“Dead men make poor scapegoats.”

“Oh, come now, you can breathe some life into him. Bills at every corner, proclaiming his guilt in this heinous crime and offering, let’s say, a hundred thousand scales for his head.”

Volfier was looking more worried by the moment. “But… he is dead, isn’t he?”

“Buried with the rest when we filled in the trenches. Which means we’ll never have to pay. Hell, make it two hundred thousand, then we look rich at the same time.”

“And looking rich is almost as useful as being it,” said Scavier, frowning at Grulo.

“With the tale I’ll get told, the name of Morveer will be spoken with hushed awe when we’re long dead and gone.” Vitari smiled. “Mothers will scare their children with it.”

“No doubt he’s grinning in his grave at the thought,” said Monza. “I hear you unpicked a little revolt, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t insult the term by applying it to those amateurs. The fools put up bills advertising their meetings! We knew already, but bills? In plain sight? You ask me, they deserve the death penalty just for stupidity.”

“Or there is exile,” offered Rubine. “A little mercy makes you look just, virtuous and powerful.”

“And I could do with a touch of all three, eh?” She thought about it for a moment. “Fine them heavily, publish their names, parade them naked before the Senate House, then… set them free.”

“Free?” Rubine raised his thick white eyebrows.

“Free?” Vitari raised her thin orange ones.

“How just, virtuous and powerful does that make me? Punish them harshly, we give their friends a wrong to avenge. Spare them, we make resistance seem absurd. Watch them. You said yourself they’re stupid. If they plan more treason they’ll lead us to it. We can hang them then.”

Rubine cleared his throat. “As your Excellency commands. I will have bills printed detailing your mercy to these men. The Serpent of Talins forbears to use her fangs.”

“For now. How are the markets?”

A hard smile crossed Scavier’s soft face. “Busy, busy, morning until night. Traders have come to us fleeing the chaos in Sipani, in Ospria, in Affoia, all more than willing to pay our dues if they can bring in their cargoes unmolested.”

“The granaries?”

“The harvest was good enough to see us through the winter without riots, I hope.” Grulo clicked his tongue. “But much of the land towards Musselia still lies fallow. Farmers driven out when Rogont’s conquering forces moved through, foraging. Then the Thousand Swords left a sweep of devastation almost all the way to the banks of the Etris. The farmers are always the first to suffer in hard times.”

A lesson Monza hardly needed to be taught. “The city is full of beggars, yes?”

“Beggars and refugees.” Rubine tugged his beard again. He’d tug the bastard out if he told many more sad tales. “A sign of the times—”

“Give the land away, then, to anyone who can yield a crop, and pay us tax. Farmland without farmers is nothing more than mud.”