"You're a catalyst. There's a distinction."
"That's a generous word for what you're describing."
"I'm a generous man." I'm not, particularly, but the delivery lands right and she almost — almost — smiles.
"You haven't told me, why me specifically," she says. "There are other humans in this city."
"There are. Most of them would be destroyed within a week. Court politics is a specific kind of brutal that requires a specific kind of mind to survive. You've been outmaneuvering the entire Khuzuth aristocracy from a basement in Lowtown for four years. I think you can manage a banquet."
She's quiet for a long moment. Working through it, I can tell — not the emotional response, she's locked that down tight, but the practical calculus. What does accepting cost? What does refusing cost? Who benefits and who pays?
"What do I get?" she says finally. "Not the vague implication of protection. What specifically do I get?"
I respect that. I respect it quite a lot. "Legal protections for every human district under House Vhol'ir's authority. No forced labor seizures. No child collection under debt provisions. No noble ownership rights over Lowtown citizens."
"In writing."
"In writing."
"Reviewed by someone I choose before I sign anything."
"Naturally."
She crosses her arms, and it's such a complete expression of I'm not done negotiating yet that I have to remind myself what's at stake in this room. "How long?"
"One year."
"And after the year?"
"You're free. The protections remain regardless of what you choose."
Another stretch of silence. The fire in the hearth does what fire does. Draevik breathes carefully in the way he breathes when he's deeply skeptical of my judgment but has decided this isn't the moment to say so.
"I want to verify the protections are real before I agree to anything," Mireya says. "Not your word — evidence. Records, current enforcement patterns, testimony from people in your territories."
"I'll have it ready within two days."
"Then I'll have an answer in three." She stands up, and she does it like someone who has decided the meeting is over and isn't particularly interested in whether I agree. "One other thing."
"Ask."
"If this is a trap — if the protections aren't real, if the agreement disappears after the year, if anyone in my network gets touched while I'm playing this game with you — I will find every financial vulnerability in House Vhol'ir and I willdismantle it from whatever prison you put me in." She meets my eyes with amber eyes that don't flinch. "That isn't a threat. It's just information."
She leaves. Draevik waits until her footsteps have faded down the hall.
"My lord," he says, in the tone that means he has approximately fifteen concerns and has ranked them for my convenience.
"I know," I say.
"She just threatened?—"
"I know."
I'm looking at the door she walked out of. There's a very specific feeling I get sometimes when I encounter something genuinely new — rare enough that I've gotten out of the habit of expecting it. It's something between interest and want, though want isn't a word I use often.
I'm using it now.
"Make sure her verification materials are ready in two days," I say. "And Draevik — make sure they're accurate. All of it."
