XV | A MERCHANTS GREED
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The streets of Evergold were crowded—everywhere she went, she was bumped into and elbowed from seven different angles.
The positive was that no one recognized her thanks to her hood hiding her features—she hoped.
If they did recognize her, well..
. she didn't want a repeat of when she'd run into Melantha.
"Prospective queen stripped of her right to the throne!
" a man yelled from behind her, hand cupped over his mouth as he jammed a sodden paper into the air.
A steady stream of rain trickled from the sky, but the man didn't seem to care, even as it bled into his papers' ink.
"Former general elects himself as the new king, set to take the throne in the coming weeks, ignoring traditions set by King Virion! "
A blonde-haired woman passing by the man stopped in her tracks upon scanning the headlines. "What?" she gasped, digging into her pocket. She held out a Nusmi, and when the man took it, she snatched up a paper. "Wait until Rulin hears about this. Ridiculous!"
A smirk tugged at the man's lips before he channeled his energy back into his fervent shouts. "An attack on our city's foundation, from inside the castle itself! Is this what we want as a kingdom? For a tyrant to rule, using the force of our struggling military to protect him?"
Celvene almost stopped to talk to the man but figured concealing her identity was more important. She imagined he'd still be here if she needed to talk to him later. And she had to hand it to him—he knew how to sell a paper with an intriguing headline.
It warmed her heart that some people, aside from people in the castle, believed in her.
Or, at the very least, believed Aleksandr was not the key to solving the kingdom's problems. It was small acts like a paper defending her that reminded her that not everyone in the world was bad, even if the news just wanted to rack up sales.
And the woman had sounded offended for Celvene.
She'd never dared to venture into the Evergold Enclave district.
She figured she would've been called a street rat if anyone with status saw her, and she didn't want to be chased out.
Even if she liked Aizasea, she hated certain aspects of it—the snobs of Evergold included.
She wasn't a huge fan of the constant stormy skies, either.
But... the normal citizens weren't bad, and Celvene already knew that.
Maybe if she could stomach her fear, the people who stuck around Evergold could be valuable allies—and people she could, in turn, help.
Sultry music flooded the cobblestone streets, helping the citizens, all hopping from stall to stall, forget about the war looming over their heads.
But even with the distractions, which included sparkles that hung in the air and never dimmed, Celvene couldn't ignore the gaunt, pale faces of everyone she passed.
The way their clothing hung off their frail frames, like they hadn't had a good meal in weeks.
And the way the merchants she passed all had dwindling stock, even for the stalls that should have been filled to the brim with necessities.
It was clear someone had used magic to enhance the lives of Evergold citizens, especially seeing as it was the most prosperous area in Aizasea and one of the richest sections of Fellstride, so Celvene wondered why the mage responsible hadn't summoned some food for poor people.
If they could waste their time coating the skies in rainbow hues, they could spare a few minutes to figure out how to conjure up a hot meal for the starving civilians.
She glanced up at the rows of looming marble estates crowding the streets.
She didn't know if the merchant she was visiting would be awake—or at this particular house—but she had nothing better to try at the moment.
All the other merchants she'd visited throughout the day hadn't responded, and she hoped this one would be different.
Ahead of her was a large mansion, decorated with pristine white bricks and chestnut wooden carvings of various creatures nailed onto the crevices between bricks.
Shutters were attached to the windows, smooth mahogany that rattled like the clatter of bones in the salty breeze.
As she neared the house, the music behind her dulled but did not stop.
She wondered if it was the rushing of blood in her ears that blocked out the instruments.
Two of the windows on the second floor were cracked ajar, just enough for someone to peer outside. And someone was—when Celvene looked closer, she could see the cool silver of a gun's barrel resting on one of the window's ledges, with a shadowy figure holding the grip.
So this merchant can protect himself, but not anyone else in the city?
She rolled her eyes and made sure her mask was taut around her jaw. Two guards stood at the gates with large guns resting in their gloved hands, along with the guards standing above them at the open windows.
As soon as their gazes locked onto Celvene, their stances tensed; they raised their guns as Celvene walked towards them.
She raised her hands to prove she wasn't a threat but didn't do much more.
They could tell that she was harmless by all five feet two of her, along with her blunt daggers.
Aleksandr would laugh if he saw she hadn't heeded his advice.
"Halt!" one shouted, and beneath their helmet, Celvene could see them grit their teeth. A click followed their bark. The guard hissed out, "Mr. Grishcolm is not accepting visitors right now. Leave now, with your head intact."
"Well, tell Mr. Grishcolm that he has a special visitor," said Celvene, crossing her arms. Both guards shifted, pointing their guns toward Celvene's chest. "If I wanted to break in or kill you, don't you think I would've tried it already?"
"Maybe," the other guard said, and unlike the first guard, she wasn't wearing a helmet; her green eyes had a hard glimmer set in them, and she didn't move a muscle as she stared at Celvene.
"But maybe you're planning to infiltrate the mansion once you're inside, and you're playing nice now.
Well, nice isn't the word—you kind of seem like an asshole. "
"I am," she replied. "When will he be taking visitors? It's an urgent matter. You can escort me to protect his safety if you'd like. I won't fight it."
The guards exchanged glances before they each narrowed their eyes. The woman stepped forward, frowning. "That's none of your concern. Be on your way."
Celvene stifled a sigh. With the risk of prying ears, she hadn't wanted to confess her identity, but if it was the only way to get inside... "Would it matter if I told you I'm next in line for Virion's throne, and I could... offer Mr. Grishcolm riches beyond belief?"
What an awful lie.
The woman laughed. It was mirthless, and short, and ugly, and her face was scowling the second after the bark escaped her lips. Her glower only deepened as her lip rose in a sneer. "Sure. I suppose you're Scholar Veylor, too?"
Celvene scoffed, then grabbed her mask and lowered it. The woman's eyes widened, and her yellow skin grew dark with a flustered red. She dropped into a bow, the tip of her gun dipping to the floor. "Y-You were serious? My apologies, ma'am. You said you needed to see Mr. Grishcolm now?"
"You... respect me?" she eventually forced out, not bothering to hide her surprise. She couldn't answer the woman's question. All she could do was stare in stunned silence. The woman respected her?
"Of course I do. You're the heiress to the throne! I've seen your face in every newspaper across Aizasea!"
Celvene's lips parted before they curved up into a smile. "Yes. I am. And yes, I need to see Mr. Grishcolm now."
The woman lowered her head in a hurried nod before sliding to the side.
She ducked her head once again, muttering something into the wall.
She flipped a switch a few moments later, and the iron gates in front of Celvene opened with a grand swing.
A faint sheen of blue magic shimmered around the doorway—a decloaking spell to expose thieves and trespassers, if Celvene had to guess.
She scurried through, and seconds later, a slam accompanied by metal echoing told her she'd been locked in.
It was clear Grishcolm, like Virion, lived in luxury—a disgusting fact, considering what was happening to the regular citizens of Aizasea.
The entry to his house, though small, was covered in thick velvet carpet, with various statues made of shining marble strewn about.
A grand, golden chandelier hung above her, basking the room in pale yellow.
Grishcolm knew how to make a first impression.
This better be worth it.
A light clicking from ahead prompted her to snap her head up—and what she was met with was not what she expected.
The man standing in front of her, who she assumed was Grishcolm, looked like a stereotypical mercher: salt-and-pepper hair, cut short and trimmed around the edges.
Piercing emerald eyes crinkled with age, with wrinkles etched into his pale skin, stared her down.
He was short, shorter than normal. The main difference between Grishcolm and other rich skeeves in the Evergold Enclave, though, was that Grishcolm's ears were decorated with various jeweled earrings.
Most merchants thought themselves above accessories. Grishcolm did not.
"Greetings, Miss Virac. My guards informed me of who you are." His voice was calm, calmer than she expected. It oozed with a certain warmth that Celvene knew anyone else would consider to be charming.
Already? How fast had the guards worked? When Grishcolm didn't continue, Celvene spoke. "Yes. I'm the heiress to Virion's throne."
"My name is Polum Grishcolm. I assume you've come to me to discuss business. I run the Golden Grand Casino, the Rjanila brothel, and two of the banks across the city."
"I know," Celvene said, knowing fully well she was lying, "which is why I came to you for help."
"Help with what, delicoi? Are you here to strike a deal? I'm afraid my stocks are plummeting at the moment. War is not good for my business."
"Well, as I'm sure you've heard by now, there's going to be a ball held in Virion's castle. A ball thrown by a man trying to steal the crown from me." When Grishcolm didn't so much as blink, Celvene shifted her weight.
"And what would you like me to do about that?" he said.
Celvene frowned. "Help me?"
"I'd love to help you, delicoi, but my hands are tied. I'm not a deity or demigod, and it is my duty to support whoever ends up becoming Aizasea's ruler, whether it is fair or not." He fixed his tie, facing away from Celvene.
"Duty? You're a merchant. You're not bound by duty. You're bound by greed."
"Does your charm work on the other merchants of Aizasea?"
Celvene blinked, realizing she'd come off a bit harsh.
Her hardened gaze softened. "I'm sorry. I'm..." used to merchants acting like I'm no good and tossing me to the side.
But she didn't say that, thinning her lips.
"The merchants I've met in the past are far more harsh in their choice of words than you are. "
Every high-ranking merchant she'd met in the past had done just that—when they realized she wasn't wealthy or influential or anything like them, they'd chased her out.
Case in point, the countless merchants she'd visited earlier in the day who hadn't recognized her.
Even the lower merchants denied her. It made getting out of Painted Sky impossible when every merchant was so picky with whom they wanted to hire.
"I control a single shipment out of the port, sent to Skor'th. I'm not considered a merchant, at least compared to true merchants in Aizasea. I met with Virion a few times before his unfortunate demise. He was an intelligent man and well-versed in trade."
"Don't you think he would have preferred we work together?" asked Celvene. Why were the elite so difficult to work with? "We can help each other. If I get that crown, then any repayment can be within your grasp, barring illegal and immoral requests."
"There is no we for now, delicoi.
But I will give you a deal, even if you are a rash child: If you're able to convince others in the city of your worthiness, perhaps I will give you the light of day.
I'm unwilling to take a risk on an unproven investment otherwise.
I'm not sure how a mere elite would help you in your conquest, anyways.
I have no say in anything that goes on in that castle. "
"Investment?" she echoed. "This isn't a business transaction. It's the fate of Aizasea at stake. Even lending me money would help."
"Everything is a business transaction, Miss Virac. It would be foolish for me to give you money when all you've proven is that you have a slippery tongue and a vengeful heart, sic?" said Grishcolm, turning to Celvene again and straightening his pinstripe tie. The colors were dull.
Celvene narrowed her eyes. The scorn in Grishcolm's voice made her nostrils flare, but she kept her voice steady as she said, "Will you be at the ball hosted tomorrow evening?"
"I do not have an answer for that. As of now, no, but it would be a shame for someone like me to not attend what is inevitably going to be a grand ball. Many mentions of Nusmi and all."
Is money the only thing on this man's mind?
"What of the other merchants and bosses in Aizasea?" Celvene prodded. She doubted Grishcolm knew any demigods, so she wasn't going to bother asking. She hated to be a nuisance, but by the gods, she was getting help one way or another. "Do you know whether they'll attend?"
"I cannot say for certain, but we maintain our images well.
If I had to guess, you will see most of them.
I have other matters to attend to. If you succeed in your mission, I may help you.
Whether that is through me inviting you back here or you coming back on your own initiative, I want to know those I help have the passion to see their wishes fulfilled.
If not, well... It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Virac, and I hope this is not the last time we come face to face. "
Somehow, she doubted Grishcolm's words held much truth to them.
She was a liability, an investment, and if the other merchants of the Evergold Enclave—of Aizasea—were anything like Grishcolm, they were going to think the same of her if they ever met.
That she was a no-good street rat. She wasn't from the Slums, obviously, but Grishcolm didn't know that.
And she could tell he believed that—there was a certain light in his eye, a dark sparkle, that told her he was only listening to her because of the crown in her grasp.
If she'd come as a nobody, she'd have been shunned at the door and kicked into the pier.
Celvene didn't bother arguing. Instead, she turned and left without a word, biting back a frown as she did so. This was shaping up to be a lot harder than she expected it to be. At least the dinner with the Royal Council would hopefully provide good food.
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