Iome smiled to hear Hollicks finally admit that the man was a spy.

“Of course not,” King Sylvarresta said. “But the Indhopal merchants claim him as their own. They’ll pay the ransom to save the fair. It’s a common practice in Indhopal. They say a farmer can hardly go to market without coming home to find the neighbors holding his pigs hostage.”

“And how can you be sure they’ll pay?” Iome asked.

“Because the merchants want to save the fair. And because, I believe, Raj Ahten has soldiers hiding in the Dunnwood, waiting for the information this man will give. At least some of these merchants must know this—which is why they are so hasty to demand the fellow’s release. So they will be eager to ransom the spy lest we manage to torture a confession from him.”

“And why do you suspect that warriors are hiding in the Dunnwood?” Hollicks asked.

“Because days ago I sent five foresters into the woods to find out where the largest boars are laying up before next week’s hunt. They were to report to me yesterday morning. None have returned. Five men. Had it been one, I’d suspect an accident. But these were trustworthy men. Nothing would keep them from obeying my command. They’ve either been captured, or killed. I’ve sent scouts to confirm my fears, but I think we already know what they’ll find.”

Hollicks’ face paled at this news.

“So, Raj Ahten’s soldiers hide in the Dunnwood, and they need to attack within the next three days—before the hunts begin, lest they be discovered.” King Sylvarresta folded his hands behind his back, paced over to the hearth.

“Will it be a large battle, milord?” Hollicks asked.

Sylvarresta shook his head. “I doubt it. Only some prewar maneuvering is likely, so late of the year. I think we have a band of assassins out there. They’ll either strike the Dedicates’ Keep, seeking to weaken me, or they’ll strike at the royal family itself.”

“But, what of us merchants?” Hollicks said. “Couldn’t they as easily strike our manors? Why, why, no one is safe!”

The idea that Raj Ahten would strike at the bourgeois seemed ludicrous.

Sylvarresta laughed. “Come, old friend, bolt your doors tonight, and you’ll have nothing to fear. But now, I need your counsel. We must set a price for this ‘merchant’s’ ransom. How much damage shall we say he caused the King?”

“I would say a thousand silver hawks,” Hollicks answered cautiously.

Iome had listened to her father, followed his reasoning and found it both flawless and infuriating. “I don’t like the idea of ransoming this spy. It’s . . . a form of surrender. Certainly, you aren’t considering Chemoise’s feelings! Her betrothed was murdered!”