The delegation from the Freeport League, a trade union of enterprises and port cities from various countries, arrived at Monolith three hours ahead of schedule.

  Lelya learned about this when a courier from the embassy burst into her temporary office without knocking. A young liaison mage, pale, with beads of sweat on his temples.

  "They're already in the negotiation room. They're demanding to start immediately."

  Lelya set aside the dossier she had been studying for the past four hours. A trade dispute over transit tariffs—routine, trivial, one of twelve cases in her folder for the month. But the Freeport League was famous for exactly these kinds of tricks: throw your opponent off balance before negotiations even begin.

  "Does Radimir know?" she asked, rising.

  "The Minister is at the Supreme Council of Monolith meeting. He asked me to tell you that you'll manage."

  Lelya barely held back a laugh. Two months ago she had been a law student. A month ago—a junior assistant who carried folders and made coffee. And now Radimir was throwing her into negotiations with experienced diplomats, like tossing a puppy into water.

  She grabbed her notebook and headed for the door.

  "Wait," the courier hesitated. "Einar is there. In person."

  Lelya stopped. Einar of the Freeport League, chief negotiator for their council, a mage who hadn't lost a single trade dispute in three hundred years. It is said he once makes a Citadel representative cry right during a session.

  "Excellent," she said, and walked out.

  ***

  The negotiation room was located in the embassy wing. A long table of dark wood, three mages from the Freeport League already seated on one side. Einar—in the center, lean, with sharp cheekbones and attentive gray eyes. He appeared barely past thirty, like most mages, though Lelya knew he was almost six hundred.

  She entered alone. No entourage, no advisors, no stack of documents.

  Einar raised an eyebrow.

  "Monolith sends a junior assistant? I was expecting Radimir."

  "The Minister is busy with matters requiring his personal attention," Lelya sat down across from him, placing her notebook and pen on the table. "I am authorized to conduct these negotiations."

  "Authorized," Einar repeated, as if tasting the word. "How long ago were you initiated?"

  "Long enough to know that your ships have been sitting idle in our ports for three weeks now. Every day of delay costs the Freeport League approximately forty thousand. Multiply that by twenty-one days and seventeen vessels."

  She opened her notebook, though she knew the figures by heart.

  "Fourteen million two hundred eighty thousand. That's not counting the spoiled cargo in the holds—peaches, if I'm not mistaken? They rot quickly."

  Einar's expression didn't change, but his assistant on the left twitched his shoulder slightly.

  "We're here to discuss the illegal increase in transit tariffs," Einar said in an even voice.

  "Legal," Lelya corrected. "Paragraph seventeen of the trade agreement of 5667 allows Monolith to revise tariffs once every ten years. The revision took place last year. Your delegation was present and did not object."

  "We objected. Our note is recorded in the protocol."

  "A note requesting 'consideration of the possibility of softening conditions'," Lelya smiled slightly. "That's not an objection. That's a wish. We considered it, noted it, and declined. All within procedure."

  Einar leaned back in his chair. For the first time in the entire conversation, he looked at her with something resembling curiosity.

  "Suppose so. But your new tariffs make our deliveries unprofitable. We'll find other partners."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "You will," Lelya agreed. "Citadel will gladly accept your peaches. True, their ports are eight hundred kilometers farther, fuel prices have risen, and their tariffs are twelve percent higher than ours. I've done the math. But that's just a marginal note."

  ***

  The silence at the table became almost tangible. Einar's assistant was scribbling something quickly. The second one leafed through the papers they had brought.

  "What do you want?" Einar finally asked.

  "Monolith is prepared to discuss a compromise. But only if the Freeport League recognizes the legality of the tariff revision. Publicly. In writing."

  "In exchange?"

  "In exchange, we'll introduce a grace period. Gradual increases over three years: first year—old tariffs, second—half the difference, third—full rate. Your economists will have time to restructure logistics."

  Einar was silent. Lelya could see him calculating options—his eyes narrowed slightly, his fingers tapped on the tabletop.

  "A generous offer," he said. "Too generous for an assistant."

  "The Minister trusts my judgment."

  "And if I refuse?"

  Lelya shrugged.

  "The peaches will rot. We'll survive. You—I'm not so sure."

  Einar laughed briefly—more an exhale than a laugh.

  "What's your name?"

  "Lelya."

  ***

  The negotiations ended two hours later. The Freeport League signed the recognition of the tariffs' legality and received their grace period. As they parted, Einar held her hand in his a bit longer than etiquette required.

  "Tell Radimir," he said quietly, "that next time I want to negotiate with you specifically."

  Lelya returned to her temporary office when it was already getting dark outside. A note lay on her desk: "Come see me. R."

  She went up two floors. Radimir sat behind a desk buried in documents. Dark hair slightly disheveled, a shadow of fatigue on his face that even magical youth couldn't hide.

  "Einar contacted me," he said instead of a greeting.

  Lelya froze in the doorway.

  "He said Monolith has finally found someone interesting to talk to." Radimir leaned back in his chair and smiled for the first time that evening. "Sit down. There's another matter. The border with the House of All Winds. A dispute over a transit corridor. You leave tomorrow."

  The neutral territory between Monolith and the House of All Winds was a narrow strip of land—five kilometers of forests and hills that formally belonged to no one. Here, in a small town, stood the embassies of both Alnars—two buildings across a square from each other, between which a quiet war of glances and barbs had been waged for centuries.

  The dispute Lelya had to resolve concerned a road. An old trade route passed through the neutral zone and was used by both sides. A month ago, the House of All Winds had begun widening their section of the road—without coordinating with Monolith. Now Monolith's caravans were getting stuck at a narrow bottleneck, losing days.

  "It's a provocation," Radimir said before her departure. "They want to force us into retaliatory action, then accuse us of aggression. Don't give them an excuse."

  Lelya arrived early in the morning. The negotiations were scheduled for noon, but she wanted to look around. She walked along the disputed section of the road, took notes, spoke with local observer mages.

  By eleven, she knew more about the situation than any dossier contained.

  ***

  The House of All Winds negotiator was named Zhinai. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a heavy gaze and slow speech. He entered the negotiation room exactly at noon—not a minute earlier, not a minute later—and sat across from Lelya without greeting her.

  "Monolith sent a child," he stated.

  "Monolith sent someone who will resolve this issue," Lelya answered. "Let's get to business. You're widening the road on a section that, according to the 5765 agreement, must remain unchanged without mutual consent."

  "The agreement is outdated."

  "The agreement is in effect until a new one is signed. That's basic diplomacy."

  Zhinai smirked.

  "Basic principles. How long have you been initiated?"

  "Long enough to have read all the documents on this dispute. Including your Alnar's internal correspondence that someone carelessly sent unencrypted."

  This was a bluff. She had no such correspondence. But Zhinai froze for a moment—and that moment was enough.

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "I'm saying that your road expansion isn't an economic necessity. It's an attempt to create a precedent for revising the neutral zone's borders." Lelya leaned forward. "But the World Council is unlikely to approve unilateral actions. Especially if they learn about the methods."

  "You wouldn't dare bring this to the World Council..."

  "I'll dare anything necessary to protect Monolith's interests."

  ***

  Zhinai rose so abruptly that his chair flew against the wall.

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "I'm stating facts." Lelya remained seated, though her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat. "Sit down. We have many more issues to discuss."

  For several seconds they stared at each other. Then Zhinai slowly picked up the chair and sat back down.

  "What does Monolith want?"

  "Monolith wants the status quo. You stop the expansion. We don't raise this issue at the World Council. Everyone keeps what they have."

  "Is that all?"

  "No." Lelya took a document from her folder. "Monolith also wants compensation for the delay of our cargo. The amount is here. I believe you'll agree it's fair."

  Zhinai looked at the figure. His face didn't change, but his left eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly.

  "I need to contact my Alnar."

  "Of course. I'll wait."

  ***

  He returned after an hour. They agreed on the compensation—less than Lelya had initially requested, but more than she had actually expected to get.

  On the way back, already in the car, she let herself relax. Her hands were shaking—the adrenaline was gradually leaving her bloodstream. She had won. Again.

  This was starting to feel good.

  Her phone vibrated. A message from Radimir: "Zhinai complained about you to his Chief Mage. He called ours. Varvara laughed for five minutes."

  Lelya smiled and leaned back against the seat.

  Outside the window, the forests of the neutral territory flashed by, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was in the right place.