Chapter 8
I t was quiet in the library.
The sunshine drifting down through the skylights painted the pages of Myth’s books— A History of Calnorian Table Manners , and An IntroductoryManual of Social Translation —deep reds and swirls of gold.
She glanced up from the books and smiled as she studied Arvel, who was poring over a stack of logbooks. A wooden tray holding two tea cups was positioned in front of him, and tiny swirls of steam rose from the fragrant cups.
Myth suspected the tea inside the library was a perk of being a royal, but Arvel insisted drinks were allowed in the meeting area they had taken over on the second floor.
They were pushed back against the farthest wall, nestled into a corner.
To reach any books Myth would have had to fling her teacup with the strength of a warrior—they were surrounded by tables dappled with light shed by elven lanterns.
But Myth had never received the treat of refreshments in the library until she started working for Arvel.
She took a sip of her tea—which had a faint peach flavor to it—and her cup clacked when she set it down. All in all, she was deeply pleased by the evening.
Arvel, sadly, was not half as happy. He sighed and pinched his nose as he pushed the records away from him.
“Are the various records not matching up?” Myth asked. “You’re still working on the trade reports between Lessa and Calnor, aren’t you? Or have you switched back to studying tariffs?”
“I’m still looking at the trade logs.” Arvel set his hands on the desk and stretched his fingers wide. “I’m trying to churn up dirt on the Fultons. I think I’ve found enough, but I’ll have to do some digging and circle back to the treasury department to access the Fultons’ tax records.”
“What have you found?”
“I noticed a pattern—they frequently like to make last minute changes to their orders, and at least half of the time when they receive a shipment of elven goods, some sort of tragedy befalls their caravan on the way home. Occasionally it’s taken by bandits, or a road washes out and they lose the wagon, or the weather ruins the goods.
It is entirely my guess, but I suspect they’re taking whatever goods they ‘lose’ and selling them illegally outside the country. ”
Myth frowned. “Why on earth would they do that?”
“Because we’ve imposed a heavy tariff on all elven exports sold beyond Calnor’s borders,” Arvel explained.
“The tariffs force the prices to go so high that only a small percentage of potential customers can afford it. It’s necessary, because it’s the only way we can keep nobles from ordering an excessive amount of goods and then forgoing selling to our people entirely in lieu of marketing them outside of Calnor, where there is a tremendous demand and they can charge more. ”
Myth tapped her fingers on the table.“If the Fultons sell the goods they marked as lost, missing, or ruined, they not only get the tax benefit of making money without reporting it to the crown, they can still mark it up high, and as long as it is cheaper than the goods legally sold with the tariff, they’ll make a higher profit margin. Simply put, they make a lot of money.”
“Precisely.” Arvel rubbed his face. “They’ve been more obvious about it lately.
In previous years they’d only lose a shipment or two per year.
But their greediness has driven them further, so now the family head, Lord Julyan—my mother’s brother—reports extreme losses on nearly every other shipment. ”
“If they are that belligerent, it seems like it will be easy to prove your suspicions and successfully charge them.”
Arvel finally met Myth’s gaze, his lips twisting in a puzzled frown. “Charge them?”
“Isn’t that why you were researching this?” Myth asked. “So you could charge them and bring them to justice?”
Arvel knit his fingers together and leaned over the table. “No, actually, that hadn’t occurred to me. I was just gathering dirt on them so if Mother or Uncle Julyan try to push me into marriage—or into making trade-related exceptions for them—I can force them to back off.”
“But you already know they’re going to try to bully you, and you’ve nearly confirmed they’re breaking the law. Wouldn’t the natural consequence of their actions be to charge them?” Myth hesitated, unsure of her proverbial footing.
This is where I would benefit from some of the lessons and classes social translators receive.
“Unless,” she said carefully, harboring no desire to make accusations against Queen Luciee if she had misread the situation. “Because of the Fultons’ relationship to Queen Luciee…are they considered above the law?”
“No!” Arvel snarled, his voice thick and hot. A moment passed, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I meant to say no…they are not above the law.”
Myth mashed her lips together and nodded slowly.
Arvel raised an eyebrow. “You have something more to say?”
“No, I’d be overstepping my social position.”
“It’s too late to back out now. Tell me, please.”
“I’m just a translator,” Myth protested. “I assure you I have nothing particularly enlightening to say—if anything I’m more likely to blurt out something unacceptable because I still haven’t found a true reference book that clearly outlines what politics are acceptable to discuss.”
“Myth, you’re not just a translator, you’re my friend.” Arvel’s voice was soft enough to make Myth hesitate. “I want to know what you think. I value your opinion.”
“Well…it’s just that I think you should charge them because they’re engaging in criminal activity.
But if you’re concerned that they will try to push you around, then I would doubly recommend that you bring them to justice.
” Myth carefully picked her words, taking care to use the phrases Arvel had spoken.
“And why is that?” Arvel asked.
“Arvel…you’re the crown prince,” Myth said. “There should be a world of consequences for the way they’ve treated you—politically if not through the court system. It’s about time they learn they can’t bully the future King of Calnor—whom they have no power over.”
“Unfortunately, the Fultons control a great deal of trade,” Arvel said.
“Is that so?” Myth politely inquired. “They are not alone in that ability. Your sister-in-law could bring a halt to all trade with Lessa if she wished. You could bring a halt to all trade with Lessa.”
Arvel tapped his fingers on the table for a few quiet moments, before his hands strayed to an inner pocket of his jacket. “You’re right.”
It seems to me I’ve spoken enough. Now would be the time to stay silent so he can draw his own conclusions. Myth studied him with unblinking eyes, and kept quiet.
“Father said he gave me the position as chief liaison over elven trade to give me power. It’s acceptable to use it.
” Arvel spoke slowly, as though he were unraveling his thoughts.
“We’ve let the Fultons run amok too long.
And they’ve gotten too bold to let it become this obvious.
If I announce we’re seeking to bring charges against them, I can ask some of Father’s aides to dig into their tax records.
Because if they’re lying about losing merchandise, I’d bet my best dagger that they’ve falsified plenty of other records. ”
Myth made a noise in the back of her throat and picked up her teacup. “I am glad you agree.”
“Mother is going to be a problem. I’ll have to come up with a plan to reckon with her, or she’ll come after me with her claws,” Arvel sighed.
Myth, about to sip her tea, paused with her teacup hovering just below her lips. “She would hurt her own child?”
“Not physically—at least I don’t think she would.
” Arvel’s thoughtful expression was back, and he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“But she’ll rip me to shreds with her words.
And after this I imagine she’ll use every petty trick she can to make my life miserable.
But she can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do, so it will just be… uncomfortable.”
A grunt of disgust escaped Myth’s control after she finished her tea and set her teacup down. “I would hope you are wrong about her actions. But I suppose I can see the effect they’ve had on you already.”
“What do you mean?”
He is my employer…how frank can I be? Myth met the prince’s blue-eyed gaze. But he did say we are friends, and I care enough about him that I don’t want this to be true of him.
She took a moment to collect her thoughts, then spoke slowly. “You don’t value yourself enough. It’s not that you lack confidence in your competence, but you are willing to subject yourself to rude behavior from others…and you seem to believe your only true value is in your title.”
Arvel tipped his head curiously. “Isn’t it?”
“No!” Myth frowned deeply and shook her head at him.
“And that’s exactly what I’m referring to.
Your title is a part of you, but it’s not your essence; it’s not your soul.
It’s a duty you have, yes, and it is a position of power.
But regardless of whether you were the crown prince or a stable boy, you are brilliant and passionate. ”
Arvel stared at the table for several long moments.
Myth moved her empty teacup to the wooden tray, believing that would be the end of the discussion. “Now that you’ve decided on charging the Fultons—”
“Do you value me?”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“You said I don’t value myself. Do you value me?”
Myth rolled her eyes and was considering bestowing a scoff on the prince, but she felt a change in the air.
The pleasant light of sunset became heavier somehow, and more golden. There was a thickness to the air that hadn’t been there before, and almost against her will, Myth slowly raised her eyes.
He felt… different .
The bright blue of his eyes seemed smoldering, and his smile was dangerously tilted to the side. He was still, and his posture was relaxed, but the way he looked at her made Myth feel like a rabbit trapped between the paws of a blue-eyed wolf.