Chapter 17 – The Impossible Bid

“I want her.”

For three heartbeats, there was absolute silence. The kind of silence that occurs when an entire room full of people tries to comprehend whether they just heard correctly, the kind of silence that screamed, “Did he really just say that?”

Surprisingly, it was Xarini Rynalazel who broke the silence. She was, of course, no friend of House Vyrnara, let alone Shaelith herself, but like most Shaeravyn, she had very definite ideas about the superiority of the Shaeravyn over other races, especially humans. She also had a notorious laugh. No, not the feigned laughter that was also often heard from her. When she found something truly funny, she made a sound that Shaelith often compared in her mind to the bray of a tormented donkey, and which now burst loudly from her nose.

After that, there was no stopping them. The entire hall, from the matriarchs to the spectators to the guards at the door, laughed so hard that tears ran down their faces. Even Matriarch Baerelin smiled.

“The human,” Rynalazel held her stomach, “the human actually believes he can afford the Moonlit Orchid!”

Arazesre laughed so hard that a hair message came loose, and even Laenre and Matriarch Delzyndra could hardly control themselves.

“Does he even know how many noble houses have liquidated their estates just to be able to make an opening bid?” asked Yndrala, tears streaming down her face.In their absolute contempt for human ignorance they were always joyfully united.

Shaelith stood frozen. Her gaze wandered to Benderast, who was still standing there with his finger outstretched, his face an expression of confusion and wounded pride. He couldn’t understand what was being said in Shaeravyn.

“What’s so funny?” he asked loudly. “I just offered to kill your arch-enemy! That’s a good deal!”

You don’t even understand the market well enough to have an informed opinion about that, you complete idiot.

Behind him, his party presented a picture of misery. Grimbart had buried his face in his hands, Thaelon was studying the ceiling intently and Mirrsoss’ wings fluttered so nervously that small clouds of wing dust rose into the air.

“Should I explain to him how much a concubine contract costs for the daughter of a matriarch and this one at that?” Rynalazel asked with feigned friendliness.

“That’s cruel. He could never amass enough wealth for that,” replied Arazesre. “Not in a hundred human lifetimes.”

Ben’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like not understanding what they were talking about. “Hey, talk to me! I saved her. I fought your damn warlock and offered to defeat him. What more do you want?”

Shaelith’s anger had reached its absolute peak. Not only because of Ben’s impossible demand, but because she was, once again, being treated like a commodity, a fucking trophy.

“You’re out of line, male,” Rynalazel now snapped in Tulvian, “Who do you think you are, demanding an answer to your impossible bid from the Council? Your demand is insane.”

Shaelith watched Ben’s face turn red with anger, and a small, spiteful part of her enjoyed it.

Welcome to my world, Big Ben Blumpkin.

“Insane.”

The word was little more than a hoarse whisper, but it cut through the dying laughter in the hall like an obsidian blade through spider silk.

One matriarch had not laughed.

The ancient Ixalenre Zinvere rose from her throne.

Zinvere rarely spoke. Some said she had uttered perhaps ten sentences at council meetings over the past fifty years.

Shaelith watched as the 589-year-old matriarch slowly descended the steps of her throne. Her blind, milky eyes were already fixed directly on Benderast again.

“The deep mycelium whispers,” Zinvere croaked. “The pattern trembles.”

What the hell does that even mean?

The other matriarchs exchanged worried glances, even Rynalazel’s mocking smile had disappeared.

“The hero will get his prize,” Zinvere continued. “I will bid on his behalf.”

Shaelith’s heart skipped a beat. Say what?

“For the Concubine Contract of the Luminous Shaelith Vyrnara, I offer the following.” Zinvere raised a bony hand. “Fifty thousand scales of gold in pure bars, first.”

A murmur rippled through the room. That was more than even the Major Houses earned in decades.

“Ten ounces of Deepglow Spores from the deepest caves, second.”

Now every Shaeravyn in the room and even the matriarchs gasped. House Zinvere had a monopoly on Deepglow Spores, which were indispensable for some of the most powerful spells known to the Shaeravyn. The stuff was practically priceless. Ten ounces were a fortune that could finance wars. Plural.

“Mining rights in the seventh circle for the duration of the contract, third.”

“Impossible!” Arazesre exclaimed. “Zinvere has never given access-”

A single glance from Zinvere’s blind eyes silenced her.

“And-” the old matriarch turned to Laenre, “-a formal alliance between House Zinvere and House Vyrnara for the entire duration of the contract, fourth.”

Oh no. Fuck, no, no, no.

Shaelith saw the expression on her mother’s face change. The initial amusement gave way to calculation. That special sparkle in Laenre’s eyes that Shaelith knew all too well.

I’m screwed.

“Mother-” Shaelith began, but Laenre silenced her with a withering glance and a cutting gesture before weaving a new message into her hair. “Do not disturb, I am thinking.”

“That’s a little unorthodox,” Delzyndra said cautiously.

“That’s insane!” hissed Arazesre.

“That’s absolutely brilliant!” laughed Ben, slamming his fist into his open palm.

I could just kill him in his sleep, Shaelith mused.

Rynalazel was beside herself, as she too was realizing exactly where this was going. “Zinvere can’t do this! He’s an outsider who-”

“I can, and I will.” Zinvere’s voice was gentle but final. “The deep mycelium knows things that the surface has forgotten, and the pattern demands it.”

The pattern demands it? What is she talking about? And why, why, why on earth is the oldest and strangest matriarch of the Shaeravyn interested in Ben, and why do I have to suffer for it?

Yndrala tried to formulate a counteroffer, but her voice died halfway through the sentence. Even the richest matriarch could not compete with Zinvere’s offer. Not with the gold, not with the spores, not with the mining rights, and certainly not with the unprecedented alliance.

Xarini Rynalazel’s face was a mask of barely controlled rage. “This is ridiculous! I strongly protest this disgusting distortion of our customs!”

Yes! Yes, damn it! Go Xarini!

“Thank you for sharing your perspective, Rynalazel.” Laenre’s voice was silky smooth. “The offer supported by Zinvere is remarkable, and I am inclined to listen to it.”

Shaelith stood frozen.

“Scribes, record the proceedings.” Laenre gave a nod to the Council of the Matriarchs’ protocol servants.

“This Benderast Stonefist has certainly rendered great service to Myzelemaerlazin and House Vyrnara,” she said, turning to the council. “He and his companions have not only freed my daughter and other daughters of Myzelemaerlazin, but also Princess Obelaine of Tulvia. King Gelsevier will be grateful to us for this, a debt that will pay off many times over.”

Apparently, she had finished thinking, because she dissolved the hair message again. “Furthermore, the offered elimination of the Warlock could indeed quickly end this costly and bloody war. The resources we would save would be even more immeasurable than Zinvere’s offer.”

She smiled. “A temporary concubinage of Shaelith Vyrnara outside the existing structures would also be well suited to avoiding a protracted and potentially destabilizing bidding war during a military crisis.”

And what she didn’t have to say was that Vyrnara, in alliance with Zinvere, would be unassailable for the foreseeable future.

Shaelith watched the other Matriarchs as they grasped this reality. Arazesre’s face turned waxy. Yndrala’s fingers drummed nervously on her armrest. And Rynalazel, well, Rynalazel looked like she was about to explode.

“So let’s talk about the contract term,” said Laenre in a businesslike manner, turning to Benderast. “Five years seems appropriate to me.”

Benderast straightened up, now that it was his turn. “Five years? What? No, it’s forever, until death do us part.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, you fool.

Laenre’s eyebrow rose a tiny bit, which was her equivalent of hysterical laughter. “A lifetime contract is highly unusual. How about ten years? In return, House Vyrnara would take care of all the offspring, and you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

Ben hesitated. He clearly didn’t like the idea of having to take care of children. “Ten years. Okay. Deal.”

My mother just completely took advantage of you.

“Excellent.” Laenre nodded to the scribes. “Make a note of that! Ten years, starting with the official ceremony.”

Laenre went through all the contract details with him in embarrassing detail, an endless litany of legalese in formal Shaeravyn, which Laenre translated for him.

“And as we agreed, all offspring belong to House Vyrnara…”

Ben nodded disinterestedly.

“…offspring is to be produced within a reasonable period of time, as defined in the third amendment of the concordat … failure to comply will result in significant…”

His mind drifted off visibly.

“…gifts to the matriarch on specified dates, as defined in… failure to comply…”

“Yes, yes.”

“…obligated to defend the person and honor of the concubine, with significant penalties in case of failure as defined in…”

“Of course!”

“…to provide accommodation and meals for the concubine…”

Shaelith saw out of the corner of her eye how Grimbart was desperately trying to get Ben’s attention. The dwarf waved his chronosteel arm wildly and hissed loudly, “Benderast! BENDERAST! Listen!”

Ben waved him off without looking. His eyes were fixed on Shaelith, and he grinned at her broadly.

He has no idea what he’s signing. He thinks he won.

“Do you understand and accept these terms?” Laenre asked formally.

“Yes, absolutely!” Benderast said enthusiastically.

“Mother, if you would please li-”

Laenre’s smile was thin as she drowned out Shaelith. “Then I, Matriarch Laenre Vyrnara, agree to this arrangement.”

The scribes sealed the protocol and handed Laenre and Benderast a copy each.

Going once, going twice, going three times… and sold.

~

The council then adjourned and the matriarchs withdrew for private discussions, but the air was literally vibrating with the aftershocks of the epochal shift in power they had just witnessed. Small groups formed everywhere, whispering and scheming.

Rynalazel rushed past Shaelith. “Enjoy your human,” she hissed at Shaeravyn. “House Vyrnara will regret this farce.”

Do you think I wanted this, you poisonous toad?

Benderast stood proudly puffed up like a peacock among his concerned companions who had rushed to him.

“Did you see how I negotiated that?” he boasted. “Ten years! I really drove a hard bargain!”

“Do you even have any idea what you just signed there?” Grimbart asked in a strained voice.

“No idea, most of it was in Elvish. But I got what I wanted!” He grinned in Shaelith’s direction. “I guess I won’t get the XP until after the wedding night though. Hey, did you guys see that old woman somewhere? I want to thank her!”

The other daughters of House Vyrnara surrounded Shaelith and congratulated her on this “brilliant contract” and “strategic triumph.” She wanted to scream but smiled politely instead.

“The ceremony will take place tonight,” a servant informed her. “The matriarch wishes everything to be handled quickly.”

Of course she does. Before anyone can think of a way to overturn it.

Shaelith simply left Ben and his party standing and made her way to the exit, still reeling from the speed with which her life had just been turned upside down. But actually, that didn’t even matter all that much in comparison. Vyriz was tortured right now, and she had to get him out of there.

Then she felt a hand on her arm, thin as twigs, but surprisingly firm.

Matriarch Zinvere stood directly in front of her, so close that Shaelith could smell the earthy scent of the ancient Shaeravyn. Without saying a word, Zinvere reached for a strand of Shaelith’s hair. Her blind eyes seemed to know exactly where to reach. Perhaps she wasn’t really blind after all?

What is she doing?

Zinvere braided a strand of Shaelith’s long hair and a hair message appeared at the end of it. It was an intertwining that Shaelith did not immediately recognize, but then it dawned on her.

It was a very old hair message, incredibly old really, an archaic braid that Shaelith herself had only seen in the oldest manuscripts, which even her tutors had dismissed as “historical curiosities.”

She tried to decipher the meaning. The intertwining strands did not form a clear sentence, no unambiguous message, but it had a certain similarity to certain more contemporary braids.

“Listen”… or perhaps “Listen to something.” But what?

Zinvere’s milky eyes met hers and seemed to look right through Shaelith, through Shaelith Vyrnara, perhaps even through Jacob Williams, to something even deeper, at the very core of her being.

Then the old matriarch withdrew as silently as she had approached and disappeared into the crowd.

Shaelith stood motionless with one hand on the barely visible braid.

What am I supposed to hear? Why me? Is she really just crazy?

Somewhere behind her, she heard Benderast loudly announcing to his party that he would be completing the Romance Questline” tonight.

I don’t have time for all this, I have to find Vyriz. I have to talk to Mother. She has to undo this. Otherwise, I’ll officially become Ben Blomquist’s damn waifu tonight.