“You act as if it is an easy thing for someone to volunteer for death, Minister Porter,” Corwin said, unable to stop himself. “Peasant or no, these people love and value their family members as much as the gentry do theirs.”
Porter snorted through his broad, flat nose. “Not to offend, your highness, but such a sentimental attitude has no place at this table. We must make decisions based on reason and facts, not feelings.”
Corwin leaned forward, wanting to pummel the man. I will show him a world governed by feelings. . . .
But as always, Edwin was there, ready to step in and smooth things over. “My lords, this is a much simpler issue than you would have us make it. Either we find a way to stop the peasants from having so many children or we build more homes.” Edwin motioned to Nell, the master builder, who was seated directly across from him. “What do you say, Minister Nell—which would impact the royal coffers more favorably, moonbelts or new buildings?”
Nell hid a laugh behind a cough. “The moonbelts, your highness. No question. Short of moving the walls of Norgard, there will be no more houses built in this city. The buildings in the poorer districts are already as tall as possible. Any higher and they will start to topple.”
“And there you have it,” Edwin said.
Why not build a new city? Corwin thought. But as always the same old problem to this solution reared its head—the matter of who would pay for it. No one wanted to. At least, none of those who actually could.
“But Prince Edwin, how will we afford such an expense?” Porter said, wringing his hands. “We simply cannot raise taxes. Not if you hope to avoid the starving-children scenario Minister Fletcher so eloquently warned us about. Not to mention the increasing cost of these damnable Rising attacks.”
Edwin turned to Grand Master Storr. “Do you have a solution to offer, Master Storr? Is there a way for the crown to purchase these moonbelts at a reduced cost?”
Storr ran a hand over his short, perfectly trimmed beard, as if considering the question carefully. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, your highness. The League is always open to trade, of course, and we ask for so little in return.”
The hells you do, Corwin thought. That was one of the lessons he’d learned these last few weeks—the impartial, noninterfering League he’d been brought up to believe in was a myth. In every high council meeting Corwin had attended, Grand Master Storr exerted the League’s power whenever the opportunity presented itself. And to Corwin’s disgruntlement, those opportunities were on the rise as more and more reports of daydrake attacks came in. Despite Master Raith’s speculation that the Rising might not be involved, given the absence of the sun lion, the people were blaming wilders just the same. Their demand for more golds to seek them out must be filling the League’s coffers, while the cities were feeling the strain all across Rime. The cost of grain and coal had nearly doubled as the shipments were either slowed or didn’t arrive at all.
“This trade you speak of,” said Minister Rendborne, his golden, eagle eyes fixed on the grand master. “Do you mean your proposal that the high king require all the governing bodies in Rime to include a master magist as part of their ruling councils in exchange for a reduced price on wardstones and other defensive magics?”
Storr inclined his head. “The very same, although the high council must choose which is more important, a reduced cost in moonbelts or a reduced rate in defensive services. The League will accept either, but we cannot afford both.”
Of course not. Corwin folded his hands in his lap, fingers clenched. Gods forbid the League, already wealthy beyond measure, cut into its profit for the good of Rime. Next the League will offer the crown a loan to pay for their very same services. It was ludicrous, incestuous. The wheel spinning on indeed.
“It seems to me that both might come at a higher price than the kingdom ought to pay,” Rendborne replied, and Corwin felt his affection for the master of trade increase tenfold. Not only had he tried to help Corwin with the gift of his grandfather’s journal, but now Corwin saw him as a possible ally, a reasonable voice in a chorus of madness. Nothing could be worse, in Corwin’s mind, than giving the League more power than it already held.
“Regardless, there is no question which is more important,” Minister Porter said, ignoring Rendborne’s comment completely. “We need to protect the caravans from the drakes.”
“Yes, I would agree,” Master Storr said. “Defense is more critical than ever before. But if I recall, the high council decided that the revolvers were to be the solution to the drake problem—and not more magic.” Storr turned an innocuous gaze on Corwin. “Is that not still the case, your highness? Has Master Bonner finally succeeded in his task?”
Corwin didn’t miss the slight in Storr’s words, and for at least the hundredth time that day, he wished he’d skipped this stupid meeting. He had no answer to give. Despite the time Bonner had been here, overseeing the blacksmiths day in and day out, they’d produced a meager handful of revolvers so far, most of them plagued with problems like misfiring or jamming. The only ones that did work were the ones Bonner assembled personally. Corwin couldn’t understand it, but he knew it was time to start pressing for an answer. No matter how much he liked Bonner, the man had to hold up his end of the bargain.
Edwin cleared his throat, somehow commanding the floor with the simple sound. “The discussion of the revolvers and the ineptitude of my brother’s gunsmith is beyond the scope of this meeting. The council will take the League’s offer into consideration before deciding which trade is in our best interest.”
And just like that the argument was over. Corwin caught himself glaring at Edwin from across the table. My brother’s gunsmith. The words dug at Corwin. Edwin’s slights were so common these days, he should be used to them by now. At every turn Edwin took the opportunity to point out how much more fit he was to rule. Corwin didn’t know why it bothered him. He agreed—Edwin was the better choice. Corwin was too rash, too easily led by emotions rather than reason and too likely to misjudge the wicked, giving people more credit than they deserved. And as much as Corwin questioned some of the decisions Edwin made, at least his brother had been here to make the decisions. Unlike him, the Errant Prince.
If he’d been with Mother that day, she might still be alive.
Pushing these troubling thoughts to the back of his mind, Corwin forced his attention to the meeting once more. The subject of moonbelts and overpopulation had given way to marriage alliances— Sweet goddess smite me now and end my misery.
“Lord Jedrek of Kilbarrow,” Minister Rendborne was saying, “has requested the marriage contract between his daughter, Princess Sabine Esborne, and High Prince Edwin be modified. It seems that with the arrival of the uror, he wants the agreement of marriage to be between his daughter and whichever prince is chosen as the heir.”
Corwin’s stomach tied itself into a knot at this news. A marriage contract. Between the princess and whichever brother won. Edwin or me. At once images of Kate from that night flooded Corwin’s mind, and it was all he could do to stay still in his seat. Your wife, she had said, objecting to the idea of sharing Corwin with some stranger. She was right to object. He didn’t like it any more than she did.
“Jedrek’s request is not surprising,” Edwin said, making a note on the parchment in front of him. His knuckles shone white around the pen, the only sign of his annoyance with the subject. “Proceed with modifying the contract. The Esbornes will not be satisfied until they have a daughter as high queen, and their bloodline as part of—”
The door to the council chamber burst open and a man stumbled in with two royal guards half carrying him.