Page 50 of Given to the Black King

“My lady,” Torgan says.

“Great King.” Her voice shakes. “I ask remission of the winter tribute.”

“No.”

She flinches but stays upright. “You emptied our granaries.”

“I left seed.”

“You left enough to plant. Not enough to eat.”

“My wagons are selling grain in the market.”

“At your price.”

Torgan’s face does not change. “Yes.”

A murmur moves through the gallery.

The widow clasps her hands hard enough to whiten the knuckles. “There are children eating broth made from turnip leaves.”

“I know. Your grandsons eat at the garrison table. So do forty-two other children from the river streets.”

“Forty-two.” Her voice roughens. “There are hundreds.”

“The tribute stands.”

The widow looks at him for a long moment.

Then she steps aside and remains beside the block.

Ghenn calls the last Vessel matter.

Two guards bring in the former gate captain with his hands tied behind him. He has lost weight in the cells. His beard is gray with ash that is no longer there.

The herald reads the charge.

After Vessel surrendered, the captain ordered the tithe barns burned. The wind carried the fire into three streets. Eleven people died.

Torgan leans forward. “Did you give the order?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the surrender terms?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the grain would feed the town?”

The captain’s mouth twists. “It would feed your soldiers first.”

“That was not the question.”

“Yes. I knew.”

“Why burn it?”

“You took the walls. The lord. The stores. I would not hand you the bread too.”