The meeting has been dragging on for hours and Vex is trying to pay attention, she really is, but the merits and demerits of a water powered pump engine for the deeper levels of the copper mine versus a refined white-stone powered one, or even one of these newfangled hell machines Percy and his little entourage of droll tinkers are so excited about, are lost on her.
Percy is going on about... something? Rubber seals and pump head, whatever in the nine hells that is. She studies him carefully: the impossible long silver lashes, that gleam in his eyes he gets when he is excited, the roguish three o'clock shadow the ridiculous dork is cultivating because he thinks it makes him look older, more dignified, the infuriating little smirk on that pretty, pretty mouth of his.
Percy and Cassandra both carry themselves with an air of... what exactly? Vex has a hard time defining it, it's not precisely arrogance. Neither is it charm, although Sarenrae's angels be her witness, the boy can be charming when he puts his mind to it.
Maybe aura of command would be the best description, it's like they don't even consider,..., no, it's like the world around them will not even consider, the possibility of disobedience. The natural and completely unpretentious assumption that people will do as they ask seems to warp the materium around them.
"Vex."
For all that she is an old hand at haggling, flirting and winking, she never had that particular skill. Probably something to do with being an uncouth half-breed.
"Vex."
Not good enough for the Hall of Whispers. Not good enough for her father. And certainly not good enough for the heir to Whitestone, not when compared to some dainty princess with a pedigree longer than her leg and, more importantly, a trade deal and a military alliance with Husland in her virginal snatch. She can hear her father's contemptuous chuckle in the back of her head.
"VEX!"
She blinks and finds Percival, Cassandra, Archibald and half a dozen members of the inner council staring at her.
"I'm sorry, Percival. I was preoccupied. Could you say that again, please?"
Percy raises one eyebrow but does not comment otherwise.
Archibald clears his throat ponderously. "We were wondering Lady Vex'ahlia, if you could use your connections with Syngorn to secure an advantageous trade deal for us. The Lady Keyleth's assistance with the winter wheat is the only reason we aren't already starving, even so the Briarwoods left us preciously little to work with. Our stores will soon be exhausted. We need to trade metal, whitestone and hard wood for food or we will be down to the seed corn before the full moon."
Vex smiles bitterly. "I can expect nothing from my father and Syngorn had to beat a hasty retreat to the Feywild, when the dragons came, so they will have lost most of the spring harvest. Even if they still have something left over to trade, they will be much more interested in selling to the quarter million hungry, desperate humans on their doorstep. They know they are within a week's march of Eman's walls and, from what I understand, the threshold crests won't take kindly to being activated again, without several months rest, at least."
Archibald sighs heavily. "Well that settles it. We need Eisenstadt."
Percy's lips tighten into a hard line. "We can trade with Vasselheim or Ank'harel, with Drynna or Trust Fields or any of the one hundred villages and towns scattered across the great plains."
Archibald snorts contemptuously. "Don't be stupid, boy. Half the villages on the plains are starving, likely because the other half robbed them. There is no food to be had between the Ozmit and the Lucidian, unless you want to fight for it."
"The airship...
"... doesn't have the carrying capacity and will need very expensive spell work maintenance, very quickly, if you insist on sending it on food runs over the Ozmit. You know that, you have run the numbers yourself. With your plunder from the dragon hoards, our mines and the expertise of you and that ridiculous fop Taryon, we have the once in a lifetime chance to change the fortunes of our city for the better. Maybe the fortunes of mankind as a whole!
Only there will be no mass production of golems if we have to waste the required investment on not starving during the winter."
"You cannot honestly believe that Wendel will help us out of the goodness of his heart? He is angling to expand his reach. Get a foothold on Tal'dorei."
"Very likely, yes. So? Like it or not, the Tal'dorei kingdom is finished. Until your army of gun wielding robots materializes, we are too small to be secure in the wars to come. Having a powerful patron is good sense under such circumstances and, as kings and emperors go, we could do worse than Bertram Wendel. He is reasonable, mostly. At the very least it can't hurt to hear his envoy and see, if we can hammer out a deal."
"I find myself agreeing with the Steward, Percival." Cassandra is coolly polite, treading a fine line between commanding and suggesting, in the way only a head of house who knows that all her immediate subordinates would rather take commands from her brother than from her, can be. "There is certainly no reason not to look into it."
Percy's face is unreadable and for a few heartbeats, Vex hopes he will come up with one of his brilliant, harebrained schemes to feed his people and let this particular cup pass them by. "Fine. We will send an envoy and five guardsmen. They can take a letter to the Sund and find a fishing ship to cross."
He stands up abruptly, "If you will excuse me. Archibald, you can handle the rest; if you have need of me, I'll be in my workshop."
If she wasn't already concerned about the letter, Percy skipping out on council meetings would be a clear sign of something amiss.
The rest of the council is still trading meaningful glances, while she quietly slips out of the door and follows him. The three inch heels on her new leather boots make walking quickly more difficult than she is used to, so it takes longer than expected to catch up with him. Last time I'm taking your fashion advice, Pike.
She finds him bent over the steam-belching contraption, set on heavy stone blocks against the far-wall of his cavernous work-shop. Most of the gas-lamps have been doused, but the coals in the forge give off a gentle glow and the amber light of the late afternoon is slanting through high, dusty windows.
Rows and rows of neatly ordered tools and part boxes line the high shelves, casting forms, ovens and work benches are arrayed neatly around the central forge. Half a dozen metal golems in various states of disassembly are spread over the workbenches, surrounded by magnifying glasses, spell books and an enormous arcane difference engine.
It's hot and humid in the workshop, from the various engines and forges leaking steam and heat, which serves her purpose just fine. She drops her belt and whips her tunic over her head, discards the cloth carelessly and saunters into the room, giving her hips an extra bit of swing.
Percy looks up from the number wheels and sector gears of the difference engine with an annoyed frown, which quickly dissipates upon recognizing her, she notices with a victorious smirk.
Her new leather boots might be worse than useless for any kind of stealth work, but she is tall enough now to meet him eye to eye and they do an admirable job of emphasizing her heart-shaped ass, especially when combined with leather pants, tight enough to be painted on.
"Hello, Percival."
"Vex." The corners of his mouth give a barely perceptible twitch, "Is there a sudden shortage of textile products, I wasn't informed about?" His eyes flicker over the skin-tight black leather pants and shoulder-free corset, baring acres of smooth bronze skin and soft cleavage to his view before settling on her face.
Cocking her hip to the side, she smiles predatorily. "Oh you know me. Always open heartedly giving away the shirt off my back to the poor and needy."
