Chapter 415: Creditor
Gerard arrived at the prime minister’s office already furious.
The journey through Deira had done nothing to improve his mood.
If anything, every kilometer from the eastern checkpoint had made it worse.
Nuria did not even have the decency to hide its wealth.
The roads were immaculate despite the winter cold, cleared before Gerard’s convoy reached them and warmed in sections by ether systems embedded beneath the stone. The capital rose around the river in layers of restored buildings, old towers standing beside new construction without the disorganized ugliness Gerard had expected from an empire hidden behind a Gate for seventy-seven years. Public transit moved quietly along glowing routes, commercial districts were crowded, and he hadn’t seen the neglected infrastructure he had privately hoped would prove Nuria’s reputation exaggerated.
It was offensive.
Half the continent carried debt because rulers before them had spent badly, borrowed worse, or built economies around resources they no longer controlled.
Nuria had disappeared for nearly eight decades and returned looking richer than everyone.
Gerard hated it.
He hated Agaron almost as much.
More precisely, he hated what Agaron and Nuria represented.
Ether chose Damian.
Ether chose Arik.
That was how everyone phrased it, as though a force buried beneath the earth had reached upward and declared those two men deserved authority no one else could reasonably challenge.
Sovereigns.
Guardians.
Men who could stand inside the center of their nations and draw on enough ether to make rebellion nearly suicidal.
Almost gods, if one listened to the more religious idiots.
Gerard had inherited his throne like a normal man.
He had negotiated for power, threatened for it, paid for it, and spent decades making sure nobody around him gathered enough influence to challenge what belonged to him.
Arik had walked through a Gate and an empire had apparently decided to love him.
Gerard despised him for that alone.
Wrohan had made the feeling considerably worse.
His convoy entered the government district, and Gerard looked through the window with his mouth compressed into a hard line.
He still remembered the notification from his treasury about the loan being repaid early.
The agreement had been one of several his government extended to Wrohan during the worst years of its financial instability, structured carefully enough that the principal appeared generous while the long repayment period produced most of the actual profit.
Rex had destroyed that calculation.
The king had paid the debt before term.
Gerard’s people had originally celebrated until someone reread the contract and discovered the early-repayment clause reduced almost every projected interest payment attached to the remaining years.
Gerard had demanded to know where Wrohan suddenly acquired that kind of money.
Nobody had needed long to answer.
Arik.
Perhaps not personally from his pocket, although Gerard suspected that distinction meant very little when the man controlled Nuria.
Arik had money.
Wrohan needed money.
Liam was Wrohanian.
The debt vanished.
Gerard had never found proof of the transfer, but he did not need it.
He knew.
By the time the car stopped beneath the government building, his jaw hurt from clenching it.
His adviser noticed.
"Do not begin angry."
Gerard turned toward the man sitting opposite him.
Marius Kessel did not look impressed.
He rarely did.
In his mid-forties, narrow-faced and meticulously dressed, Marius had spent nearly fifteen years preventing Gerard’s temper from becoming foreign policy more often than necessary. He had handled every meaningful contact with Cyran because Gerard had neither the patience nor the discipline for coded conversations stretching over months.
Gerard disliked being managed.
He disliked needing it more.
"I am not angry."
Marius looked out the window toward the enormous government complex.
"You have complained about their roads six times."
"They are wasteful."
"They are not."
Gerard’s face darkened.
Marius opened the door before the argument could develop.
"Cyran believes he has succeeded. Let him speak first."
Gerard climbed out without answering.
Cold Nurian air struck his face.
He was a short man, made broader still by years of expensive meals and little interest in physical exertion, and the heavy dark coat he wore added further weight to his frame. His dark blond hair had thinned slightly at the crown despite careful styling, while the cold reddened his cheeks before he even reached the entrance.
Every guard they passed seemed taller than necessary.
Gerard decided this was probably deliberate.
Marius said nothing.
The prime minister’s offices occupied the upper western section of the building, separated from the imperial palace but connected to it through administrative corridors and secured transport passages. Gerard noticed that too.
Separate enough to claim independence.
Close enough for Arik to appear whenever he pleased.
Cyran’s secretary admitted them without delay.
Gerard walked past her before she completed the greeting.
The inner office was larger than he expected, though not ostentatious. Dark wood, gray stone, two walls of shelving, and broad windows overlooking the winter city. Snow covered the rooftops beyond, interrupted by the golden lines of active ether infrastructure.
Cyran stood behind his desk.
Gerard smiled for the first time that day.
"There you are."
Cyran did not return it.
That irritated him.
Marius entered behind Gerard and closed the door quietly.
Gerard removed his gloves.
"I expected congratulations before I had to cross half your absurdly cold empire."
Cyran’s eyes moved past him.
Gerard noticed.
His smile faded.
Someone was standing by the windows.
He had missed the figure because the man had been facing the city, one hand resting casually in the pocket of pale trousers while the winter sunlight outlined broad shoulders beneath a cream-colored jacket.
Gerard stopped.
The man turned.
Gold eyes met his.
Everything inside Gerard seemed to contract at once.
Arik looked entirely at ease.
He stood beside the window as though he had been there long enough to become bored.
"King Gerard," Arik said.
Gerard’s gaze snapped toward Cyran.
"What is this?"
Cyran came around the desk.
Marius had gone very still beside the door.
Unlike Gerard, he understood immediately.
Gerard saw it on his face.
He looked back at Arik.
The emperor’s mouth curved slightly.
"You seem disappointed."
Gerard’s fingers tightened around his gloves.
"I came to speak privately with my prime minister."
Arik’s smile vanished.
"Your prime minister?"
Cyran closed his eyes briefly.
Marius inhaled through his nose.
Gerard realized the wording too late.
Arik stepped away from the window.
Nothing happened. Yet Gerard suddenly understood why people spoke differently around this man.
Arik stopped beside Cyran.
"Nuria elected him."
Gerard lifted his chin.
"A technical distinction."
"No."
Arik’s voice remained quiet.
"It is actually the entire problem."
Marius finally spoke.
"Your Majesty, perhaps we should clarify why His Majesty Gerard requested the meeting."
Arik looked toward him.
Recognition appeared almost immediately.
"You."
Marius remained composed.
Arik’s eyes narrowed with interest.
"You were the one speaking to Cyran."
Gerard turned sharply.
Cyran said nothing.
Marius’s face changed by less than a fraction.
That was answer enough.
Arik smiled.
This time there was no warmth in it.
"Good."
Gerard felt suddenly, profoundly irritated that everyone except him seemed to understand what was happening.
Then Arik looked back at him.
"I was hoping you brought the intelligent one."