Page 78 of Untempered
Romwell was still red-faced when he strode in, papers ruffling in one arm. His hand where he’d grabbed the old guard was muddy.
I’d thought he’d be someone I could put my weight behind. Was I better to stand behind someone who would cause division, or allow the fractures to happen and throw in with someone I liked?
I didn’t know enough to choose a good representative for the job of Acting Steward. I knew about supply and demand, I understood distribution and logistics, but I didn’t really know what people wouldneed.
But I was confident what people didn’t need was an ego bigger than this keep.
My carefully scripted options vanished from my mind as I watched him take a seat opposite me. Was it fair to judge his ego so harshly? Would I act any differently in his shoes?
“My lady,” he said with a tight, tired smile. “Would you like some tea?”
My stomach curled. “No, thanking you, Master Steward.”
He nodded and poured himself a cup. It didn’t steam. “You’re concerned about the plague,” he said, and I nodded. “It’s concerning, my lady, so that’s the right response. However, I question your judgment in surfacing from your tower so soon.”
I’d expected that. “I question Steward Daniel’s judgment in leaving.”
Romwell’s smile was razor thin. “As do many, my lady. There could be extensive unrest, but such things are not uncommon during trying times. Regardless, the safest course for you is the one he explained.”
“Not uncommon?” I shook my head. “What time was it not uncommon for all the mages to be dead and gone, the herbs ineffective, and the guard unable to man the walls?” He opened his mouth to object, and I shook my head, hard, because mayhap the guardcouldman them now, but why had those two been so worried if it wasn’t on the horizon? “How many of those burning houses were sanctioned by you?” I asked him, and he looked surprised, as if he hadn’t thought I’d see the columns of smoke.
He stood, the chair scraping heavily. “And what is it you would have me do that I do not, my lady? I saw the mess you made of those in the hall, what wisdom have you gleaned from your actions?”
The world spun slowly around me. I felt the words crowding in my head. “Turn the tourney grounds into a field hospital,” I said, before I could be silenced. “Offer support to transport the sickoutof the city. Somewhere warm to sleep, food, and company are all things we can offer, and the tourney grounds has space.” He was staring at me, but I’d practiced this. “Offer free meals as rewards for those who help bring their sick fellows in. The rich won’t want to go to the lower marketplace for treatment, and the poor don’t deserve to have the majority of the plague hosted alongside their homes. The tourney grounds are more neutral.” He went to argue, but my momentum carried me forward. “If it comes to mass graves, it’ll be simpler to manage from the tourney grounds.”
He scoffed at me. “The tourney grounds? Free meals?” He shook his head, nose wrinkled as if disgusted by something on his shoe. “We need the harvest so we don’t starve this winter. There will be no free meals for anyone except you. Go back to your lessons, my lady. You’ll have babes soon enough to fuss over. Enjoy your peace while you can.”
The floor opened beneath me. I’d expected refusal, but that hurt. “Your decisions will be documented,” I told him, as he put down his armload of papers and gathered up another. “And weighed.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said tightly. “Good day.”
He walked out, leaving me with his untouched tea and the crumpled stack of reports.
I’d be fed, even if no one else would. Why did I hate that so? Yet, if it came to it, yes, I wanted to eat.
“The tourney grounds are a good idea,” Thomas murmured. “Get the sick out of the city. Offering free food’ll do it, too.”
“Of course it would.” I glanced up at him. “What’s happening with the guard, Thomas?”
He glanced at the door. “I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”
I stood and shut the damned door. Romwell had basically volunteered his office to me, anyway. “Who is Smythesson, who is standing in opposition, and why is Romwell choosing Smythesson?”
Thomas glanced around, clearly uncomfortable. “My lady…” I waited, watching as he shifted from one foot to another. “Smythesson is no one. He’s never done anything. But he’s loyal.”
That was predictable. “And the opposition?”
His eyes darted again. “My lady, I’ve never been much for gossip. Truly, I cannot tell you much.”
Thomas was hiding something, though. I was sure of it. He knew something. Otherwise, why was he so nervous? “Whatcanyou tell me?”
He wet his lips, looking at Isolde and then at the tips of my slippers. “I know Kaelson disavowed any position of responsibility after…”
I waited, but the word just faded. “After?”
“Wolfswail.”
As would any human with a heart. And the older man, who’d looked at Thomas. “Was that Kaelson there, earlier, speaking to Romwell?” The one with the dirty gambeson who Romwell had been comfortable enough to threaten?
