Politics was all about probing. Most terms were already quietly negotiated long before an official meeting. Formal talks were often little more than signatures and ceremonial approval.
There was an advantage to this: everything stayed polite on the surface. No one would lose face, and relations wouldn't easily fracture.
But there was a downside as well: both sides had to share at least some common ground. If they were fundamentally at odds, "pre-negotiation" was little different from tearing things apart in advance.
And that was exactly the current situation.
Alderien had originally gone to negotiate with James Watson on Ambrose's behalf. But out of sheer spite, the young elven king had very "accidentally" revealed that Ambrose himself had come to the Court of the Silver Moon.
James Watson's response was immediate: he would not deal with a lich. Let the creature keep Arthur Lyon's spirit—for now. The paladins would come for it soon enough.
No matter how vast the desert, Lyon would search it inch by inch until Ambrose was found.
When Alderien returned with this message, Ambrose stared at him and asked flatly, "Was that deliberate... or an accident?"
"Of course it was an accident," Alderien replied with an innocent smile.
"Heh."
Ambrose wasn't fazed in the slightest. "I've been a lich for many years. Do you really think this is my first time dealing with that High Inquisitor? ‘Lyon doesn't negotiate with undead'—I've heard that before."
Alderien's smile faded. "Boasting about imaginary experience doesn't prove anything."
"Then let's make a bet," Ambrose said calmly. "If I can get James Watson to sit down and negotiate a price, I win. Doesn't matter what the final number is. If Lyon pays me, it's your loss."
Alderien's eyes sharpened. "And the wager?"
"A divine artifact. This gift from Shara is my stake."
"A divine artifact?!"
Alderien examined it carefully. The dark, malignant aura of divine power was unmistakable. It was real. He had half expected a trick.
"What's wrong?" Ambrose said lightly. "Don't tell me the great elven king doesn't even own a single divine artifact of his own?"
Alderien's expression stiffened. He did not, in fact.
The elven gods had lavished all their favor, blessings and relics alike, upon Catherine.
Alderien had inherited the throne under unusual circumstances and had received no such divine gifts.
Yes, there were heirloom artifacts in the royal treasury, but those weren't his to wager.
Seeing his reaction, Ambrose feigned surprise. "You really don't have one? Never mind, then. Out of respect for Catherine, I won't make things difficult for you."
He reached to take the dagger back and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Alderien called out quickly. "Pick another wager. You like gold, don't you? I'll put up three hundred thousand gold!"
There was no way he'd let this lich drag Catherine's name into a bet. If there was going to be a gamble, he'd win it—and win big, at that.
"Tch. If it's not a divine artifact, I'm not interested," Ambrose said dismissively. "I thought the elves, beloved by the gods, would have artifacts to spare. But it turns out that neither the old king nor the young king can produce even one. What a disappointment. Even I, a mere lich, have three."
Alderien clenched his teeth. "I know you're trying to provoke me."
"Of course I am," Ambrose said cheerfully. "But does realizing that make you feel any better? This is your last chance in four hundred years to win something back. After today, I might never return to the Court of the Silver Moon. If you lose, you'll simply have lost to me once again. It makes no real difference. But if you win, you can get your revenge."
That was Ambrose's greatest advantage. A man consumed by vengeance loses his reason.
Four centuries of resentment surged back the moment Alderien saw Ambrose again. The urge to reclaim his dignity was overwhelming.
His fists tightened, then loosened, several times. Finally, he exhaled, forcing a smile. "No need. Even if you don't come to the Court, I'll bring the Twilight Wardens to you. I won't walk into a trap you've set. You may live forever, but it's not as if I'll be dying soon, either.
"Just remember this, lich: having an elven king constantly plotting your downfall will be interesting, won't it?"
With that, he turned and left without giving Ambrose a chance to reply.
Ambrose clicked his tongue. The boy had restraint. Impressive. Both grandfather and grandson had been harder to handle than expected.
"Damn it. Why can't I find a proper fool to make a fortune off of these days?"
Muttering to himself, he went straight to find James Watson. He hadn't come all this way to leave empty-handed.
Inside another reception hall, Ambrose found the High Inquisitor standing before a tall window, admiring the intricate elven glasswork.
Without turning, James Watson said, "Don't come any closer, lich. I might not be able to resist purifying you."
Ambrose chuckled. "Talking with your back to someone may look imposing, but it's terribly rude."
James Watson turned, his face openly hostile.
"This is elven territory. I have no desire to fight you here. But if you think you can provoke me without consequence, I'll show you the power of the Holy Light."
Negotiations built on emotion rarely ended well. Watson's disdain was undisguised. It would be difficult to reach any agreement like this.
Keeping a measured distance, Ambrose said, "We've known of each other for a long time, but this is our first proper meeting, isn't it? I hear you signed my pardon, so why do you still act like we're mortal enemies?"
Watson replied coldly, "You earned that pardon by ending a war and saving countless human lives. By law, it was justified, and as High Inquisitor, it was my duty to sign it. But that was the law, not my personal feelings. You may have done something great, but I know your nature. You must have profited enormously from it. To you, everything is about gain. We are nothing alike."
"Ah, so you separate public and private affairs," Ambrose said. "Then tell me, why was my paper rejected? Was it lacking in quality? If you're so impartial, why deny my submission to Legendary Spellcraft?"
This was one of Ambrose's long-standing grievances.
Watson waved it off. "I am High Inquisitor of Lyon. Matters concerning Lyon require impartiality. Editing Legendary Spellcraft is merely a hobby. Personal interests follow personal taste."
"That's shameless," Ambrose snapped. "Doesn't that kind of double standard offend the Holy Light?"
Watson didn't answer. He only smirked, as if he held the final word.
Ambrose silently vowed to bleed him dry before this was over.
"Fine, then. Do you consider Arthur Lyon's spirit a public matter, or a private one?"
Watson didn't take the bait. "We haven't even confirmed its authenticity. Discussing that is meaningless."
"Then let's call it fake," Ambrose said lightly. "Nothing to discuss. I'll be going, then."
He turned and walked away. Watson frowned.
He knew Ambrose had come to demand an outrageous price. Why leave so easily?
"What are you playing at?" Watson called out.
Ambrose stopped, but didn't turn. "No tricks. I said it's fake. If it has nothing to do with Lyon, then what I do with it is none of your concern. I'm sure plenty of evil gods would be interested. Even a generic heroic spirit has value."
Watson hesitated, then finally spoke, "Wait. If there's even a chance it's real, then what you're doing is a grave provocation against Lyon. Are you prepared to make an enemy of the entire empire?"
Ambrose laughed softly. "As if Lyon isn't already my enemy. I'm a lich, remember?"
"If your name remains off the wanted list, you are not Lyon's enemy," Watson said firmly. "My hostility is personal. But if you provoke Lyon again, that list can be amended."
Ambrose turned, smiling. "So you're willing to talk about the spirit now?"
"A trade is impossible," Watson said immediately. "I will not bargain with the undead. That is Lyon's law, and I will not break it."
"Then do you expect me to hand it over for free?"
"That would be ideal," Watson said without hesitation. "Lyon would remember the favor."
"Can favors be exchanged for gold?"
Watson paused. "...If a friend is in need, assistance can be arranged."
Ah. So it was negotiable, just under a different name. The threat of selling the spirit to evil gods had worked.
But instead of pressing the advantage, Ambrose sighed. "My old friend, I know you. You wouldn't normally accept this kind of self-deception. Things in Lyon must be worse than I thought if even your principles are starting to bend."
Watson fell silent.
"Why not speak to your holy king first?" Ambrose continued. "After that, you might find your judgment clearer."
That struck home.
Once, Watson had been willing to sacrifice even his own son, refusing to pay a ransom and sending paladins in pursuit when Allen was captured.
It was only thanks to Alkhemia's intervention that those paladins had lived.
To be frank, this time, he could have asked the elves to serve as an intermediary in the transaction so that Lyon didn't have to deal directly with the undead.
But that wasn't an idea that should have come from James Watson, High Inquisitor of Lyon.
If he allowed himself to justify such loopholes, it would represent a shift in his position.
Others could bend the rules, but he was a priest of the Holy Light. Self-deception rarely ended well.
At this point, Ambrose no longer cared about Watson's offer. What interested him more was just how far Lyon had already begun to rot from within.