Page 139 of Prize for the King
“During our investigation into the matters overseen by Ronan, we have discovered multiple irregularities. We have proof of thirteen missing shipments that he recorded. Thousands of barrels of honey that were intended for Serilla, Zanvar, and the Kingdoms of Agvaran in the south disappeared without trace after leaving the warehouse.”
“Shipments go missing all the time in a war!” explodes Dartel, the Minister of Rubies, who’s incidentally guilty of the same crime, only on a smaller scale.
I know, because I had the soldiers Magnar gave me follow him and look into his personal finances.
“That’s true,” I say, bolstered by that knowledge. “Your shipments disappear like clockwork, don’t they, Minister? One every six months, and it’s happened for three years. That’s enough wealth to fund that new estate you built for your mistress. Would you like to explain yourself, or will you let me speak?”
Dartel grows purple with embarrassment and anger, and the ministers who stand near him subtly shuffle away, distancing themselves. I nod, fighting an urge to smile. Oh, this is fun now. It pays to be prepared.
“But shipments do go missing,” Lagnar says in a reasonable voice. “Ronan doesn’t personally travel to ensure the safety of every barrel. That would be preposterous. Besides, even if he did send some of that honey where it wasn’t intended, that’s not treason, but negligence.”
I want to ask Lagnar if Ronan promised him something in exchange for his support. The accused himself kneels meekly at my feet. He’stoocalm. Just like that, my newfound confidence evaporates. I straighten my spine and remind myself to breathe.
“That would have been the case if those barrels didn’t end up in Trista, containing secret documents of the state.”
Shouts of outrage and disbelief break out in the room. I let people talk and scream, taking that moment to compose myself. Ronan looks up, his eyes cold with hatred, teeth bared in a clear threat. I watch him without reacting, and he bites down on his tongue and spits blood onto the floor.
It’s an Agnidari challenge. He’s promising me a violent death.
Raduna, who stands by the dais, sees it and takes a step forward, his face calm, eyes furious. I motion with my hand for him to settle.
“Silence!” I shout, and slowly, the crowd quiets grudgingly, though I still hear a few murmurs. I narrow my eyes, but I know a trick for holding the crowd’s attention thanks to one of the afternoon lessons with my father.
The trick is simple.Tell them things they are eager to hear, and they won’t interrupt your address.
“As you know, Trista was supposed to be the next conquest of His Majesty, Magnar, after the taking of Farneer. It shares only a sliver of a border with Serilla, and that’s the route where those honey barrels were sent. We only took the latest shipment, but its contents were damning, and gave us an idea about the sort of information that was funneled to the hands of Roharra’s enemies.”
I pause for effect. People in the back crane their necks, and no one speaks. They badly want to know what Ronan put in those barrels.
“We found documents sealed in protective sheathes of wax and leather. They included maps delineating vulnerable areas in the three of the Eleven ruled by Magnar. There was also a detailed map of thekeep with a clear path marked to show attackers how to approach it to avoid detection. Last but not least, we found detailed reports on most of Magnar’s rulings and decisions since he came back from Farneer.”
I pause again, and Lagnar, who evidently doesn’t know what’s good for him, scoffs.
“Anyone who lives in the keep could have put those documents there. You don’t have proof any ministers were involved.”
Ministers, plural. Aha.
I can’t prove it right now, but I finally understand why he tries to protect Ronan—it’s because he’s involved, too. Maybe not just him. Maybe more of them are corrupt, paid off by the Table of Kings to hand over secret information and make us vulnerable.
Behind me, Magnar curses softly. He probably came to the same conclusion.
I glance at Idrina. Does she still think I shouldn’t exchange all thirteen ministers at once? But if anything, she looks bored, twiddling her thumbs on top of her blanket.
“The proof is in the writing, Lagnar,” I say, motioning at Arvi, who waits in the doorway with a small table on wheels. He brings it in, and I gesture the ministers toward it.
“Please, examine the handwriting in the book belonging to Minister Ronan, and again in the report detailing Magnar’s new tax rates for the region of Alwar. It was found in one of the honey barrels heading for Trista.”
The ministers shuffle over, their expressions uncertain. There’s a thud behind me. Magnar stands and leisurely walks over to the steps leading down. He gives me a sharp smile when he passes, and my belly warms. I’m doing well then. He’s pleased.
When he approaches the table, the ministers tread on each other’s feet in an almost comical attempt to get out of his way. Magnar leanslow over the documents, taking his time as he examines them. He hums quite audibly, and I bite back a smile, knowing it’s for show.
He straightens once he’s done, and faces the crowd.
“I’m convinced.”
With that, he goes back to his throne. I glance at the ministers, whose faces have soured significantly. Oh, they could still pronounce the handwriting samples dissimilar, but it would go against the word of their king.
“And you, ministers?” I ask, knowing what they must answer. “Do you believe the same hand wrote the entries in Minister Ronan’s book and the treasonous document?”
