The official meeting room was halfway up the vast Kingspire, so it wasn’t used except for great ceremonial occasions. The more common business of the empire took place at ground level. Today, the men Geder had set to help him manage the kingdom were seated at a low stone table not far from the dueling grounds. The Kingspire rose up to Geder’s left, the vast chasm of the Division away to his right, and the gorgeous sprawl of Camnipol before him.
Canl Daskellin sat to his right with Cyr Emming, Baron of Suderland Fells, at his side. Across from them were Noyel Flor, Earl of Greenhaven and Protector of Sevenpol and cousin to Namen Flor, and Sir Ernst Mecilli. Had Lord Ternigan and Lord Skestinin been in the city, they would have sat at a larger table. As Geder sat, it occurred to him that a year ago this same group would have included Lord Bannien and Dawson Kalliam, both of them dead now as traitors. And the year before that, King Simeon would have been in his own seat. Of them all, only Canl Daskellin and Noyel Flor had served as steadying hands on the rudder of state for more than three years. It was sobering to realize that so much had changed in so short a time.
“Well,” Geder said, “thank you, gentlemen, for keeping the city out of the flames while I went to help Lord Ternigan. And now that that’s done, where exactly do we stand?”
Noyel Flor stroked his beard and made a sound like a cough but with greater intent behind it. Mecilli nodded, took a breath, held it, and then spoke.
“The food, Lord Regent, that we had hoped to gain by attacking Sarakal is not in as great a quantity as we had expected. In specific, the grains we’ve recovered are half what we’d projected, and the livestock hardly better than a third.”
“On the one hand,” Daskellin said, “Ternigan’s not moving as quickly as we’d hoped, so more of it’s being eaten by the locals. And on the other, they’ve been slaughtering their own stock and leaving the grains to rot rather than let us put hands on it. We’re looking at a thin year. But I’ve been talking with my friends in Northcoast, and if we’re willing to pay a small premium, I think we can import enough of their wheat to see us through.”
“I don’t like it,” Lord Emming growled. Between his tone of voice and the bulldog flatness of his face, he seemed almost a caricature of himself. “We should be sustaining our own, not buying from Northcoast like we were servants at market.”
“It’s one season, Cyr,” Daskellin said. “Be reasonable. There’s more than enough precedent for—”
“Is it one season?” Emming snapped. “Is Ternigan going get the job done and get our men back here in time to prepare the farms this autumn? Because my people have had the most productive fields in Antea for three generations, and I’ll tell you sooner than anyone that what you do before first frost tells whether the spring’s hungry or full.”
“With the money we’ll have from Nus, we could import food for at least three years,” Daskellin said. “And as long as we’re buying from Northcoast, they aren’t likely to get nervous about us or start talking to dissident factions in Asterilhold about whether they should throw off the yoke of Antean rule.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Emming said.
“Actually,” Geder said, “I think if we can make it through one year, the problem will go away. I have a plan that will give us full production from the farms and let us keep a standing army.” Noyel Flor coughed again, and this time it sounded almost like laughter. Geder waited for the cutting remark. Something like,
“And so if there’s a problem, you kill all the children?” Daskellin asked.
“All the ones that belong to the people on that farm. Or in that group. Yes,” Geder said. “I haven’t worked out all the details yet. I was basing it on an essay I read about how Varel Caot enforced peace after the Interregnum.”
The four men at the table were silent. Geder felt a flush of annoyance and embarrassment that he couldn’t entirely account for.
“It might be difficult to … maintain enthusiasm when the time comes to kill these children,” Mecilli asked.
“Enthusiasm or loyalty?” Geder asked.
“You could spell them the same,” Mecilli said.
“The point is we won’t have to,” Emming said. “I think the Lord Regent’s right. The threat alone will keep the roaches in line.”
“
“Well, then there’s nothing we need to argue about,” Daskellin said. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
The meeting continued for the better part of the morning, but Geder felt distracted. There were questions upon questions upon questions. The remaining high families of Asterilhold—the ones who had survived the purge that came after the death of King Lechan—were eager to cement relations with Antea, resulting in a swarm of proposals of marriage between the young men and women of the two courts. There were even suggestions that Aster and Geder make alliances with several young women, none of whom Geder recognized by name. Once that was all disposed of, they moved on to whether the spoils of Sarakal would support Ternigan’s army or if a tax should be called, and if it were whether to accept payment exclusively in coin, or if food and horses would suffice. Through it all Sir Ernst Mecilli’s expression was sour and he didn’t meet Geder’s eyes.
They ended before the midday meal, and Geder excused himself to his private rooms, feeling out of sorts and not at all in the mood to be fawned over by courtiers. He would much rather eat a simple meal of bread, cheese, apples, and chocolate by himself where no one else’s needs or judgments could intrude. When Basrahip lumbered into the room, Geder only nodded at him. For the briefest moment, he imagined dressing down the guard for letting him be disturbed, but the thought was gone as soon as it came. Of course the rules that bound the rest of the palace didn’t apply to Basrahip. Everyone knew that.
“How is the rededication going?” Geder asked.
“It will be time soon, Prince Geder. You are very kind to offer your servants such beautiful rooms in your home.”
Geder shrugged as Basrahip settled himself on a chair. The priest looked worried, which was a rare sight. Geder popped a sliver of tart apple into his mouth and spoke around it.
“Is there a problem?”
“You have taken a new city,” Basrahip said.
“And I’ll have at least one more by winter,” Geder said. “And the goddess is going to have a temple in both of them. At least one. More if you want.”
“She sees your generosity, Prince Geder. I know this to be true.”
“You’re not going to ask if you can bring more priests here, are you? You know you can. Just tell me how many we need to accommodate and I’ll make the room. It’s the least I can do.”
“It is not that,” Basrahip said. “You have always been kind to me. I have seen the truth of your heart, and you are the great man that was foretold. Your greatness has exceeded my small powers.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your new cities in the west. Now more to the east. The priests of the goddess march at your army’s side and stand in your court. We walk through the streets of your cities and hold the people’s will to the will of the goddess. But we are only a single temple. To do these new temples justice, they must have the faithful and the holy, and I have few more that I can bring forth.”
“Oh,” Geder said. It was an odd thought. Now that it was said aloud, of course there were only so many men at the temple in the Sinir mountains east of the Keshet. Somehow he’d always assumed there would be more if they were needed, as if they sprang full-grown from the earth out there. “Well. Can you initiate new priests? I mean, you must be able to … make more?”
“It will be necessary,” Basrahip said. “But the rites of the goddess are not simple things.”
