The lower districts of Veridia were a stark contrast to the gleaming white marble of the Upper See. Here, the fog from the Ever-Mist Hills pooled in the narrow alleys, smelling of damp stone and cheap tallow.
Priscilla moved through the shadows of the "Spice Quarter," her noble silks hidden beneath a heavy, oil-stained traveler's cloak. She stopped in front of a shop marked only by a hanging brass sun—the symbol of Solis, the Southern Merchant Kingdom.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cinnamon, sulfur, and dried peppers. Standing behind a counter laden with glass jars was a man with skin the color of polished mahogany and rings on every finger. This was Caspian Valerius the youngest "Merchant King."
"A Vane-Crest in the Spice Quarter?" Caspian leaned back, his eyes scanning Priscilla with practiced greed. "The North usually sends their blacksmiths for trade, not their princesses. Are you lost, Lady Priscilla? Or did you finally realize that iron tastes better with a little pepper?"
Priscilla didn't waste time with pleasantries. She reached into her cloak and placed a heavy, rolled parchment on the counter. Beside it, she set a small, leather pouch filled with high-grade Northern silver.
"I'm not here for pepper, Caspian," she said. Her voice was a low, steady hum that cut through the shop's silence. "I'm here for the 'Devil's Dust' your miners find in the Cinder-Back Volcanoes. Specifically, the purified potassium nitrate and the raw sulfur."
Caspian's smile faltered. He reached for the parchment, unrolling it to reveal a series of chemical refinement diagrams.
"These ratios..." Caspian muttered, his fingers tracing the drawings of cooling coils and settlement vats. "This isn't alchemy. This is... precision. What are you planning to do with this much saltpeter? It's used for fertilizer and preserving meat, but your quantities suggest something far more... volatile."
"What I do with it is my concern," Priscilla replied. She leaned over the counter, her eyes locking onto his. "What you should care about is the fact that the West is currently building a naval blockade that will cut off your spice routes to the East within two years. You need a way to protect your ships. I need the chemicals to build the thing that will do it."
Caspian narrowed his eyes. "You're talking about war, Little Mouse."
"I'm talking about an equalizer," Priscilla corrected. She pulled a small glass vial from her belt. It contained a coarse, black powder. She poured a tiny amount onto a ceramic dish and struck a match.
WHOOSH.
A brilliant, instantaneous flash of white-hot flame erupted, leaving behind nothing but a plume of acrid smoke. Caspian jumped back, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and fascination.
"That wasn't magic," Caspian breathed, staring at the empty dish. "There was no incantation. No crystal resonance."
"It's chemistry, Caspian. It doesn't require a mage's talent—just a spark and the right ingredients." Priscilla tucked the vial back into her belt. "I want ten crates of the raw materials delivered to the Vane-Crest warehouse in Veridia by midnight. In exchange, I give you the blueprints for a steam-powered bilge pump that will keep your spice ships from sinking in the Southern storms."
Caspian looked at the "Devil's Dust" on the dish, then at the girl who stood before him like a calm, industrial goddess. The "Merchant King" realized he wasn't dealing with a noblewoman looking for a hobby; he was dealing with the woman who was about to change the face of warfare.
"The crates will be there," Caspian said, his voice now filled with a newfound respect. "But a word of advice, Lady Priscilla. The Holy See has ears everywhere. If the High Priests find out you're manufacturing 'Sun-Fire' in their basement, not even your father's iron can save you."
"Let them listen," Priscilla said, pulling her hood back over her head as she stepped toward the door. "By the time they understand what they're hearing, the sound will be muffled by the roar of my engines."
She vanished into the fog, leaving Caspian Valerius alone with the smell of sulfur and the realization that the North had stopped being a kingdom of smiths and had become a kingdom of alchemists.