John cleared his throat, the sound small and weak against the cacophony of arguing nobles. He tried to find a pause, a gap, a moment of silence between the overlapping voices, but every time he opened his mouth, someone else jumped in.
"I believe if we just—" John started.
"—and another thing, the spice routes through the Crimson Mountains are completely untenable now that Mousche is—" Auger was saying, his voice rising.
John tried again, louder this time. "If I could just explain what my people—"
"—forty percent, Belamy! Forty percent! You don't just lose forty percent and shrug it off like it's nothing!" Gwin was practically wailing, his hands trembling.
"—my brother could buy and sell all of you, you know. He doesn't even have to think about it. He just—" Aris was leaning back in his chair, gesturing lazily.
John pushed himself up slightly, raising his hand. "Excuse me, I really think it would be helpful if I could just—"
"—and then in the final round, down to the last arrow, the wind shifted. You should have seen it. The way the captain adjusted his aim, the way he—" Rowdrin was grinning, reliving his glory.
John's hand dropped. He sank deeper into his chair, his shoulders slumping. The nobles continued their arguments, their voices washing over him like waves, each one louder and more self-important than the last. Auger was threatening to write a letter to his father. Darwin was jingling his coin pouch and offering to buy the entire goblin problem away. Belin sat perfectly still, saying nothing, contributing nothing, his blank eyes fixed on some distant point.
John tried one more time. "If the duke would just allow me to—"
"—and another thing, the tournament prizes were supposed to be distributed equally among the winning houses, but we never received our share of the—" Rowdrin was off again.
John closed his mouth. He pressed his lips together and stared at the table. His green fingers drummed against his knee under the table, a nervous habit he couldn't shake. The polished wood of the table reflected his own face back at him, distorted and green, and he watched the nobles' arguments play out in the warped reflection like a puppet show he couldn't escape.
The minutes stretched. Five. Ten. Fifteen. John lost track. The arguments circled back on themselves, the same points repeated in different words, the same grievances aired and re-aired. Auger threatened to write to his father three more times. Aris mentioned his brother twice more. Darwin offered gold again, then rescinded the offer when Auger glared at him, then offered it again when Auger looked away. Gwin calculated his losses out loud, the numbers shifting each time as he remembered new expenses and forgot old ones.
Belin STILL didn't move. (stupid chud aura farmer)
He hadn't moved since John sat down. The young elf was like a statue, his hands frozen on the table, his eyes fixed on nothing. John wondered if he was even breathing.
Finally, Draven spoke.
His voice was not loud. It was not harsh. It was calm, measured, the kind of voice that carried because it expected to be heard, not because it demanded attention.
"I believe Sir Gob was about to speak."
The room went silent. Not gradually, not with a trailing off of voices, but all at once, like a door had been slammed on the noise. The nobles turned to look at Draven, then at John, then back at Draven. Auger's mouth was still open, mid-word. Aris's hand was frozen in a dismissive gesture. Rowdrin's grin had frozen on his face.
Duke Ashford, who had been sitting at the far end of the table with his hands clasped, his expression unreadable, finally moved. He waved his hand in a dismissive circle, a gesture that said more than words ever could.
Get on with it. Stop wasting my time.
John stood up.
His legs were shaky. His heart was pounding. He was a goblin, standing in front of seven human and elven nobles, with four elite warriors behind the duke, in a castle that had probably been standing for centuries before his grandparents were born. He was out of his depth. He was in over his head. He was terrified.
But he was also the leader of his village. And his people were counting on him.
"Thank you, Your Grace," John said, his voice steadier than he felt. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, the way he had seen politicians do in old movies. "My name is Gob Lynn. I am the leader of a small goblin village on the eastern border of Greystone. We number approximately three hundred souls, all adults, all capable of work and trade."
He paused, looking around the table. The nobles were watching him with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to barely concealed contempt. Auger looked like he had swallowed something sour. Aris looked bored. Rowdrin looked like he was about to interrupt with another tournament story.
"Our current territory spans about one hundred acres of cleared land," John continued, "but our hunting routes and fishing lakes cover well over five square kilometers. We have access to timber, fresh water, and game. We are not wealthy, but we are self-sufficient."
He took a deep breath. This was the important part.
"We would like to sign a peace agreement with Greystone. A formal treaty of non-aggression and free trade between our nations. We recognize that this forest is, as you have stated, Thornheim territory. We are not here to dispute that claim. We are here to ask for recognition of our own sovereignty within that territory."
Auger snorted. John ignored him.
"We would like permission to expand eastward, away from Greystone, as well as north and south along the forest belt. We have no interest in moving west, toward your settlements. We want to build our own nation, in our own direction, on land that you have no current use for."
"And what do we get out of this?" Belamy asked, his greedy eyes narrow. "You're asking for a lot. Free trade. Sovereignty. Permission to expand. What are you offering in return?"
John turned to face him. "Access to the mines."
Belamy's eyebrows rose.
"The mines that are currently depleted," John continued, "are not empty. They are tapped out using your methods, yes. But goblins have different methods. We can go deeper due to our size. We can find veins that human miners cannot reach. In exchange for favorable trade terms and a guarantee of non-aggression, we will extract resources from those mines and sell them to Greystone at a discounted rate."
Murmurs rippled around the table. Auger leaned forward, his expression shifting from contempt to something like interest. Aris stopped looking bored. Even Belin Bonne's blank eyes seemed to sharpen, just slightly.
"In addition," John said, pressing his advantage, "we would like favorable rates on gems, trinkets, and other luxury items that we can sell to the beast folk tribes to the east. Bringing wealth from the east into Greystone."
He spread his hands, a gesture of openness.
"We are not your enemies. We don't want to be your enemies. We want to be your neighbors. Your trading partners. Your allies. We want to build something together, something that benefits both of us."
John stopped talking. His heart was pounding. His palms were sweaty. He had said everything he had prepared, everything he had rehearsed in his head while the nobles were arguing about tournaments and spices and percentages.
He had made his offer. Now he just had to wait.