The morning sun had barely crested the hills when I found myself pacing the length of the town hall. Emily had left for Pine Ridge the previous evening without a word.
I shook my head, trying to ignore the image of her pleading eyes from my mind. The papers on my desk needed attention, and Valik would arrive within the hour.
A knock at the door saved me from my thoughts.
"Enter," I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
Benjamin stepped inside, the new leather folio tucked under one arm. "The Rabiss are gathering at the docks, my lord. Valik should be here shortly."
"Good." I gestured toward the chair across from the table. "Sit. We need to go over the numbers one more time before—"
Another knock interrupted us. This time, one of my guards poked his head through the doorway.
"My lord, there's a... situation you should know about."
I took a slow breath in through my nose. "What kind of situation?"
"Some of the Rabiss sailors." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "They're refusing to board the ships. They are asking to stay."
I looked at Benjamin in shock, but his look was calm. As if he had suspected this.
"How many?" I asked.
"Thirty-two sailors, my lord. And nine from the road crews."
I blinked. "That is a lot of Rabiss."
"They are young men, mostly. People without attachment in their own country." The guard cleared his throat.
I ran a hand through my hair. "Of all the... Benjamin, did we know about this?"
"Not a whisper reached my ears, my lord."
I stood, the chair scraping against the floor. "Where are they now?"
"They are all at the docks with Captain Valik. He's... not pleased."
I could imagine. Thirty-two men refusing to leave would throw any carefully planned negotiation out the window.
"Send word to Valik," I said, moving toward the door. "Tell him I'll meet him at the docks in a quarter-bell. And have someone bring those thirty-two men to the square."
The guard bowed and disappeared.
Benjamin rose, tucking his folio back under his arm. "This complicates things."
I gave a humorless chuckle.
"Everything complicates things. And it is only going to get worse the larger we grow. Do you think it is too late to become a traveling artist?" I grabbed my coat from the hook by the door. "Oh well, at least this time it's not someone trying to kill me.
*****
Valik stood just outside the guard station at the docks.
"Thirty-two men," Valik said, his voice flat. "You collect people the way some lords collect coins."
Either he hadn't truly been angry, or he had calmed down.
"Valik, I am going to leave this up to you. I can always use more hands, but they are your people, and we have an agreement. I will tell them to leave if you want me to."
He smiled, a rare expression.
"After seeing the wonders of your land and how well you treat your people with my own eyes, I do not blame them for wanting to stay. These are young men seeking purpose."
The smile faded.
"However, the council will not be pleased. Thirty-two trained sailors, the balance of trade is lost."
I'd been expecting this. "What would the council consider fair compensation?"
"You gifted us the knowledge of clean water and the plans for securing it at a much lower cost than you could have." His eyes fixed on mine. "I have seen several unusual items since I have been here. The one I like the most and what might please the council is the small mirrors, set in bronze. The kind that folds."
Matthew had only just started making the obsidian compact mirrors, and unlike the wooden ones, making them was not cheap due to the high failure rate in casting the bronze with holes for the pin. I had been planning on selling those to Bolster, but this could work.
"The compact mirrors," I said carefully.
"Yes." Valik's expression remained neutral, but I caught the gleam of interest. "The obsidian is polished to such clarity that it rivals any mirror I have seen from Turabe. And the bronze work, the way it opens and closes on those small pins, ingenious."
"I thought the Turabe mirrors were locked away in their temples, that it is illegal for anyone but their priests to have them."
Valik smirked. "Much of what cannot be found anywhere else can be found in Rabiss."
"Well, as you have noted, those mirrors are difficult to produce," I said. "The obsidian must be shaped without shattering. The bronze must be cast precisely, or the hinge will not work. My craftsman has only just learned the technique. And most do not succeed."
"I understand." Valik nodded slowly. "Which is why they are valuable. The council would consider three such mirrors fair compensation for the loss of thirty-two men."
Three mirrors. But thirty-two skilled workers staying in North Cove, trained sailors who could help man my ships, road workers who knew their craft...
I glanced at Benjamin. But he kept his face neutral.
"Three mirrors, perhaps I have not been clear on how rare they are," I said. "At most, I would be able to part with two. If you are truly interested in procuring more, then perhaps I could get you some by the time we give you the alcohol next year, but understand, Valik—these will take time to craft. And the price will match the value."
"The council is patient," Valik replied. "They will wait. But they will also expect the quality to match what I have already seen."
"It will." I extended my hand across the table. "You have my word."
Valik clasped my forearm in the Rabiss manner, his grip firm. " All on Rabiss are aware that the Hand of Wrath keeps his word."
*****
The scratching of charcoal against the treated wood panel, marking the final outlines of Baron Bolster's face, filled the small room I'd converted into a temporary studio. Bolster sat rigid in the chair I'd positioned near the window, afternoon light spilling across his strong features. Young Will stood beside him, one hand resting on his father's shoulder, a pose I'd suggested to capture the bond between them.
"Hold still," I murmured, adding shadow beneath Bolster's jaw. "Just a few more minutes."
Will's leg twitched. The boy had already been standing for nearly half a bell.
"Will," Bolster said without moving his lips, "discipline."
The leg stilled.
I stepped back, squinting at the painting, then moved forward again. The hard part was capturing Bolster's eyes; they held a sharpness that flat paint struggled to convey. I mixed a touch more white into the pigment, dabbing it carefully to create the gleam of intelligence I'd seen when we first met.
"There." I set down my brush. "You can move."
Will practically collapsed. Stretching his arms above his head. Bolster rose more carefully, joints creaking slightly as he approached the painted board.
He studied it in silence.
I waited, still holding my pallet.
"You've made me look too kind," he said finally.
"I paint what I see."
"Very generous of you." But he smiled as he said it. "My father will be impressed. I have a feeling you will receive a letter from him soon requesting you come to Bolster. He may forego that and rush straight here. The other you've promised us, you're certain you can finish before we depart?"
"Tomorrow morning," I confirmed. "I work faster when I'm not worrying about my subject fidgeting," I said with a chuckle.
Will flushed. "I wasn't—"
"You were," his father and I said in unison.
*****
The next evening, I found myself in the storage room behind the town hall, surrounded by a few crates and barrels that had arrived with Bolster's caravan. Benjamin stood beside me, prying open a wooden box with careful precision.
The lid came free. Inside, nestled in straw, sat three cushions unlike anything I'd seen in this world. The fabric was pearl-white with a subtle iridescence that shifted as Benjamin lifted one into the lamplight just as Bolster had described.
"Beautiful," I breathed, running my fingers across the surface of the Melkor cushions. It felt like velvet—no, softer than velvet. Smoother. "This is incredible."
"From the southern valleys," Bolster said. "Where morning mist gathers between the hills. Great care goes into processing the fibers, or it becomes brittle."
I pressed the cushion gently. The filling gave way, then slowly reformed. "What's inside?"
"Down from coastal birds. Mixed with treated cotton from the south to hold shape."
Benjamin set the cushion down reverently, as if it might shatter if dropped. "My lord, the value of these…"
"I know." I looked up at Bolster. "This is generous."
"Not as valuable as a painting from the master artist of North Cove," Bolster replied with a smile. "And for the knowledge you've shared." He gestured at the other two crates. "The rest contains what you truly need."
Benjamin moved to the next crate. This one was smaller, sealed with wax. He broke the seal and lifted the lid.
Inside sat dozens of small cloth bags, each tied with twine and marked with symbols I didn't recognize.
"Spices," Bolster said. "Pepper, both black and white. Cardamom from the southeastern coast. Saffron—only a small amount, it's worth more than silver by weight. Cinnamon bark. Star anise."
I picked up one of the bags, loosening the twine to peer inside. Dark seeds, each no larger than a grain of rice, filled the pouch. The scent that rose from it was sharp and complex, something between licorice and pine.
"What's this one?"
"We call it shen. The southern merchants claim it aids digestion and clears the mind." Bolster shrugged. "I cannot verify the second claim, but it makes an excellent tea."
Benjamin's scribe, who had replaced Jacklyn during her pregnancy, scribbled furiously. "And that box?" I said, pointing at the next crate.
"The powder I mentioned." Bolster moved to the largest box himself, lifting the lid.
Inside, protected by layers of oiled cloth, sat several sealed clay jars. Bolster carefully lifted one out and broke the wax seal. He opened it to reveal a fine, slightly crystalline white powder that caught the lamplight.
I leaned closer, studying it. "This is the flux you use for smelting?"
"Chatou, in the Khulari tongue," Bolster corrected. "From the salt flats deep in the barren lands. The Khulari mine it in the dry season when the lakes evaporate." He dipped his finger in, letting a few grains fall back into the jar. "Your smiths will find it invaluable. Mix it with your ore before smelting—it draws out impurities. Makes the metal cleaner. Stronger."
I picked up one of the jars, feeling its weight. "How much are you bringing me?"
"Six jars, forty pounds total." He replaced the lid on the first jar. "It's not cheap. The Khulari only part with small amounts, and the journey across the barren lands is treacherous."
"I am pleased with this trade, and I hope you are likewised pleased." I set the jar down carefully.
Bolster's expression grew serious. "For the paintings, paper, a book, and the knowledge to clean water? I am very pleased, and I feel like I should be offering you more. The book alone will cover the cost of all the spices and the Chatau, and give me a tidy profit if it sells for what I think it will. I think your idea of assisting the people of Mother's Mountain to build a quality road across the back side of the mountain will be good. If your road crews are training them, we could hire many of their men to do the work at a very low cost. These," he gestured at the spices, "will be some of the many goods flowing between our lands."
I stared at the white powder. It drew out the impurities in metal; could it do anything for our other projects? I was going to have to be careful with what I allowed my crazy chemists to use.
I extended my hand. "In my opinion, this is more than fair trade."
"To our future," Bolster said, clasping my forearm.
"To the future."
Bolster shifted his weight and formed his next sentence with care.
"If I might speak with you in private, we have one more matter to discuss. My son's behavior."
I nodded. Benjamin and the scribe departed.
I was not upset at the boy; he was a teenager just like anyone else, and the whole situation was more my fault than his. Emily would have reacted better if it were not for my casual relationship with her.
When the men left, I spoke first. "Before you say anything, I would like to apologize for Emily's behavior. She usually is very good with her etiquette and knows that it is inappropriate for a lady of her station to walk away from the son of a baron while he is speaking," I said sincerely.
He waved off the apology. "She is young, new to her title, and the shock of Will's words made her forget herself. We all made those types of mistakes at her age. With her poor lineage, I have actually been quite impressed with the girl."
"Thank you for your understanding."
"In fact," Bolster continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, "I don't have many objections to the match."
The knot in my stomach tightened. "The match? William, she’s a commoner-turned-minor-gentry. He’s a future Count. Surely the social gap—"
"Will not exist in five years," Bolster interrupted smoothly. "Amos, look around you. You are becoming a fountain of wealth. You’ve handed Emily the papermaking monopoly. She provides for your printers; she taxes the local trade. In five years, if her coffers aren't as deep as a Baron's in the fertile lowlands, I’ll eat my own boots."
I went to speak, but he held up a finger.
"With her wealth, her growing influence, and most importantly, her connection to you... she is a massive political asset. She wouldn't just be a wife; she’d be a bridge to North Cove. My county would be fools not to want her. If she is not right for Will, I would still want to tie her to Bolster. "
It sounded so calculated. So clinical. I felt a flash of protective heat in my chest. "I’m not her guardian, William. I won’t play the Count and order her into a marriage bed, no matter how 'advantageous' the bridge is."
"I’m not asking for a contract today," Bolster said. "Will is infatuated. That may fade. We assess in two years. If he still wants her, we arrange a betrothal—one that can be dissolved by mutual consent. It’s more for her protection than a guarantee."
"Protection?" I asked, the word tasting like copper. "Protection from what?"
Bolster stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave. "Amos, you’ve given that girl a title and a fortune, but you haven't given her a house with centuries of swords behind it. Once the capital realizes how much gold flows through her fingers, she’ll be a target. Proposals won't just be polite letters. There are families who will use 'persuasion'—legal or otherwise—to tether her wealth to their names."
He looked me dead in the eye.
"You’ve raised her up, but you’ve left her standing alone on a very high, very visible peak. If the pressure from the Great Houses becomes heavy, a betrothal to a Bolster keeps the wolves at bay. Without it... She’s just a girl with a lot of money and no one to stop a Duke from 'suggesting' a marriage she can’t refuse."
I froze. The smell of the spices suddenly felt suffocating. I had thought I was rewarding her. I thought the title would force others to treat her with more respect. Instead, I’d turned my friend into a prize for the highest bidder. A piece on the board.
"I see," I managed to say, my throat dry. "I... I hadn't looked at it that way."
"Then start looking," Bolster said, patting my shoulder with a heavy, fatherly hand. "The higher we climb, Amos, the thinner the air gets. Try not to let her fall."
*****
An hour later, I stood with John in the longhouse that had been converted into a warehouse near the docks. lamplight cast long shadows across the mostly empty room.
"The spices," he said, running his fingers through a bag of peppercorns, "these will sell for triple their weight in silver in Vaspar. Maybe more in Carok." He looked up at me. "You're certain you want me to have all of them?"
"Most," I corrected. "I'm keeping samples of each. Cookie will experiment with them."
John grinned. "Your cook is going to make every other kitchen in Falmoren jealous."
"That's the plan." I moved to where the three Melk cushions sat, still in their protective straw. "And these?"
John's expression shifted to something almost reverent. He picked one up, testing its weight, pressing it gently. "These are... Amos, do you understand what these represent?"
"Expensive furniture?" I said with a smile.
He laughed, "Amos, I have never even seen Melk before. I never expected to see it.
"No." He set it down carefully. "These represent access. Only the wealthiest houses can afford Melk. The fabric is rare enough. But cushions this size, with this quality of workmanship?" He shook his head. "These belong in a duke's receiving room. Or a king's."
"Which is why I want you to sell them."
John stared at me. "You want me to—Amos, you could keep these. Display them. Show every noble who visits that you have access to goods that even they struggle to obtain."
"Or," I countered, "I could sell them, use the profit to feed my people through the winter, get more lumber for my ships and buildings, buy tin and other metals to experiment with and not seem like I'm flaunting wealth I don't actually have."
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. "You have a point."
"Besides," I added, "keeping luxury goods while my people work to build a county from scratch sends the wrong message."
"The message being?"
"That I care more about comfort than their welfare." I picked up one of the cushions, feeling its weight. "These are beautiful. But they're not what North Cove needs right now."
John nodded slowly. "Cushions this size will have to be sold in the capital. Vaspar can have the spices. I'll bring whatever Fredrick doesn't want home."
I set the cushion down. "Make sure whoever buys them knows they came from North Cove. Let it be known we have access to Eastern trade goods."
"Don't worry. This raises the reputation of my trading house as well. Everyone will know how they are obtained," John said. "Are you sure you want that type of attention?"
"It will come out eventually. Let's get a head of it, and if they know that there is a supply, they will keep coming back. When Bolster and I finish the road, spices and luxury goods from the south will flow through North Cove. I want people to know that now. Before it happens."
John pulled out a small notebook I had given him and made rapid notes.
"The spices alone will bring in enough silver to buy seed for next year's planting. Maybe enough to purchase more livestock. The cushions..." He paused, calculating. "If I sell them right, you could support another hundred soldiers for a year."
"Or feed everyone through a bad harvest," I said quietly.
John met my eyes. "You really mean it. You weigh everything based on how much it can help your people."
"The wealth helps," I admitted. "But no. It's about making sure my people don't starve and about building something that lasts."
Something these people could be proud of.
He tucked his notebook away. "Then let's make sure that happens."
As he turned to examine the spice crates more closely, I took one last look at the Melk cushions. Part of me wanted to keep just one. To have something beautiful and impractical, just because I could.
But that wasn't who I needed to be right now.
I had a county to build. And cushions, however comfortable, wouldn't grow my county. It wouldn't prepare my people for the storms that were coming.