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“Yes,” I said. “The Urcim tribe.”
“We heard about what happened there,” the farmer said. “Is it as bad as they say?”
“Worse,” I said.
The farmer’s wife used a ladle to dish the stew out into two bowls and placed them on the table before me and Hazel. Then she cut some bread into slices and gave us each a piece.
We dug in. As we had company, we ate slowly. Although, if Hazel was even half as hungry as I was, she could have wolfed it down the same way we did with the bread earlier.
“Those damn Changelings!” the farmer said, slamming his fist on the table.
The farmer’s wife placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“It’s always been take take take with them,” the farmer said. “You give an inch and they take a yard.”
“But the Changelings have never been anything but peaceful with us,” I said. “I mean, they never broke our treaties before.”
The farmer’s wife snorted.
“They’ve broken every treaty we’ve ever made with them,” the farmer’s wife said. “Every chance they got to take advantage, they took. Meanwhile, we let them do it. They stole from us, they attacked us, they even took us as slaves.”
That wasn’t right. I received daily reports from my advisors. Not once had there been any suggestion of a Changeling attack.
Were they ill-informed? If they were, how did I explain the Changelings’ sudden attack?
How could I have missed everything they’d done to us?
They wouldn’t have attacked us suddenly and out of nowhere. We were a powerful adversary to them. They would have attacked us many times over the years.
That was why they were willing to take the risk. They knew we weren’t ready to defend ourselves.
My stomach sank at the obviousness of the truth.
My advisers.
My chief adviser.
Slak.
He chose what information passed to me.
He was the one that informed me of what was happening in the empire.
My empire.
When I created his position, I gave him too much power over me.
I had been a blind fool.
I had trusted him because I saw him as an easy way to rule the empire, a way to rule without having to do any of the work.
I put down my spoon, unable to eat another bite.
“You must be tired,” the farmer’s wife said. “We don’t have any extra beds in the house but you’re welcome to take the loft in the barn. It’s warm and the straw makes good bedding. I can give you blankets and pillows.”
“That would be great, thank you,” Hazel said.
She looked between me and the farmers. They expected me to say something but I was too busy dwelling on my idiocy.
