“Father.” Tristan bowed low. “Your Majesty, that is. I suppose, given the circumstances, we ought to be formal.”

“Get on with it.”

Seemingly nonplussed by the King’s sour tone, Tristan nodded. “Of course. Your time is a valuable commodity, Father. Coincidentally, it is valuable commodities which I’d like to discuss. Namely, I wish to petition the crown – you, that is – that the practice of sending miners to the labyrinth for missed quotas be replaced with a punishment that is somewhat less… fatal.”

The effect of his words rippled through the crowd like a tide, exclamations of surprise quickly shifting to whispered conversation as aristocrats and commoners alike fell into groups of their peers, speculating over Tristan’s motivations for such an enormous request. I glanced up at Marc to see his reaction, but he only watched his cousin intently.

“It’s a practice that has long proven an effective means of maintaining production,” the King said. “I see no–”

“Just because it’s an old practice doesn’t make it any less ill-considered,” Tristan interrupted, causing the collective to stir uneasily, everyone wisely concerned about being caught in the crossfire between the two powers. “It’s bad economics.”

“By all means,” the King replied. “Please enlighten me.”

“I will!” Tristan smiled and extracted a piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his coat. “In the last year, one hundred eighty-three miners have been sentenced to the labyrinth for missed quotas. That’s one hundred eighty-three miners who could’ve been punished in some other form – longer hours or perhaps a whipping or lost finger – then continued to work. Instead, they were killed, leaving their gangs short of members until the Guild arranged for the purchase of replacements.”

“The cost of replacing them is negligible.”

“True!” Tristan looked up from his paper. “Most are only of middling power, and the job requires little intelligence or training, meaning the Guild can purchase the half-bloods they need at marginal expense. However, the number that is compelling is the opportunity cost of losing those miners. Imagine, for a moment, that we kept them alive and working, while maintaining the current rate of additions to the labor force.”

“They do need to be fed.”

Tristan waved a dismissive hand. “Not much, and I’m sure we could find places to cut that particular expense.” He glanced at the page. “In the past year, the gross weight of bullion pulled from the ground was approximately–”

The numbers he rattled off made even my jaw drop. The effect on the masses was far greater. As was the number Tristan announced could be earned if his changes were put into effect.

“Even if one factors in a slight reduction in production due to reduced incentive to meet quota, it still makes good economic sense.”

“Interesting,” the King said, and I held my breath along with everyone else as he silently deliberated.

“Your Majesty, if I might interject.” My father’s voice pierced the silence. “There are additional consequences to His Highness’s proposal that he might not have considered.”