She wasn’t certain what she’d found was substantial enough to support her claims. She’d spent the last two days trying to organize it and convince herself, before finally sighing and deciding to present it to her son.
And then there was the other issue: the Ilvaeren did not interfere in the Evant. Women were not supposed to dabble in the political field at all. At least in theory.
“I don’t understand,” Fedaureon said, taking a sip of wine before setting the glass aside. “What do you mean you used the Ilvaeren?”
She ignored the guarded doubt that weighed down his words.
“It began over a month ago, although I didn’t notice it at the time. I received this letter from Lady Yssabo of House Redlien. Every year, we purchase a supply of winter barley from Redlien. This year, Vivaen Licaeta bought out not only Redlien’s barley, but their flax as well. I thought it odd at the time, but merely sought out barley from House Uslaen and Ionaen, both of which had some to spare. However, I began running into similar issues with other Houses for other commodities-cloth from Nuant, rice from Baene, even wood from Licaeta and Uslaen.” She’d handed Fedaureon the letter from Yssabo as she spoke, but now she laid out additional letters across the width of the table from the other Houses. “I have never experienced this much trouble obtaining supplies from our fellow Houses in my term here as the Lady of House Rhyssal, nor as the Tamaea of Resue.
“And then I began to realize that the majority of the commodities were being bought up by only a few of the Houses, in particular Licaeta and Ionaen, although Uslaen appears to have begun buying similar supplies lately.”
“Perhaps they are simply short this year, their crops not as plentiful as they had hoped.”
Moiran hesitated at the interruption, one hand clenching in her lap before she forced it to relax. She nodded. “I thought so as well. So I began taking a closer look.” She gathered up the letters she’d already presented and set them aside. New pages replaced the first, although these were written in Moiran’s hand. “I started an accounting of all of the supplies that I was aware of through the Ilvaeren. This isn’t an exact accounting, since no House has the right to request the trade books of any other House, but even so.… Look how much grain Licaeta has purchased in the last few months.”
Fedaureon, Lady Yssabo’s letter still in one hand, leaned forward and regarded the page Moiran indicated. He stilled, then motioned Daevon forward, the Protector taking that as tacit permission to look as well. Moiran didn’t protest; she knew Daevon well enough to believe that he would support her.
“That’s enough grain to feed Rhyssal for over a year,” Fedaureon said.
“Nearly a year and a half. Why would they need so much grain? Why does House Ionaen need so much wood? Or Uslaen so much iron from Nuant?”
Fedaureon leaned back, glanced toward Daevon.
The Protector’s eyebrows rose. “It is a significant amount of resources. One House should not need so much of a single material.”
Fedaureon nodded, his attention returning to Moiran. “What do you think?”
She drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I think that Lord Peloroun and Lord Orraen are preparing for… something significant. I believe they are stocking up on food and other supplies.”
“?‘Something significant,’?” Fedaureon said. “Such as what? And how does this connect to the Chosen and the Order of Aielan?”
“I don’t know. But none of those Houses has ever done anything without forethought. And all of those Houses have opposed us in the past.”
Fedaureon was silent for a long moment, then abruptly leaned forward, tossing Yssabo’s letter onto the table. “It’s not enough.”
Moiran stiffened, anger sparking in her chest. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that it’s not enough. Father can’t take this before the Evant. What if Lord Peloroun and Lord Orraen have a legitimate reason for purchasing all of these supplies, a reason we are unaware of?”
“Like what?”
Fedaureon shrugged. “A trade agreement with the dwarren or the humans, perhaps? We have no idea what arrangements they’ve made, what the humans or dwarren might be interested in. We each have agreements with different Provinces and clans. They do not detail every individual trade made and for what commodity. They are generalized. It’s possible that the Licaetan grain that could supply the House for a year and a half has already been shipped to their trade partners in Borangst, or even overseas to Andover. Lord Daesor announced a new trade deal with Andover at the opening session.” He waved a hand and said again, “It’s not enough. Not for the Evant.”
“I wasn’t intending to bring it before the Evant,” Moiran said.
Fedaureon’s eyes narrowed. “You want to know if I think it’s solid enough to warn Father.” He hesitated, then added, “Have you already sent a missive to him?”
She nearly chuckled at the suspicion in his voice. “No, Fedaureon. I wanted your opinion first. I know the evidence is thin, but my instinct warns me that this is significant.”
Mollified, Fedaureon scanned the letters she’d presented, the papers containing the lists of supplies shifting hands within the Ilvaeren. Moiran met Daevon’s gaze over his head and the Protector nodded, his mouth pressed into a grim line. She and Aeren had worked hard this past year to ease Fedaureon into his role as Lord Presumptive of the Rhyssal House. Since Aeren’s departure, he had taken on that role more competently than Moiran had expected, and in the last few weeks had shown some independence in his decisions. He’d sent the servants to the temple without seeking out Moiran’s opinion, had made adjustments to the daily routine of the Phalanx on his own. She wasn’t certain how much Daevon had guided these decisions, but she wanted to encourage Fedaureon’s independence as much as possible.
Fedaureon leaned back. “I think your instincts are correct. Father needs to be informed. Perhaps Lords Peloroun and Orraen do have legitimate trades established for this wood and iron, but I doubt it. If he knows where to look, maybe Father can determine what’s really going on.” He stood, his impatience returning. The clash of steel still rang from outside, even though the wind had picked up. “Did you want to warn him, or should I?”
“I believe you should, as Lord Presumptive of the Rhyssal House.”
19
“He’s got the upper body strength,” Terson said, “but he’s still a miller.”
Gregson frowned thoughtfully as he watched Ricks and Curtis sparring with Jayson, the miller’s apprentice standing off to one side watching. “But he’s learning fast.”
“Because he’s angry. You can see it in his thrusts. Whatever happened to him in his village, it’s affected him.”
“That isn’t necessarily bad. A little anger during a fight or battle can be useful. And we’ll be seeing many more like him, if what we’ve seen between Cobble Kill and here is any indication.”
Terson’s mouth twisted with derision. “An army of commoners.”
Gregson turned slightly toward him. “Given what we saw at Patron’s Merge, and the destruction we’ve seen throughout the countryside since… I’ll take an army any way I can get it.”
Terson’s brow creased at the mild reprimand, but he said nothing.
In the makeshift practice yard, Ricks took a swing toward Jayson’s side, grinning as sweat ran down his face. Jayson parried with a grunt, the swords clashing as Curtis barked from the sideline, “Now use the momentum of your opponent’s swing to thrust his sword off to the side, leaving him open.”
Jayson attempted to follow through, shoving Ricks’ sword to one side and down, the natural movement still stiff and forced. Gregson could tell that Ricks wasn’t countering the thrust as hard as he could, but Jayson had barely begun practicing. He and Curtis were simply trying to get him to adjust from swinging sacks of grain to handling the weight of the blade. The motions were obviously different, and Jayson needed to feel that difference in his arm and shoulders before he’d have any chance of putting it into practice during a real battle.
And it was looking as if a real battle was imminent.
They’d been traveling covertly since Patron’s Merge, scouts sent out ahead, searching for the Horde as it ransacked its way across the Province. Parties of twenty to over a thousand had been sighted, forcing the large group of Legion and commoners to find alternate routes at least three times already. And the group had grown.
