Page 13

“At this rate, you’ll never clear it,” I say.

“I’m aware.”

“Has your father seen these figures?”

“He knows we owe money.”

“That was not my question.”

Nessa closes her hand over the corner of the page. “He thinks winter trade will improve.”

“Winter trade means people buy necessities. Not red spice worth two jetons a pinch.”

“I’m aware of that too.”

The words carry exhaustion rather than anger. Nessa has spent her life compensating for her father’s optimism. When we were children, that meant finding the coins he misplaced or retrieving goods he forgot outside. Now it means keeping the stall open while debt consumes whatever profit she earns.

I trace one of the K’sheng symbols without touching the ink.

“Who holds the loan?”

“A K’sheng merchant backed by House Varrus.”

Nessa glances toward the market lane before drawing the ledger closer. “He carries House Varrus trade warrants. The loan came through one of their factors.”

A cold gust pushes beneath the stall awning. The spice jars rattle on their shelf.

House Varrus has no ordinary reason to involve itself with a struggling human market stall. Dark elf nobles do not notice us unless they want labor, taxes, or an example made.

“What did the merchant ask for?” I say.

“Payment.”

“Nessa.”

“He offered to restructure the debt.”

“Meaning?”

“Reduce the interest. Extend the terms. Forgive part of the balance if the winter is as bad as everyone expects.”

The offer is too generous. That alone makes it dangerous.

“In exchange for what?”

She rubs a crumb between her thumb and forefinger.

“Information.”

“What kind?”

“Nothing important.”

“Let me decide that.”

“He wants to know what people complain about. Which levies hurt the most. Whether anyone blames the stronghold for the grain shortage or the fuel tithe.”

“That is important.”