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The room was the largest I’d seen in the castle so far, clearly designed to accommodate a crowd. Towering stone pillars flanked the sides and ended in a vaulted ceiling. They stretched all the way to the entrance, where people trickled in.
I leaned back against a slender pillar near the far end, close to a dais where the Mage Lord sat between his second and third-in-command. The chairs they occupied—neither quiet thrones nor ordinary seats—seemed designed to project authority.
Before the dais stood a line of mages, each taking turns to present their petitions to the ruler of the estate. Others were scattered throughout the hall, either in clusters or alone.
“I’m pleased to hear your business is holding steady, Esmond,” Reagan said, addressing the man before him. “From your dealings with other seamstresses, do you hear the same?”
“I try to stay in contact with most towns, my lord,” Esmond continued. “Textiles are still in steady production, though demand has dropped. Same with the runesmiths. We aren’t selling as much, but it’s not for lack of effort or materials.”
I’d been allowed to observe the Citizens’ Audience where they received residents of this estate. Finnegan stood nearby, along with a pair of guards or battle mages positioned on either side of the dais.
I let my gaze wander around the chamber, contemplating how strangely informal this was. Mountheim couldn’t be so large, or at least not as large as the human estates in the country, if they could address their people like this.
Turning to Finnegan, I kept my voice low. “Do you listen to every citizen in this meeting?”
“No, that would be impossible,” he murmured. “We schedule different sessions for specific towns, and only some of them attend. Each audience lasts about three hours, and they try to address as many concerns as they can.”
The seamster’s voice drew my attention back to the dais. “The patrollers you dispatched were a great help. But we fear the threat isn’t over. The whole village is asking for reinforcements.”
Reagan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrests. He wore an open cloak that looked slightly official, with an embroidered gold badge. “I thought you reported no new attacks last week?”
“That’s true, my lord,” Esmond said, “but there have been sightings just beyond the forest barriers. The villagers are worried it’s only a matter of time before they strike again.”
Reagan’s face betrayed nothing as he considered the seamster’s words.
“We’ll alert the patrols near Eldritch and reinforce the wards surrounding the town. Liege Wicklow will see to it.” He glanced toward his sister, who stood on the other side of the dais.
“Thank you, my lord,” Esmond responded, bowing deeply and leaving to the side of the chamber.
“Step forward and state your name and petition,” Cerridwen commanded.
A black-haired man dressed in leather trousers and a dark cloak approached the dais, offering a slight bow.
“My lord, I am Zephyr from the Highlands. My plea concerns the harvest in the region and your proposed solutions. I sent a formal plea last month,” he continued, drawing a folded parchment from his cloak, “but since I received no response, I brought it here in person. This document details the extent of my losses, along with those of others in the Highlands, due to the blight.”
Cerridwen rose from her seat, gracefully descending the steps of the dais to retrieve the parchment from his outstretched hand.
“I recall your plea, Mr Zephyr,” she said firmly. “We responded by sending provisions to support the Highlands. There should be no shortages.”
“The provisions are not the issue,” Zephyr replied, his tone a little edged. “The families who once supplied you with those goods can no longer earn a livelihood. The soil is completely infertile now, so we cannot grow crops to sustain ourselves.”
He turned his gaze from Cerridwen to Reagan. “My lord, how do you plan to address that?”
The room fell into a tense silence. Even the soft drip of water somewhere in the distance seemed amplified after the murmurs faded.
Reagan leaned back in his chair, his expression steely. “As you know, the infusions we’ve been using are no longer faring the same. We have arcanists studying other solutions, testing new reagents. We’ll keep searching for other treatments so those families can have successful harvests again. I have personally ensured that they receive every incentive to continue their research. For now, the Highlands will have to rely on the provisions we’ve sent.”
The citizen scoffed. Loudly. Though this was my first session, the tone of that man was far more brazen than the respectful petitions I had observed before.
Reagan leaned forward in his seat, his voice hardening into a warning edge. “I highly suggest you remember where you are. Is there something you’d like to add to that noise?”
“My lord, beyond receiving the same answers I expected, I feel obligated to remind you that your so-called solutions aren’t enough anymore. These actions aren’t enough.” Zephyr took a bold step forward, eyes flashing with defiance.
Immediately, the battle mages tightened their circle around him. Zephyr only spared them a quick, dismissive glance before fixing his glare back on the Lord of Mountheim. “You, my lord, are no longer enough.”
The soft patter of rain now struck the roof. All eyes were on Reagan, waiting to see how he would respond, though the ruler didn’t react, didn’t even flinch.
