Licerio took it, with the feeling he had heard that name somewhere before, though he could not place it.
He turned the letter over in his hands, trying to remember. When nothing came, he opened it with a knife and read.
The letter carried a sharp, refined scent that moved freely through Licerio's nose. Its contents followed the same manner—polished words, stylized sentences, and precise language.
Licerio's hands tightened on the letter as he reached the end, crumpling it, then tearing it, and letting out a long breath from his lungs. His jaw clenched, and his breathing went still.
"Son of a bitch. How dare you."
Licerio cursed at the air, letting his rage find its way out of him. When it had run its course, he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, unclenching his jaw and letting the chair take his weight.
"The nerve of that piece of—" he murmured.
The entire opening of the letter had been nothing but empty sentences decorated with the utmost refinement. What mattered was at the end. That part, for all its attempts at elegant clothing, showed the cruelty hidden in its words without any effort.
He remembered now who this count was—he had been one of the buyers of the clandestine iron mine in Rosea.
The letter stated that he had heard of the difficult situation the guilds in Licerio's territories were facing and that he was prepared to serve as an intermediary in the dispute—resolving the matter for both sides without either coming out the worse for it.
He threw the torn pieces of the letter onto the desk. His eyes narrowed, and a burning sensation moved through his body, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat and his throbbing temple.
"So these are the reinforcements you managed to find," he said with a dry, contemptuous sound. He closed his eyes, trying to settle himself, and exhaled. "It seems they're going to give this everything they have."
Licerio looked at the steward and dismissed him with a gesture.
"Lecaro — gather my knights. In about twenty minutes we'll go and see my father."
Lecaro left the room immediately to carry out the order.
Alone in his office, Licerio gathered the torn pieces of the letter and dropped them in the wastepaper basket. As he was thinking, his left hand closed around empty air. His gaze dropped in absent-minded confusion, searching for the walking stick he always used.
He stayed for a moment looking at the floor, and a smile formed—somewhat bitter, or perhaps simply strange. In this life I don't use one anymore… Licerio set the feeling aside and brought his focus back to the situation in front of him.
Shortly after, he left his office and went to his father's room. The knights were already there, talking with his father and sharing recent happenings from their lives.
Licerio did not interrupt after entering and sat patiently, waiting for the conversation to wind down.
When he could see it drawing to a close, he moved closer and told his father about the current situation and some of his thoughts on it.
"What can we do about this? If it's what I think it is, this won't be easy."
"That count…" Lucio shook his head. "He's quite dangerous. Cunning as a fox and cowardly as a mouse. I don't know much more than that…" Lucio trailed off and fell into deep thought. "Ah — now I remember. He had a deep feud with the Count of Foriste. You know about the war against Mitea? He spent years clashing publicly with the Count of Foriste—like two dogs fighting over the same bone."
"This Count of Foriste could be a useful ally if things become complicated. I'll send him a letter, explaining the situation and arranging a meeting."
"I don't think so," Marlleo cut in. He turned to Lucio and spoke respectfully. "My lord, in those days you didn't pay much attention to political currents—much less to a fight between pigs. Even though they often clashed, did you ever actually see them fight each other in earnest?"
"Yes…" Lucio stopped short, finding he could not produce a single example. He frowned and closed his eyes, searching further back through his memories. "No. There isn't one."
"Exactly. Though they always gave the impression of bitter enemies, they never fought to the point of weakening or killing each other." Marlleo raised his index finger and thumb and rubbed his chin. "They're most likely enemies, but what they want to create are factions—so that people take sides and don't act freely. They strengthen themselves and fight without actually hurting each other."
Licerio listened to his knight with quiet surprise, turning the words over, discovering a side of him he had never seen before. As he thought, he found himself murmuring, "Foxes pretending to be pigs…" He dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, and when he raised it, his back was straight and his thinking settled.
"What do you think?" he asked the other two knights.
"I would try to divide the guilds—create two or three separate factions among them. With our resources, it could be done," López said. "If when the count tries to intervene, the guild forces are already fractured, there won't be much he can do."
A few seconds later, Astor put forward his idea: "I would accuse key guild members of fabricated offenses and bribe the new members who replace them. There will be resistance, but nothing serious. We are nobles; they are not. Who would listen to them?" He laughed—a laugh that seemed to drop the temperature of the room.
Licerio looked at Astor, somewhat impressed and surprised by what he had heard. He had not known Astor could be so ruthless. I have to say, it is a good idea. Licerio nodded inwardly.
"Dividing the guild forces may prove impossible—we don't know how deep their ties run," he said, glancing at López. "Even so, we should try." Then he turned to Astor. "Your idea is too risky. We would be branded as tyrants—or worse, and when the count comes to intervene, he would have the perfect justification to move against us, proclaiming himself the liberator of the people against a tyrant."
Both knights appeared to sit with Licerio's words and the consequences of their plans. Astor was the first to nod. Then López, though he looked somewhat deflated, his eyelids heavy.
The five men argued without pause for a long stretch of time. At moments voices were raised; at others, if you paid close enough attention, you could hear only breathing.
"Then I will write to the Count of Foriste and feel out his position, trying to arrange a meeting. Let us hope to have enough luck to slow the Count of Trosia's movements a little."
Licerio stood and straightened his clothes before leaving the room. Shortly after, the three knights left as well, leaving Lucio alone.