There was a thoughtful silence, then Curnsbick slowly nodded. “Very well said, Your Highness.”

Leo frowned sideways at Jurand. He was looking back earnestly, his brow lightly wrinkled, like a puppy begging for a treat. The look he always used to have, when Leo’s mother voiced some guff that he agreed with.

“Well.” Leo worked his mouth, then with an effort forced his lips into the thinnest of smiles. “Far be it from me to deny the Darling of the Slums a sentimental gesture or two. Call the place whatever you like. The larger point remains. We face threats on every border. Our fortresses are neglected and our navy outdated. The first order of business must be the reinforcement and renewal of the king’s military—”

“The Lord Regent makes an excellent point,” interrupted Savine, “which is why our first order of business must be money. King Jezal’s administration made many blunders, but their worst was spending what they did not have.”

Everyone turned to look at Leo. “We all know that,” he grunted. He needed no lecture on not making the same mistake twice.

“As a solid financial foundation we need a new system of taxation,” said Savine. “Minister for Revenue Vallimir?”

“Sweeping reform, root and branch.” Vallimir began to hand out neatly bound sheaves of printed paper. Down at that end of the table, it seemed they’d come armed. “You will see various proposals here. Increased levies on land and wealth, abolition of privileged categories and venal offices, tariffs on mercantile and industrial activity, strong measures against corruption.”

“We cannot look back,” said Curnsbick, peering over his eye-lenses. “We must avoid the ruinous debts which poisoned King Jezal’s reign.”

“The Great Change freed us from the tyranny of the banks, at least,” observed Kort.

Isher leafed through the papers with an ever-deeper frown. “Only to chain us all under the yoke of the tax collector?”

They began to argue, and tediously. Proportions, allowances, exemptions. Leo scarcely understood the issues. It almost made him wish he’d paid closer attention to his mother during those boring meetings of his council back in Angland. But not quite.

He sank into his chair, wishing he’d brought wine. He belonged in the saddle. Or perhaps some kind of open carriage would be less painful? He belonged near other men in the saddle, anyway. His eyes drifted sideways to Jurand. On campaign, with the wind behind them and an enemy in front, calling for the charge with a sword in his hand!

“We need money to rebuild,” Kort was saying.

“To modernise,” said Curnsbick.

“To mount a summer fencing Contest this year?” offered Selest. “A beloved tradition to give the people inspiration, reassurance and common purpose.”

“An excellent idea,” and Savine tapped the table approvingly with her fingertips.

Leo smashed it with his fist, jerking the faces back towards him where they belonged.

“We need money for our forces! Cannons. Ships. What use is progress if it can’t be made into a weapon? Union arms must be respected again. We have to strangle our enemies at sea and crush them on land. We need to be feared.” Smashing the table had worked once so he did it again, even harder, making a heap of papers slump over in front of Kort. “We should press a claim on the city of Sipani.”