Chapter Fifty-Four

In the dimly lit private suite of the Londonium Governor's Palace, the Braavosi envoys and the representatives of the Iron Bank gathered, nursing their frustrations with goblets of spiced wine. The gala had been both a partial success and a bitter disappointment. They had come with high hopes, intending to secure a private audience with the Supreme Leader, Mark Lantrun, but the Edenite elites—particularly the impenetrable Sacred 69—had prevented that from happening.

"We were stonewalled," grumbled Ser Valen Mataro, one of Braavos' chief envoys. "We could barely get within ten feet of the Supreme Leader, and his mother might as well have been a saint behind glass. Those Sacred 69 snakes knew exactly what they were doing."

"Not unexpected," added Maera Balantis, a sharp-eyed senior official from the Iron Bank. "We knew they wouldn't make it easy. The closer they stay to power, the easier it is to keep outsiders like us at bay."

The group exchanged weary glances, knowing all too well that Eden was no ordinary nation. It was a closed empire, ruled by both adoration for Mark and an intricate web of power controlled by the Sacred 69 and the new money faction. But while they hadn't spoken with Mark or Saint Clara, their meeting with Garth, the Minister of Commerce, hadn't been without value.

Maera tapped the rim of her goblet thoughtfully. "We didn't walk away empty-handed. Garth gave us permission to establish a branch of the Iron Bank here in Londonium. That's no small victory, given how tightly they control financial institutions in this place."

"True," Valen muttered, though his tone was less than enthusiastic. "But the restrictions—they're… problematic. Detailed logs for the Eden Internal Revenue Service? That's a serious breach of our normal operations."

The group fell silent, digesting the implications. The Iron Bank was renowned for its secrecy, a principle it had never compromised before. Yet here, in the heart of Eden's new frontier, they had been forced to make concessions. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one they had little choice but to accept. Eden's market was simply too lucrative to abandon.

"We need to think strategically," Maera said, breaking the silence. "Garth didn't impose that restriction without reason. From what we gathered tonight, the Sacred 69 is spreading rumors about the new money faction laundering funds through our bank. That's why they're involving the EIRS—it's a political maneuver as much as a financial one. They want to keep the new money under control."

Valen snorted. "And here I thought Eden was supposed to be a land of unity and peace. They're just as fractured as the Free Cities, only better at hiding it behind smiles and perfection."

One of the junior envoys, Piero Salt, leaned forward. "If the Sacred 69 are trying to limit the new money's influence by weaponizing us, shouldn't we pick a side? If the new money faction keeps growing, they could become powerful allies. Especially since the Sacred 69 seems intent on boxing us in."

Maera shook her head slowly, her expression calculating. "Not yet. We can't afford to tie ourselves to one side—at least not openly. We'll cooperate with the old guard where necessary, but we need to stay useful to the new money too. This is their moment, and they're hungry."

She took a sip of wine, her dark eyes gleaming. "We'll play both sides against each other, but carefully. If the Sacred 69 manages to rein in the new money, we want to be positioned favorably with them. If the new money wins, they'll remember who gave them an edge."

Valen nodded thoughtfully. "There's profit to be made either way. But if this conflict between the old and the new escalates too far—"

"We have to watch the Supreme Leader," Maera interrupted. "If the struggle gets too messy, Mark Lantrun will intervene. And that's a battle no one wins. He may seem distant now, but from what we've learned, he's more than willing to use power when it suits him. If we're seen as a threat, we'll be finished."

The group exchanged grim looks. They had all heard the stories—of Eden's swift and ruthless destruction of Slaver's Bay, of cities leveled with the press of a button. Mark Lantrun wasn't just a figurehead; he was a ruler who controlled the destiny of nations and didn't hesitate to act when necessary. If the Iron Bank overstepped, they could find themselves on the wrong end of Eden's might.

"That's why we play the buffer," Maera said, her voice steady and deliberate. "If the Sacred 69 and the new money faction wage war, we keep things from boiling over. We give just enough to both sides to keep the balance. A long, drawn-out struggle is good for business. War—controlled war—is always profitable. But if it spirals out of control, we lose."

Valen leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "So, we keep our distance, give them what they want, and profit from the chaos without becoming part of it. And the EIRS logs?"

Maera smiled faintly, the smile of someone accustomed to maneuvering through labyrinthine webs of power. "We'll comply—on the surface. But we'll make sure those logs tell a story we control. The Edenites may think they have us under their thumb, but the Iron Bank always finds a way."

"Always," Valen echoed with a grim smile.

The group sat in silence for a moment, listening to the faint sounds of music and laughter drifting from the grand hall below. Londonium was the future—a place where fortunes would rise and fall. They had secured their foothold, but the real game had only just begun.

"Tomorrow," Maera said, rising from her seat, "we begin the next phase. If Eden wants a buffer, we'll be that buffer. But we'll do it on our terms."

Valen raised his glass, the rest following suit. "To Londonium—and to profits."

The goblets clinked softly, sealing their unspoken pact. They would play Eden's game—carefully, cautiously, and always with profit in mind. And no matter which faction came out on top, the Iron Bank would remain standing.