CHAPTER 49: THE ELDER’S GAME (2)

Soren opened his mouth to explain, Kaelor’s training, his collapse, the time needed to wash, but something in Ayren’s expression stopped him. Excuses would only make things worse.

"Yes, my lord," he said instead, his voice steadier than he’d expected. "I apologize."

Ayren’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes, not approval, exactly, but perhaps acknowledgment that Soren had chosen the correct response.

Without further comment, he reached for a parchment to his right and slid it across the desk’s polished surface. "Come. Sit."

Soren approached the desk, each step requiring conscious effort as his abused body protested the continued demand for movement. He lowered himself into the chair opposite Ayren, careful to keep his back straight despite the screaming pain in his ribs.

The parchment before him contained a list of names, each written in Ayren’s elegant script. Noble houses, Soren realized, recognizing some from conversations he overheard. Each name was accompanied by a small sigil, family crests rendered in precise detail.

"Choose one to ally with," Ayren said without preamble. "And one to ruin."

Soren stared at the list, mind racing. This wasn’t what he’d expected. A lecture, perhaps. More lessons on proper behavior. Not... this. Not a test that felt like a trap.

The shard pulsed once against his chest, Valenna’s presence sharpening with interest. She offered no guidance, though, this was his challenge to meet or fail.

He scanned the names again, trying to recall what little he knew of each house. Some were completely unfamiliar. Others he recognized only from passing mentions in the barracks or dining hall. None seemed safe to choose without more information.

The silence stretched as he hesitated, Ayren’s gaze heavy as a physical weight.

"Do you plan to stare your enemies into submission?" Ayren asked finally, his tone carrying an edge of disdain. "An interesting strategy, if somewhat limited in effectiveness."

Soren looked up, meeting those unsettling violet eyes. "I don’t know enough about these houses to make such a choice."

"Precisely," Ayren replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Yet the world will demand choices of you regardless of your preparation. This is your new lesson: decisions made in ignorance are still decisions, and they carry consequences."

He reached across the desk, tapping one elegant finger against a name near the top of the list. "House Teyne. Old knights, old blood, old honor. Their steel has served kings for ten generations." His finger moved to another name. "And now they’re bankrupt, their ancestral lands mortgaged to merchants, their sons and daughters selling swords to pay family debts."

Soren absorbed this, trying to see the angles, the hidden purpose behind the information.

Ayren continued, finger sliding to the next name.

"House Marrick. Merchants elevated to nobility three generations ago. New money, new titles, new ambitions. They own half the trading ships in the eastern harbors and collect interest from half the noble houses in the realm." His mouth curved in a cold smile.

"The old blood despises them, of course. Nothing more offensive to ancient lineage than watching a spice merchant’s grandson marry his daughter into a house whose name appears in the founding chronicles."

The pattern was becoming clear now. Ayren wasn’t just providing information—he was dissecting these houses, exposing their vulnerabilities with surgical precision.

"House Dravien," Ayren continued, moving down the list.

"Fierce warriors from the northern mountains. Their border keeps have never fallen to enemy forces." His finger tapped the sigil beside the name, two wolves, one black, one white, facing away from each other.

"Now the house is split by feuding brothers, each claiming the lordship after their father’s suspicious death. Their armies face each other across a valley that should be defended against foreign threats."

Soren nodded.

"House Dravien," Ayren continued, moving down the list. "Fierce warriors from the northern mountains. Their border keeps have never fallen to enemy forces." His finger tapped the sigil beside the name, two wolves, one black, one white, facing away from each other.

"Now the house is split by feuding brothers, each claiming the lordship after their father’s suspicious death. Their armies face each other across a valley that should be defended against foreign threats."

Soren nodded, studying the list with growing understanding. Each house was a piece on a board far more complex than he’d realized.

"Now," Ayren said, leaning back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Choose. One to ally with. One to destroy."

Soren took a deep breath, his ribs protesting the expansion. He pointed to House Marrick. "Ally with them. They have wealth, which House Teyne needs. And House Teyne has the bloodline and martial reputation that House Marrick craves."

Ayren’s expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in his eyes. "And who would you destroy?"

"House Dravien," Soren said after a moment’s consideration. "Their internal conflict makes them vulnerable. While they fight each other, they cannot unite against outside threats."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the steady tick of the unseen clock. Then Ayren’s mouth curled into something too sharp to be called a smile.

"Mercy," he said, the word dripping with disdain. "You would show mercy to a wounded beast, only to have it turn on you when healed." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a silken murmur.

"House Teyne is dying. Your alliance merely prolongs their suffering while draining your resources. Mercy is indulgence. Do you mean to rule or beg?"

Heat crept up Soren’s neck. The shard pulsed once against his chest, a warning flare.

"As for Dravien," Ayren continued, "you mistake opportunity for vulnerability. Their conflict is precisely what makes them valuable. Each brother can be played against the other, their resources directed to our benefit while they remain too divided to threaten us." His fingers tapped the desk, a soft, impatient rhythm. "Choose again. And this time, think like a predator, not a nursemaid."

Soren swallowed, reassessing the list. The names blurred slightly as exhaustion pulled at him, but he forced his mind to clarity. This was just another battlefield, another test of survival.

"Ally with House Marrick," he said finally. "Their wealth buys influence, and new money is hungry for legitimacy...which makes them eager to please."

Ayren nodded once, the barest acknowledgment. "And destroy?"

"House Teyne," Soren replied, the words tasting bitter. "Their debts make them vulnerable. Buy what they owe, then call it due. Take their lands when they cannot pay."

"Better," Ayren said, though his tone suggested ’barely adequate’ rather than actual praise. "Though still too gentle. If you leave a rival weakened, he will recover. You cripple him or you bury him."