Chapter 20
Anobleman insulted my preference for women at last night’s feast. Dagen broke the man’s jaw for it, then brought a pastry to my room afterward. I may not be all muscles and dueler skill like him, but I could’ve handled the nobleman just fine. When I told Dagen I could’ve dealt with the nobleman on my own, he laughed, saying a broken jaw was a lesser punishment than whatever I’d come up with. It made me smile. He’s right. The noblemen and women only respond to bribes or threats, and I don’t solve my problems with ren.
The court is full of my father’s selected noblemen when I arrive. Men with sleek, dark hair and matching coats are silent as I sit upon my father’s throne. My Mark is in effect since Liha insists on using it in any formal situation like this, claiming it strengthens my ability to persuade. Every action of mine is picked apart, sold to the highest bidder, reported to my father, and used to climb the social ladder.
An aisle of the richest noblemen in Zarr—whose love of power and control rivals my father’s—line each side of the red-and-gold carpet over the black floor. Even they avoid looking me in the eyes.
I nod to the guards who open the doors, allowing the first subjects inside. My gaze runs over the assembled witnesses, and I can’t help wondering which one is a spy.
Blue eyes in row one? Dark hair in row three?
Two rock mill workers, husband and wife, whose mineral dust clings to their tan garb and black aprons, approach the dais.
The husband limps, and his wife assists him as he cradles a bag of ren. The lowest nobleman, Ropen, asks their names.
The husband answers. “Palko and Marina Everett.”
Ropen’s thin fingers ferret through the ledgers. “Ah, yes,” he sneers. “Here to pay up two winter cycles of taxes.” A sickening smile. “Either by ren or by blood.”
Marina rushes toward me, jolting my guards, but drops to her knees before they can seize her. I wave my head guard, Brunar, off.
Palko stiffens and says, “Marina, don’t—”
Marina clasps her hands together. “Please, Princess. We have brought every ren to our name. The reason we are behind in taxes”—a sob breaks her voice—“is because we lost our son in the factory explosion two years ago. He was our primary income since Palko’s legs started failing.”
Ropen pushes up from his chair. “Money or blood, woman. Begging will do no good here. You owe upwards of twelve thousand silver ren.”
I silence Ropen with a look.
“You’ve mastered that expression,” Liha coos.
Ropen has the good sense to return to his seat, and I return my attention to Palko, careful not to soften my features even by a fraction.
I sense the prickle of my father’s bond spirit, playing overseer in the iron rafters far above. I recognize the unbearable dread and hopelessness she spreads, like dripping, rotting decay.
Way different than Dae, who feels like dark, smooth velvet. “Why do your legs fail you? You do not look so old,” I snap.
Palko is Zarr, so he lifts his chin, standing as straight as possible. “It is a sickness of the bone.” His eyes go to his wife and a loving depth enters his gaze. “I have come to offer my blood as payment.”
Marina shakes her head and scrambles toward him, tears streaming down her face. “No! You will not take him! I offer my blood as payment.”
A twinge flicks in my chest. This isn’t my first time in tax court, but this is the first time I cannot offer an extension. Two winter cycles past due is against the law. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders in spite of my father’s mouth-breathing spirit who oozes above. If I’m to fight this battle, it must be done later, without watching eyes.
I stand up and the room goes still. “Bring me your coin, woman.”
Marina shakily cups her drawstring bag and delivers it to my hands, her eyes silently pleading, not shying from my gaze. I keep my breathing steady as I take the bag without counting it. I know it is not near enough and signal my guards to seize Palko. The debt is in Palko’s name. By law, his blood must pay. Despite his sickness or his wife’s willingness to take his place.
“You will pay your debt with blood, Palko Everett, and be delivered to the dungeons until the next execution day, or until your debt is paid in full.”
Marina shrieks, trying to hold her husband, but my guards rip them apart with unnecessary roughness, pulling them in opposite directions.
My stomach knots and twists throughout the rest of tax court.
At least the remaining subjects bring their dues or qualify for extensions, but by the time court is finished, I am drained from the tones, faces, and intensity I’m forced to use. The noblemen wait for me to rise before they stand from their chairs. Ropen rakes in the pouches of rens but stops when I approach him instead of taking leave with my guards.
The battle begins.
“Princess.” Ropen bows.
I flash a smile. “How much did Palko and Marina Everett owe to the crown?”
His eyes again flash to mine, a malicious sneer hidden behind a calm, collected expression. “I can’t remember, Princess.”
Lo’s journal comes to mind. “Money or violence.” Since I prefer to keep violence in the duel rings, I drop Palko’s bag of ren onto Ropen’s table, feeling the gazes of the other noblemen on me, my Mark no doubt playing into each man’s unique desires.
“A tip. For an afternoon’s work.”
“What are you doing?” Liha hisses.
I bat my hand through her floating presence by my ear.
Ropen eyes the bag of ren. “It is a pleasure to serve, Princess.”
When he reaches for it, I tug it away, tsking. “Tips are for noblemen who can remember things.”
He leans forward over the table, closer to the bag of ren, and snorts. “They owe more than they could make in the next six years.”
I focus on tempering my internal rage as I lift the bag from the table. “I want to know the exact amount.”
His eyes narrow on the bag of ren, a fever peeking through his gaze as I threaten to whisk the bag away for good.
“Twelve thousand, six hundred, and fifty-three silver ren,” he says with forced politeness.
“How tragic.”
My heart breaks when I open it to find enough silver coins to amount to nearly three thousand silver ren. A year’s salary for them.
I will not lose this battle.
I force a smile at each nobleman as I toss the bag to Ropen. “How tragic that their payment was lost in the commotion.”
The devilish sneers on their faces tell me they are seeing what I want them to see. A cruel and ruthless ruler.
When I turn to leave, thin, crawly fingers reach toward me, near my neck. “Princess, might I compliment you—”
I spin, wrenching Ropen’s hand into a precarious, bone-snapping position. He yelps in pain and the room behind us falls silent. So much for my calm indifference, but I’m already in motion, my temper already off its leash.
His eyes are wide, his gelled hair falling out of place as I crank his finger bones further and further.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
His knees bend to give more range for his fingers, but my grip is a vice, and his nasally voice begins to bleat as I wrench harder and harder. “Understand?”
He nods.
I should let go, but I can’t.
Snap!
He wails in pain and I drop him to the floor, gaining approving nods from the other noblemen as I finally leave this realms-damned place.
“So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“Later.”
I”m not in the mood.
Annoyance seeps through our bond, but she doesn’t say another word.