Page 94

"Nimond is a luxury bean."

"Your workers require medicine before your court requires flavored water."

One dark elf servant lowers his face to conceal a reaction.

The Soz'garoth watches Beatrix across the ledger. Magic travels over his fingers in thin blue lines, capable of closing wounds, stilling pain, and summoning materials after days of preparation. None of it reveals where Beatrix found weakness in his proposed price.

Her advantage is human observation.

She knows House Varnek increased its vespid doses because its lower workers enter storm-net housings. She knows the house receives sun-starved nimond cheaply because nobles reject its bitter taste. She has converted both facts into terms that strengthen her supply and protect their laborers.

"Ten ducats and one measure," he says.

"Eleven and two measures. I include ten emergency doses in the first shipment."

"Sixty monthly after the first."

"Seventy, provided your house returns every empty vial."

He looks toward me.

I recognize the habit. Demon lords negotiate with one another even when another person controls the trade. He expects me to approve, alter, or end the terms Beatrix has built.

I remain where I am.

"Does House Obsidius-Ferryman guarantee this agreement?" he asks me.

"Beatrix Ferryman speaks with full authority for her apothecary and this house," I say. "Her terms are the house's terms."

I add nothing to the price.

The Soz'garoth returns his attention to her.

"Eleven ducats, two measures of nimond, seventy doses each month, returned vials, and ten emergency doses upon the first delivery," he says.

"Agreed."

They press their seals into wax beneath the ledger entry.

The dark elf servants lift the empty cases toward Jory. He begins fitting them with padded dividers while explaining that the first shipment will be ready in three days.

Human knowledge has become a currency a Soz'garoth house head crosses Ti'lith to purchase.

Not charity.

Not tolerance.

Value acknowledged through trade.

Across the hall, traditionalist lords keep their distance.

The lord has positioned himself near the far arch with three Volvath who opposed the suspended edict. None has tasted our wine or entered the apothecary. Their horns remain angled toward our joined seals as if the carved name has offended them personally.

Two Matrons refused the invitation. Another sent a servant to observe without offering formal greeting.

Prejudice survives law more easily than law survives challenge.

Humans serving the gathering still step aside for every demon. Dark elves still lower their eyes. A new house charter has not undone Galmoleth's caste order or made traditionalists accept Beatrix's standing in their own halls.