Halverton lifted his chin, a hint of pride shining through. “Only doing my duty,” he said lightly, though satisfaction warmed every syllable.
Aoife watched him, her hands growing tight around her glass.
They were talking about famine as if it were the weather.
As if it were an inconvenience.
As if it weren’t killing the people outside these walls.
But at least they knew.
At least the words were out in the open now.
And she listened with a sharp, hungry hope.
“Still,” Lord Montbrass went on, “we’ve seen areas that are thriving. The murreroot might have failed, but there are other crops that are flourishing.”
“Those areas are few and far between,” Halverton objected.
“Come, sir. You must admit, it’s hardly the desolation everyone claims.”
Aoife clenched her hands at her sides. Her pulse drummed in her ears.
So they weren’t touring to assess the famine’s toll, but to test whether the landlords had exaggerated it, and to find ways to squeeze more from a starving land.
Halverton spoke before she could. “The farmers have to eat too,” he said mildly. “If they die, there will be no one left to work the fields. We can not ship out everything we grow.”
Aoife looked up at him. It wasn’t enough. She wished he’d realise people needed more to live on that what he was leaving them, but at least he understood a fraction of the truth.
“I hope you don’t talk like that around your tenants. Can’t have them thinking you’re going soft,” Lord Severcombe elbowed Halverton in the ribs, a teasing gesture. Halverton scowled.
“I’d hate to see a repeat of Drummers,” Lord Montbrass said. “It had to be done, of course. You let one village get away with not meeting their obligations, the rest will follow.”
Halverton’s expression hardened. “It was a reckless decision.”
“Now, now,” Lord Montbrass chided, “the prefect did the best he could in trying circumstances.”
“He lost control. Burning a village to the ground is the behaviour of a desperate man.” The pieces slipped into place; they were speaking about Dromdara. Aoife’s blood turned cold.
“They won’t try it again though, eh?” Severcombe said jovially.
“They won’t respect him either.” Aoife was surprised how much Halverton was speaking up. She’d expected him to go along with whatever the visiting lords said, had expected his beliefs to align perfectly with theirs.
“Fear is more powerful than respect,” Montbrass said, raising his glass as if in a toast. Perhaps he had hoped to end the conversation there, but Halverton went on.
“Fear is a tool. I use it myself. But the secret is never to let them think you’ve lost control. Once they see weakness, you’ve already failed.”
Aoife lowered her gaze, her face carefully blank. Cold pressed deeper into her ribs.
A moment later, Lady Montbrass and Lady Severcombe, bored with the men’s talk, descended upon her like brightly coloured birds, linking arms with her before she could protest.
“Come along, my dear,” Lady Montbrass said, guiding her toward a display cabinet. “We must see you properly before dinner.”
Aoife allowed herself to be swept along. Their conversation fluttered around her, lighting on topics she had no grasp of, from silks and soirees in the capital to the rising cost of imported tea. Aoife smiled when they looked her way, nodded when it seemed expected, hoping her face revealed nothing of her bewilderment.
“I can’t wait to return to Velmora and buy new clothes. His lordship refuses to buy anything while we’re here,” Lady Severcombe said, smoothing the lavender fabric of her gown, which Aoife noted did not have the full skirt hers did. At last, a topic she might know an iota about.
“Lord Montbrass couldn’t believe the price the tailor quoted him for a dress in the new style,” Lady Montbrass said. “I had to remind him beauty is expensive. He finally conceded, but said I could only have one.” She sulked like a toddler.
