Damian glanced at Dominic and Lynn, fearing a trap.
Cautiously, the pair nodded back, and Damian stood, straightening his jacket by the hem.
He crossed the room to stand beside Blackbriar, only noticing now that the other man had a relatively frail build. The veins on Blackbriar's hands bulged as he rested most of his body weight through the handle of his cane.
"You see the shipyards down below, yes? The harbor, too?"
Damian uttered wordless agreement.
Indeed, off in the distance, he saw the sprawl of Tenebrae's port. Steel shipping containers were piled in long columns, each leading not to a boat, as one might have expected, but instead to one of the Collective's most powerful creations.
Blackbriar began speaking, his words coming slowly and carefully
"Long ago, the city of Rosweiss was entirely dependent on our access to the ocean. Before the Starfall, our ancestors logged and mined the Heavenshard Mountains, and floated their goods down the river on great barges. When Rosweiss was little more than a hamlet, merchants from across the seas would come to this harbor, and trade coins, and cloths, and spices. That was long ago, though."
Damian stiffened, sensing a trap closing around him. Like a rabbit cornered by a wolf, he twitched, looking for escape, not realizing that his fate had been decided the moment he stepped into the room.
I'm outclassed here. Blackbriar—no, the entire High Table—have more power than the Crown. He never intended to have a discussion with me—this is the High Table's rebuttal, and I'm the messenger.
"I was taught my history well, Blackbriar. I am prepared to be King of Sidralis. You need not remind me how my nation came to be."
"I wonder if that is so, Your Highness? You see, after the stars fell, and Deep and the Flame rose to prominence, Rosweiss was in a much weaker position than our neighbors. Curious, since we alone maintain the Chains of the Flame, don't you think? It was not the Holy Order who lifted our people out of poverty and ushered them into a glorious future. No, it was the Collective. It was our power."
Blackbriar jabbed a finger at the window.
As Damian looked on the shipyard below, he watched a team of thirty men push a series of containers, each rolling along large and sturdy wheels. The containers were lined up, much like trolleys on a tram, and pushed towards one of them.
A Gateway.
The crux of the Deep's power, and the very reason Blackbriar was so asininely lecturing the Crown Prince on his nation's history.
At the end of the shipyard, half a dozen Apostles gathered before an upright circular structure. In the middle of this circle, a swirling blackness, darker than the deepest night, sprang to life. Goosebumps prickled down Damian's arm, but he did not avert his sight.
This is the Collective's power. This is the reason the High Table can lecture me and threaten the Crown. This is why we'll never be free of them.
The vortex widened until it was a pitch-black disc, twenty feet wide and high. The Apostles stepped back, and the workers pushed the containers onwards. Slowly, the freight slipped into the void, yet no hint of the containers appeared out the other side of that circle. When the last inch of the freight had slipped into the void, the Apostles stepped away, and the vortex closed with a flicker.
"Six hundred miles."
Three simple words hung in the air.
"You just watched two hundred forty thousand pounds of goods travel six hundred miles into the Duchy of Lombrass. In the next twenty-four hours, the High Table will ship ten times that number again, to various depots throughout Sidralis, Caldith, and even to the United Islands—and all with the power of the Deep."
Blackbriar turned to face Damian. Two men stood, their clothes in stark contrast to one another; their positions, likewise. Yet, one had quite the advantage over the other, and he knew it.
"You speak of benefiting your nation's people, Your Highness, but I see things very differently. With more funding, with more Apostles, and with the next generation of Gateways, Rosweiss could become a global economic powerhouse. With more Gateways in neighboring countries, with waypoints across the ocean, we could be singularly responsible for half the world's commerce and then some. Yet, your lord father sees only short-term gain. Taxing the High Table, crippling our growth… It may fatten the royal coffers for a few years, yes, but before long, a new Starfall may come, and this nation plunged into darkness once more."
Blackbriar's voice rose in intensity with every word, ending in a feverish pitch.
Without realizing it, Damian had retreated a few steps towards the table—towards Dominic and Lynn. Somehow, through whatever faculties Morgan Blackbriar possessed to replace his vision, he recognized this, and coughed awkwardly.
"Forgive me. I was merely excited about the possibilities, you see. Truly, the High Table can offer this Kingdom so very much. It pains me that we must be shunned by the very King we serve. Perhaps, if I may be so bold, I hope that when your time comes to reign, you may be more open-minded than your father."
Damian wet his lips again. His heart was hammering in his chest, a nervous sweat breaking out across his back. When he spoke, his voice was hoarser and quieter than he liked.
"For my father's sake, I hope that day is far away."
Blackbriar gave a wan smile.
"As do I, Your Highness. As do I."
Before Damian could speak again, a shrill noise trilled through the air. With some surprise, he realized the telephone on the wall was vibrating and shaking of its own accord.
"My apologies, I must take this," Blackbriar said. He effortlessly strode across the room, and unhooked the horn from the device, holding the larger end to his ear and the smaller end to his mouth.
Damian leaned over his vacant chair between Dominic and Lynn, his hands trembling.
"I don't like any of this," he whispered. "Blackbriar had no intention of negotiating, so what was this all about?"
"Agreed," Lynn whispered back, her bright eyes staring daggers into the First Seat's back. "I don't know what the High Table is planning, but something is stirring in the Deep. I can feel it. We should talk to Bishop Obediah about it tomorrow."
"For once, I agree with you."
Lynn's lips twitched into a smug smile, but before she could reply, Morgan Blackbriar had hung up the telephone and returned his attention to his guests. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head in apology.
"Please forgive me, but I must call an early end to our discussion. There has been something of an unexpected development, which requires my attendance. Perhaps we can discuss this matter again?"
Damian straightened up and plastered on his best, most courteous smile.
"That would be excellent."
Lynn and Dominic stood, their tea and refreshments untouched—although Damian was sure that Lynn had been considering the cookies, at the very least.
Blackbriar guided them towards the boardroom's doors. He rested heavily on his cane again, the very picture of a frail man—nothing like the cruel mastermind he truly was.
"One of my staff shall escort you to your car. I truly hope you consider my words, Your Highness. Not just for the future of Tenebrae, but for all of Sidralis."
"I hope we can meet again on more agreeable terms. It's my belief, and my father's too, that Tenebrae has much to gain by working together with the Crown, not against us."
The First Seat swung the door open without another word. A young woman in a business suit bowed low at the waist. With the conversation over, the staff member guided the prince and his retinue down the staircase.
Damian glanced back over his shoulder, and saw Morgan Blackbriar staring directly into Damian's eyes with every step, until they walked around a corner and out of sight.