilling three inkwells had passed before the agreement finally came forth like a grotesque child of greed and practicality.
The Deal of Ice and Fire
Sharath practiced the speech in front of the mirror, his face boyish as he readied himself to admit to a crime.
"Inside the empire," he started, "all Chill Box sales will be under the Darsha family control. Each box made, each contract signedâit stays here. No meddling."
He paused, straightened his tunic, and went on.
"But beyond the empire, in foreign empires and kingdoms, the royal clan shall have sole rule. Ninety percent of all profit from foreign sales will belong to the Crown. Five percent will be devoted to the public good, to demonstrate the generosity of the Empire. And five percent will go directly to the princess, that she may serve as middlewoman between the Darsha clan and the throne."
He breathed out. "That's it."
Bassana applauded like a man who had just been informed his coffers would forever be full. "Excellent! The Crown takes ninety percent, which will make them self-satisfied. The public takes five, which will make them seem generous. The princess takes five, which will make her interested in keeping us safe. And we still maintain absolute monopoly within the empire!"
Varundar allowed a rare smile. "It is risky. But clever. It binds the princess to us, makes the Crown happy, and ensures our people prosper."
Sharath looked unconvinced. "Or it makes everyone hate me equally."
đ§NeuroBoop chuckled: "Ah yes, the art of leadership. If no one hates you, you're irrelevant. If everyone hates you, you're important. Congratulations, you've just upgraded from child inventor to national nuisance."
Courtroom Drama Incoming
The family practiced for days. Sharath memorized percentages, lines of delivery, and even rehearsed bowing at the right angle so that he did not appear as if he was about to fall over.
Lady Ishvari injected her own remarks in between yawns. "If the Emperor scowls, smile more. If the Empress questions you, respond fast. And if the princess winks, don't panic."
Sharath buried his face in his arms. "Why is this not sounding more like economics and sounding more like walking into a soap opera?"
Thermo, in an astonishing turn of betrayal, swatted a toy Chill Box prototype off the floor. Bassana scolded the cat. "That's more valuable than your weight in gold, furball!"
đ§NeuroBoop deadpanned: "Calms down, merchant. At least he didn't pee in it."
By the end of the week, Sharath was a wreck of nerves and sarcasm. But the deal was done.
The Capital Awaits
Departure morning saw the Darsha caravan gather: Chill Boxes-bound wagons, soldiers wearing lacquered armor, and Sharath riding uncomfortably at the front like a prisoner in public display.
When the gates to Unnatirajya swung open, Bassana smiled and slapped his grandson on the shoulder. "Remember, ladâthis is not merely a matter of selling boxes. This is about the future of our people."
Varundar spoke up, voice firm: "Be yourself. Be cunning. And do not fail. The fate of the land rests on your shoulders."
đ§NeuroBoop, naturally, spoiled the moment: "Also, don't spill your drink in front of the Emperor. Or break wind during your address. Both are capital offenses."
Sharath let out a sigh. "Why do I get the feeling that's really true?"
And so, with locked profits and seething politics in tow, the Darsha family journeyed to the capital. Unnatirajyaâand its empire of iceâhung in the balance, in the hands of a boy's negotiation.