“I’ll be more careful next time.” Even in the dark, the fires in her warm brown skin were lit and shining. “So, the King says keeping Kyrians and Westerners from joining guilds is to encourage them to stay in their original regions. To keep the population strong and dispersed, and to curb crowding in the royal city.”

“Well that sounds reasonable. I’m sure if—oh, hells, Brella. I can already hear the ‘but’ coming. You might as well get on with it and tell me why I’m wrong.”

Brella laughed, gleaming gold like a temple idol.

“All right, Sergeant Major. I shall.” Her lips quirked up at the corners. “Why does Ivinscont go west?”

“I thought you were answering a question, not asking one.”

“Humor me.”

Scratch’s sigh was mostly for show. “Fine. Because a larger country is a stronger country. Because having the ocean at our west would be a huge strategic advantage. Because the lands we’re taking are primitive and could benefit from our resources. And because those lands have natural resources that we could use to strengthen our reserves and to boost manufacturing in the new mills.”

Brella nodded. “And if, say, all the Kyrians come to the Royal City to join guilds, then who will work in their mines?”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.”

“Well, that’s not so bad.” Scratch unfolded her hands. Gesturing always helped her think, and she was certainly thinking now. “If they’re staying in their mines, they’re basically doing what they’ve always been doing, aren’t they?”

“Sure. Except instead of the ore going to sustain their own economy, it’s going to the Ivinscontian economy.”

“Yes, yes, but they get the benefits of being Ivinscontians, too.” She didn’t know when it happened, but Scratch was suddenly bright with excitement. For days, she had scratched the surface of all these new mysteries, never breaking through. It was a welcome relief to finally understand something, to hold the complexity in her hands like a gem, turning it carefully so light caught every facet.

“Such as?” Brella must have felt something too, because there was a familiar breathy thrill in her voice. The thrill, Scratch knew, of closing in on an answer—or, perhaps, of finding a new one?

“Such as mining technology,” Scratch answered.

“That . . . that’s actually a fair point. I hadn’t considered that.”

She felt unduly pleased. A hot flush crawled up her cheeks. “Well, there you are.”

“Okay.” Brella leaned forward, jumping from that point to the next. Scratch leaned in to match her, only slightly disappointed they couldn’t stick around in her victory. “So we make mining easier. Say, a Kyrian mine owner becomes extremely rich. He takes a wife, fathers a few sons, watches them grow, and then one says ‘Papa, I’d like to be a glazier.’ So what does the Kyrian papa do?”