Malin – Negotiations #2
At his gesture, Malin rose. She peeled the cloak from her shoulders and let it drop in a heavy pool around her boots.
In the flickering torchlight, the silver embroidery caught and gleamed like starlight.
A ripple of awed gasps rose from the crowd; the air grew thick with their curiosity.
The heat of every eye traced over her. Whispers echoed throughout the tent, comparing her to Elowen Nelderoth in living flesh. There was no masking her heritage.
“As it happens,” Darik continued, voice smooth as oiled silk, “she and I were almost married when we were but babes. I wonder what our great countries’ histories would be like if that had occurred.”
Malin’s breath hitched. Why would Darik announce her name now?
Panic flared behind her ribs as she cast her gaze around the tent, desperately searching for Will.
She found his broad back just as he disappeared through the exit.
Her heart stuttered. This was the entirely wrong way for him to find out that she had met with Darik privately.
A dark, heavy wave of intense jealousy crashed over her through their connection.
Malin’s jaw tightened in frustration. She firmly believed Will had every right to his own feelings, but his jealousy still stung deeply.
She had been nothing but fiercely loyal to him.
To her, his jealousy meant he actually believed Darik possessed a fighting chance.
She would tolerate his internal insecurities as long as he managed them silently.
But if he ever crossed the line and projected that baseless jealousy onto her, he would face her absolute fury.
Darik’s lips curved into a practiced, diplomatic smile. “My brother is wed to her aunt. It seems the Synodate and Mellyrn are more entwined than we thought. For my part, I welcome peace. It simplifies the burdens of war.”
The audience hung on his every word as they tasted his charm like sweet wine.
Sitting beside her father, Malin gripped the arms of her chair.
Her anger, already simmering from their private meeting, began to rapidly boil over.
Every word he spoke was hollow. He was using her family as a cheap prop to bolster his own standing.
“As many of you likely guessed, she is Elowen Neldoreth’s daughter, and she possesses formidable powers, as the singe marks on my chest would offer.” He boldly pulled open his silk shirt, showcasing the blistering burns on his bare skin for the entire crowd to see.
Malin’s jaw locked in pure outrage at the theatrical stunt, just as a fresh, heavy wave of Will’s jealousy and anger surged through their bond.
How could Will be angry? She had burned the snake. It was not proof of a kiss or any kind of betrayal. She had nearly scorched the arrogant man alive, and he had entirely deserved it. Her loyalty was completely unquestionable.
“Fellspire would do well to partner with such strength,” Darik declared, seemingly oblivious to the tension radiating from the Mellyrn delegation. “Yet, I pledge only to endorse a treaty that truly serves our people’s interests.”
A thunderous wave of applause broke out, and dozens of voices shouted their fierce agreement.
Beside her, Aeladar leaned in close. “I would enjoy hearing more about several of the details he mentioned, but for now, I am simply grateful you were able to contain yourself and not harm him more,” he whispered.
His gaze hardened into pure ice as he stared at the Upper Synod.
“I don’t trust him at all. I would never have wanted you tied to an arrogant prick like that.
And I know for a fact Elowen knew nothing about it.
If she had, she would have killed Victor herself.
Hearing this might actually give her the strength to march straight to Media and finish the job. ”
Before Malin could respond, Aeladar’s eyes scanned her drooping posture, his anger melting rapidly into deep paternal concern.
“We will deal with the politics later. You look completely drained. You need to get some sleep. There is an antechamber for our delegation. I’m sure Will or Jacien could watch over you while you sleep. ”
The sheer, unapologetic protectiveness in his voice made a warm blush creep up her neck. She stood to leave, desperate to follow the tug of her soul-bond and finally speak to Will.
Darik immediately locked eyes with her. He shook his head slowly, pointing a single, dictatorial finger at the floor.
He was ordering her to stay. The absolute entitlement of the gesture made her blood run hot.
She was incredibly tired of powerful men assuming they had the inherent authority to command her like a disobedient dog.
She wanted nothing more than to walk out just to spite him, but her mother’s life depended on that device.
Swallowing her pride, she clamped down on her temper so her wild magic would not lash out and cause an international incident.
Malin sank stiffly back into her seat. Aeladar arched a questioning eyebrow at her sudden return, but he simply reached over, giving her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting it go.
Desperate for a second wind, she dug deep and drew on her healing magic, forcing it to burn away the heavy, suffocating effects of her exhaustion.
Once the worst of the fatigue faded, she pulled out her amulet, pressing it to her chest to quiet the lingering, wild pull of her power.
It did not fully revive her, but it granted her the ounce of life she needed to endure the rest of the night.
One speaker succeeded another, each Upper Synod stepping forward beneath the torches’ glow, unfurling their hopes and demands.
The crackle of quills on parchment echoed in the hush, punctuated by Aeladar’s quiet scratching as he took notes.
Malin watched the procession of solemn faces, her pulse steadying as she braced for the long hours ahead.
At last, it was Mellyrn’s turn to address the gathering.
Aeladar rose and strode to the dais. Perhaps it was the flicker of torchlight or simply the weight of the moment, but he summoned a ball of flame in his palm that illuminated his notes.
As soon as it appeared, a Fellspire mage rushed over and conjured a cool orb of light above the podium.
Her father inclined his head, letting his fire gutter out, and waited for the murmurs in the tent to fade.
Malin caught Darik’s eye, and he winked back with a hint of a smile. She shook her head at his arrogance.
“I stand before you not as a conqueror nor as a supplicant, but as a father and as the voice of a people who hunger for peace. We stand on the brink of a new era, one shaped by both magic and resolve. As you know, Mellyrn recently forged peace with the Kingdom of Lumara after more than a century of conflict. If we are to endure, we must do so together.” A ripple of gasped and awed whispers ran through the assembly.
“We share borders, blood ties, and a fundamental need for security. The world is smaller now than when our ancestors first set foot on this soil. Neither of us can flourish by crushing the other. Beyond these mountains lie too many foes; our resources grow ever scarcer. Yet let me be clear: Mellyrn will never accept a peace founded on the suffering of the innocent.”
He flicked a glance at Malin, then swept it across the gathered delegates. “We cannot ignore the shadow of slavery here. My people would sooner die than endure the threat of the yoke. It is not within Elven ways to allow slavery.”
Several Fellspire representatives shifted uneasily to their seats. Darik’s jaw clenched, but he betrayed nothing more than cool restraint.
Aeladar’s tone softened. “And still, I stand before you, ready to hear your needs and your struggles. We all know the world is complex; no one pretends that change arrives overnight. But let us not condemn another generation to endless strife. Mellyrn is a land of abundance, with vast fields, a thriving fishing industry, and bountiful seas. We have much to offer Fellspire in trade. Let us craft an accord that benefits us both.”
Silence fell. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then the Archon’s voice, thin as parchment, cut through the hush.
“Your terms have been heard, Lord Rauno. Fellspire will give them due consideration. However, if you demand the dismantling of our labor system, this negotiation is already over. Do not impose the morality of immortals upon a mortal empire. Your people have centuries to build, but we do not possess that luxury. Our survival relies on a rigid hierarchy and the labor of the conquered. It is the only thing standing between Fellspire and starvation. If peace is to be found, you must accept that our survival requires methods your traditions cannot stomach.”
Aeladar bowed his head in acknowledgment, conceding the truth of that harsh confession. Yet the stiffness in his posture and the tension coiled in his arms betrayed his thoughts. This term would not yield easily.
If the talks collapsed right now, Darik would never hand over the device. Her mother’s life depended on this continuing. They had to forge some kind of agreement, no matter the cost. Before she could urgently whisper a plea to Aeladar, Darik rose smoothly to his feet.
“Perhaps there are solutions we have yet to explore. Maybe new magics can ease the transition. Perhaps both our traditions can be honored, lifting both peoples together.” Darik began the sentence looking directly at Malin, but she watched his heavy gaze suddenly snap away, his sharp focus locking onto a disturbance at the tent’s dark edge.
His defensive shadows unfurled like ink in water a split second before Malin even registered the sudden breach at the tent’s perimeter.