Chapter 7

Valemonde, Empire of Lynese Princess Isolde slipped through the doors, the hem of her gown whispering across the marble floor as she entered her father’s chambers. It was late, but she knew he liked to retire one last time to his chambers after meeting with his advisors, to read over reports from his less public advisors.

She had spent the last several days working on plans of her own, but the planning was over, and the time had come to actually talk to him about them. Which is what she had been trying to do for the last twenty minutes, pacing back and forth in front of the ornate doors to his private study, working up her confidence.

The last time they argued about the state of their people, he had told her that if she wanted to do something she should do it instead of “whining to him.” She knew he’d said it mostly to get her to leave him alone, but she’d decided to take him at his words, and not his meaning.

“Father, do you have a moment?” she said, stopping inside the large front parlor of his expansive chambers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and back again.

He was behind his desk, reading papers, just as she’d known he would be. He looked up, annoyed at her interruption, but smoothed his features after a moment.

“What is it, Isolde?” he said, setting the letter he had been reading down.

“Last week, when we were discussing the injured coming back from the front, and you told me I should do something about it, I began working on a plan. The winter was very hard on them, and there have been reports of outbreaks of illness, malnutrition, and the Disciples have not received enough medicine for the men put in their care. As you said, the empire is stretched thin as it is, fighting the invaders, so I’ve coordinated with some of the noble houses to gather supplies; food, medicine, and clothing to help with some of those shortfalls. It’s taken weeks to organize discreetly, but we’ve amassed enough to make a real difference for our men,” she said, the words tumbling out, without the steady rhythm she’d practiced over and over in her head.

It was hard to stay calm. This was her chance to actually do something good. Something that mattered. It had been difficult convincing the merchants and nobles to give up anything, but she’d persisted. She’d managed to convince enough to give donations of material and a little money that she finally pulled together a large enough shipment of supplies, especially once she convinced the Order of Aid to add to what was donated. Considering all of the Orders’ stance on avoiding anything political, funds for supporting soldiers had been difficult, but she’d made enough assurances and had the backing of the Disciples from the Order of Aid, who had seen firsthand the deplorable state of their wounded.

“Fine,” he said, waving her off again, reaching to pick the letter back up.

“The Disciples also told me we have men being held by the Sidorians. The Order has set up treatment there, but as you can imagine, the invaders have provided little in the way of supplies for them. The Order has tried the best they can, but they have never had much in the way of funds. When I get to the front, I plan on, under a flag of truce, delivering supplies to the men caring for our wounded prisoners as well.”

As she spoke, she saw his eyes narrow and the letter fall once again to the desk, this time fully ignored. She knew what that meant, not that she was going to let that stop her.

“Absolutely not,” he said as soon as she finished speaking. “It is far too dangerous for you to travel to the front lines yourself.”

“I will take guards with me, as well as some of the Disciples.”

“With the army occupied, the roads are less safe than they once were, and the Sidorians are nearly at the Chansol River. If they make it to that, it’s onto the Lynesian Plains. It’s much too dangerous for you to be traveling.”

“But, Father...”

“I told you ‘no,’” he said, harshly, and then softened, holding a hand out to his daughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

She gave him a suspicious look, since this was far from the first time he’d yelled at her, but she went to him anyway, taking his hand.

“I know your heart’s in the right place and how much you care about our people, and I commend you for the amazing success you’ve had. If you could get the nobles to unclench their fists long enough to let one coin slip through, then you’ve done something truly spectacular. I think next time I need to haggle with the Viceroys, I should send you in my place.”

“Father, I’m serious.”

“And so am I, child. Still, I know you have a good heart and this means something to you, so I will not let your efforts be for nothing. I will send Sir Gilberton with the supplies and instruct him to request, under a flag of truce, that the supplies be delivered to the Disciples tending to our injured captives. Is that fair?”

For a moment, Isolde wanted to argue with her father. She’d done all this work and didn’t want to see it finished by someone else. This had been an opportunity for her to really see her country. She hardly ever got out of the capital, and when she did, it was to visit the stuffy libraries and shrines of the Acolytes, where she only studied and worshiped. Of course, that reasoning was sure to convince her father not to let her go. As much as she longed to see the world, he wanted to keep her locked away from it.

“Yes, Father,” she said finally, casting her eyes down so he couldn’t see what she was thinking.

Not that it would help. Her father was incredibly clever and seemed to always know what everyone around him was thinking even before they thought it. If he knew her thoughts, though, he said nothing.

Patting her hand, he said, “Good. On your way out, tell the guards to send for Sir Gilberton. I will give him instructions tonight, and have him ride out with the supplies by midday.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said, trying to sound like a dutiful daughter.

He gave her a small smile, one of the crooked ones that meant he knew more than she did, which suggested that he did indeed read her true wishes as he waved her away. At least she’d succeeded in getting the supplies, and they were going to be delivered.

That’s what was actually important.

Starhaven, Kingdom of Sidor, Duchy of King’s Heart Edmund sat behind the massive wood desk, quill in hand, as he reviewed ledgers detailing the kingdom’s finances. Across the room, Serwyn slouched in an oversized chair, idly flipping a dagger end over end, catching it by the handle as it fell each time.

“I don’t see why I have to be here. This is work for clerks and scribes, or the Exchequer. It’s not my job to read these reports,” Serwyn complained, tossing the knife again.

Edmund resisted the urge to point out he wasn’t actually going over anything, only playing with a knife.

“The Exchequer is who gave us these reports. While clerks, scribes, and even your own nobles are valuable assets, and make the running of the kingdom feasible, delegating all of it to them is a recipe for corruption. It is the king’s job to at least be aware of the state of his kingdom.”

“And what is the state of my kingdom?” Serwyn asked, clearly sounding like he did not care what the answer was.

Edmund set down the quill and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded his nephew.

“From a financial viewpoint, not good. Not good at all. The war has strained our resources considerably.”

“So? Wars cost money. We’ll just take what we need from Lynese after we crush them.”

“It’s not that simple,” Edmund said, rising and pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. “The campaign against Lynese has already dragged on far longer than your father expected. Our coffers are nearly empty. Tax revenues have fallen sharply, hampered by poor harvests two years running in the northern baronies.”

He ticked the points off on his fingers. “We’ve had to take out substantial loans from lenders in Inos and will almost certainly have to go to them again this year, at the very least. Our debt to them grows to the point that, even the riches of Lynese might not be enough to pay it back. And they aren’t the only ones we owe money to. We’ve borrowed from the merchant cartels here as well, just to keep paying the troops. Half the Crown’s ships are committed to maintaining supply lines across the Sea of Kings. And the coastal raids from Alchmara have only made matters worse. We can almost certainly expect the Iron Keep baronies, at least those along the coast, to return less than we’ve projected. Potentially far less. And some of the other baronies there might decide to do the same, since Windermere doesn’t have the fortitude to force the issue as he once did.”

“Then we loan him the fortitude and take what the barons owe us. Why are we even having to pay their men in Lynese? Those are their men. They should pay them.”

“Yes, but we called their men to service. While tradition states that we pay for our subjects’ forces when in our service, there’s a good reason for it beyond tradition. The men in those armies, especially the conscripts and yeomen pressed into service, aren’t able to generate revenue while they’re in the field for us. If we make the barons pay for them on top of losing the revenue those men generate, they might be inclined to hold back the next time we ask.”

“Then we just increase taxes on the barons to make up the difference. They’re the ones causing these problems by not paying what they owe. We just don’t tell them it’s needed to pay their men.”

“They will see through that, nephew. Many of the coastal barons are already strained to their limits by the Alchmaran raids. Demanding higher payments from them now could push some to outright rebellion. I know it’s tiring to hear, but we must handle this delicately, without provoking those barons already chafing under their obligations.”

“It is tiring to hear. The only thing you seem to know how to say is ‘let them get away with defying us.’ I made it clear at my crowning that I would not accept defiance from anyone in the realm. Including them.”

“I’m sorry if it seems that way, Serwyn. My only goal is to give you the best advice I can to ensure your rule is both long and prosperous. Politics is not an easy game, but it is one you must learn. Besides, there are other ways to deal with this. Ones that allow us to collect the revenues we require without unduly burdening the nobility or further straining their loyalty.”

“Like what?” Serwyn asked, finally stopping the knife’s incessant motion.

“We increase taxes on the peasants,” Edmund said, stopping his pacing and looking almost pleased with himself.

“On the peasants? How? Surely, the barons would take any additional tax on them and still claim poverty.”