Severcombe chuckled. “Risk is part of the sport.”
Halverton leaned back, utterly sure of himself. “Besides, I have seen the Morrans fight. A battlefield is one place it pays to be savage. I would prefer them with me than against me.”
Polite laughter followed. Aoife kept her head down, forcing her expression into stillness.
“They’re not savages.”
Aoife’s head snapped up.
Lord Montbrass was staring daggers at his son. “My apologies, Lord Halverton. I fear my son has been too sheltered at Bayforth.”
Halverton dismissed his apology with a wave of the hand. “He is young; it is to be expected.” He turned his attention to Lord Oswin. “Once you have seen more of the world, you will realise we are not crass, merely honest.”
Oswin pursed his lips. His father continued to glare at him. When he spoke, the words came in a rush, as if he were trying to say it all before he changed his mind. “They are not savages. The Morran are people, like you and I. Just because they hold different beliefs makes them no better or worse than we are.”
Aoife stared at him, lips briefly parted in shock before she schooled her features. She’d never heard an Eldrossi man speak this way before. Then again, how many Eldrossi men did she know? It occurred to her that the prefects and soldiers of the empire did not necessarily reflect the empire as a whole.
“The Morrans gave me this,” Halverton said, voice sharp, pointing at the scars that marred his face. “Tell me again that they are not savages.”
“And what have we done to them!”
Aoife’s legs shook under the table. No one spoke to a lord the way Oswin did. No one dared. She knew what the consequence would be for one of her people if they did, and she feared for Lord Oswin then.
Lord Montbrass rose to his feet. “Excuse us, Lord Halverton.” He walked to the door; James held it open for him. Oswin showed no inclination to follow until his mother whispered something in his ear. He sighed and stood slowly, dropping his napkin on the table before following his father out of the room.
Aoife forced herself to take another sip of wine. The footmen stepped forward to clear the plates, their movements crisp and silent, as if nothing had been said at all.
The two Lords Montbrass returned, the elder looking angry, the younger sullen. Next, the fish course was presented: poached salmon in white wine accompanied by a parsley sauce, and a cucumber salad from the hothouse.
She was already full to the point of nausea when the main course arrived: venison roasted to perfection, potatoes drowning in butter and cream, cauliflower blackened at the edges.
As James held the dish for her, Aoife took the smallest portion she could without drawing attention. Lord Severcombe’s voice cut across the table.
“Had a few of my tenants at the door before I left,” he said. “Begging for handouts, but you can’t give these people anything. Feed one, and the whole county will be at your gate. Where does that leave you?”
Lord Montbrass agreed. “Charity breeds idleness.” He stared at his son, challenging him to speak. Lord Oswin did not rise to it.
Aoife was seething. It’s not handouts if it’s the food they grew with their own hands. Her hand trembled as she reached for her glass. She withdrew it and hid it under the table before anyone could see.
Lord Severcombe carried on. “I told them to find work on the public roads. Hard to be lazy with a spade in their hands.”
“The public roads?” Lady Montbrass asked.
“A new project,” Severcombe said proudly. “Infrastructure for the empire. They build roads in exchange for food and lodging.”
“How wonderful,” the lady said.
Halverton surprised Aoife by shaking his head. “It isn’t. Most of the roads begin nowhere and end nowhere.”
Under the table, Aoife squeezed her hands together hard. Was it possible to break your own bones that way?
Lady Severcombe blinked. “Why build them then?”
Her husband laughed. “Laziness breeds lawlessness. If there’s no work, we invent it.”
“There’s plenty of work,” Halverton said sharply. “They could be reclaiming the rocky moors, turning them into arable land. Putting them on meaningless projects is a misuse of time and resources. And a waste of a workforce.”
There was a faint clatter of cutlery as Lord Oswin put down his utensils none too carefully. “What he means,” he clarified, looking at his mother, “is that people are dying.”
