Erin opened the door for her. “Thank you,” she murmured, and breathlessly entered the world of King Zachary.
The study was bright with golden light showering through the windows onto vibrant handwoven carpets and light oak furnishings. The walls were hung with scenes of mountains and the ocean. Others were hunting scenes.
The king sat behind a massive desk with a light marble surface. A few books and documents cluttered it. Behind him, from floor to ceiling, were shelves of books interspersed with a curious collection of seashells, rounded cobblestones, and a mariner’s spyglass.
The king’s study, Karigan decided, differed little from her father’s. Opulent, but not overbearing. Stately, but not uncomfortable, and definitely suggestive of a masculine presence.
The king sat back in his oversized armchair, his hands folded across his lap. His features lightened slightly when she entered. Was he pleased to see her? It was hard to say, for he was in the midst of a conversation with a visitor.
Karigan stood discreetly back, but when Old Brexley, an elderly white Hillander terrier, waddled over to her to sniff her boots, she knelt to scratch him behind his ear. Was that a fleeting smile of approval the king cast her way?
She started to rise, but Old Brexley plopped down on her foot and showed her his belly. Knowing a hint when she saw one, she rubbed his belly and was rewarded with his terrier grin. The old boy was named after a famous crusty general who had won many a battle for Clan Hillander during the Clan Wars. The terrier was often seen trailing the king around the castle grounds.
It took some moments for Karigan to register who the king’s visitor was. She was a tall, imperious woman richly draped in dyed summer silks with fine pearl buttons, and ornamented with silvery thread details. Gems flashed on her fingers as she gestured. Her name was Celesta Suttley, chief of Clan Suttley, a merchanting clan that dealt primarily in tobacco.
Karigan frowned. Clan G’ladheon and Clan Suttley had clashed on more than a few occasions, to the point her father had acquitted himself of doing any business with them due to their underhanded dealings.
“It is an insignificant corner of Huradesh,” Celesta Suttley said, “but the soil and climate there are favorable to tobacco growing. With your approval, and a promise of exclusive trading rights, we will establish a foothold in that territory that can only enhance commerce in Sacoridia.”
“This remote corner of Huradesh,” the king said, “what is it called?”
“Bioordi, Highness. The people there are mostly nomads.”
Bells of alarm clanged in Karigan’s head. Bioordi was not as insignificant as Celesta was making it out to be. That it was prime tobacco country, she had no doubt, but the people there also originated some of the finest dyes in the textile trade, and most of the more ordinary ones as well.
If Clan Suttley received exclusive trading rights there, it would effectively cut off other merchants, like her father, from that dye. They’d be forced to trade with Clan Suttley, at whatever price Suttley demanded, strangling textile and dye merchants financially. To some, it would be so disastrous they’d be put out of business, and send ripples of misfortune across other trades, ultimately hurting the common folk who purchased dyed goods.
Meanwhile, the powerful merchants guild would be up in arms, and none too happy with the king and likely withdrawing their support from him. No good would come of it, except for Clan Suttley, of course, which would be buried in unimaginable wealth.
Karigan rose, ignoring Old Brexley’s whine.
“My clerks have drawn up some documents,” Celesta continued, “outlining my proposed venture. Exclusive trade rights in Bioordi would not prevent other tobacco merchants from establishing themselves elsewhere in Huradesh.” With a bow, she set the rolled documents on the king’s desk.
Karigan emitted a strangled noise. Certainly Celesta’s proposal was no threat to tobacco merchants. What about all the others who relied on those dyes?
“Karigan,” the king said, “have you something to say?”
Celesta Suttley turned, and when she recognized Karigan, a mocking smile played on her lips. “Well, well, well. So this is where Clan G’ladheon’s wayward sub-chief ran off to.” The smile turned particularly cutting. “Oh, I nearly forgot—you gave up all that, didn’t you? I hear Stevic was quite upset. From the talk, you’d think you had committed the worst kind of betrayal.”
A storm brewed within Karigan, and she thought up a few choice words to spit in the clan chief’s face, but conscious of the king’s presence, and of her position and all it represented, she restrained herself, but just barely.
Celesta’s expression grew smug as she detected Karigan’s fury, with a simultaneous understanding of why Karigan dare not respond in kind.
“Such a fine shade of green you’re wearing,” Celesta continued. “I wonder where your father found the dye.”
Karigan narrowed her eyes. Celesta knew full well where it had come from: Bioordi. She was just trying to provoke her in front of the king. No doubt she thought Karigan no more than a flunky, just another servant without any standing in the king’s eyes. Well, Celesta was in for a surprise.
At least, she hoped so.
She stepped past the merchant and bowed before the king. “Excellency, may I have a private word with you?” It was actually asking a lot, but she hoped he trusted her enough, respected her enough, to grant her wish.
A little puzzled, he nodded. “Of course.” When Celesta did not move, he gestured at the door. “If you would, Chief, please step out into the corridor.”