Chương 158: Chapter 153 - Noble Annoyance

The capital began to notice the change when nobles began arriving for winter. It changed slowly with every carriage, wagon, household guard, luggage cart, and footmen carrying boxes that seemed too small to justify the number of people assigned to them. Inns in the noble's quarter that had been expensive began insulting normal guests; tailors began smiling too much. Stable boys developed the haunted look of people who learnt that nobles' horses were fed better than they were.

House Fenril's city estate had been opened three days earlier. Normally he stayed in his apartment in the palace, but his aunt was arriving. It meant fires in the hearths, linen shaken out, everything dusted three times, silver checked against the inventory, and the steward developing a quiet twitch near his left eye. Fenril stood near the front hall now, dressed properly and waiting for his aunt. That part could not be avoided.

Aunt Ivet was his father's younger sister, though she had spent so many years behaving as if age didn't matter to her, only others where it could be a weapon in gossip circles. Fenril had stopped thinking of her as young or old. She was simply Ivet. She knew every family worth knowing, several families not worth knowing, and enough about everyone that she made anyone with a secret quite nervous. Her carriage arrived just after noon.

Fenril heard the wheels first, then the call from the gate, then the footman's boots crossing the entry stones outside. He straightened his coat and took two steps toward the door before stopping himself. Meeting her outside would make him look anxious. The door opened. Cold air came in first, followed by a footman, then Aunt Ivet. She wore a dark green travelling cloak trimmed in grey fur, with a hood pulled back from hair pinned so tightly that Fenril suspected it might be stronger than the footmen's helmet.

Her gloves were still on. Her eyes moved across the hall once, measuring the hall, the servants, the steward, the carpets, and him. She did not smile until the measurement was complete.

"Fenril," Ivet said, opening both arms and stepping toward him with brisk affection.

"You look thinner, which means you have either been worried or eating badly."

"Aunt Ivet," Fenril said, bending to accept the embrace and kissing her cheek.

"You look well."

"I look cold, you can be honest," Ivet said, patting his shoulder twice before releasing him. She had to stand on her toes to reach.

"Well, that is what people say when they do not want to discuss roads."

"The roads were bad?" Fenril asked, offering his arm as the footmen began bringing in her luggage.

"The roads were roads," Ivet said, taking his arm and leaning closer as if sharing something scandalous.

"The problem was Lady Harren's carriage in front of us for half the north road. That woman avoids her husband, I suspect, so she is in no rush." Fenril smiled despite himself.

"I had not heard she was coming this year."

"No one had," Ivet said, lifting one brow as they crossed the hall.

"Which is why everyone has heard it now, marriage troubles, must be." She lifted a finger at the last point. The steward approached with a bow.

"My lady, your rooms are prepared."

"Good," Ivet said, giving the man a nod while removing one glove finger by finger.

"Have hot water sent up and tell Mira not to unpack the blue case until I come myself." The steward bowed again.

"Of course, my lady." Ivet turned back to Fenril, and the pleasant brightness vanished from her eyes.

"Study," she said, tightening her grip on his arm.

"Now, we need to talk." Fenril's smile faded.

"You only just arrived."

"The real gossip has been waiting for me without tea," Ivet said, guiding him toward the inner passage.

"Very rude of it, but I must hear of it, all of it." Fenril led her through the hall and into the family study. It was his father's study when his father was in the capital, which meant Fenril would use it but not change it. The room had dark shelves, two narrow windows looking onto the side garden, and a desk too heavy to move without a plan and six men. A fire had been lit before Ivet's arrival, and two chairs had been set near it. Ivet did not sit at once.

She crossed to the desk, placed both gloves on the corner, then turned to him with her hands folded.

"Your letter," Ivet said, tapping one finger against her arm.

"I must hear all of it." Fenril shut the door himself.

"There is not much more to explain."

"That," Ivet said, tilting her head, "can't be all." Fenril walked to the fire and held one hand toward the warmth.

"A commoner in the city is brewing brandy better than ours, that's all that matters really." Ivet stared at him. Fenril waited.

"That is the short part," Ivet said, taking a slow breath through her nose.

"I am family. Family who crossed frozen roads and spent days behind Lady Harren. There must be more." Fenril rubbed the back of his neck.

"His name is Alric, I understand. Master Alric, officially. He is some kind of master brewer, dwarven-trained. The king made him a royal factor."

"The brewer?" Ivet said, lifting one hand as she stepped closer.

"The bra brewer?" Fenril tilted his head in alarm.

"What?"

"Oh, do not look at me like that," Ivet said, flicking her fingers at him.

"Half the city is pretending not to know, and the other half is trying to get one. Lady Morcant claimed it was immoral and then sent her maid to ask where fittings were done. Continue." Fenril closed his eyes for a moment.

"I did not know that part."

"That is because you don't read letters properly, you don't look deep enough," Ivet said, lowering herself into the chair beside the fire.

"Now, brandy?" The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Fenril sat opposite her.

"He bought out Baron Isewald's entire vineyard and seems to be making good brandy. I tried to buy some but can't find it yet. The king was particularly impressed, which is what matters." Ivet's left eyebrow lowered, she was quiet for a moment before she said, "Young brandy should not be better than old brandy."

"I know," Fenril said, looking at the fire.

"That is why I wrote, this is going to affect noble families, I understand." Ivet sat back slowly and tapped one nail against her lower lip.

"Depends on how good it is, but it is going to ruin some families."

"So I'm told," Fenril said, glancing around the office, his gaze settled onto a pile of ledgers on a shelf.

"That is the problem. He has enough wine and the king's attention. He has money coming in from beer, he's just some upstart."

"Men like that are irritating," Ivet said, considering the point. She smoothed her skirt over one knee.

"They begin with one useful trick, and then people forgive the second because of the first." Fenril gave a short nod.

"I don't think he knows what he is stepping into." Before Ivet could answer, trumpets sounded at the front of the estate. Three loud blasts echoed around the estate. Fenril stood at once.

"What now?" Ivet rose with him, lifting her chin as footsteps hurried in the hall.

"If that is Lady Morcant coming to complain about tea again..." The study door opened before she could finish, and the steward appeared pale around the mouth.

"My lord," the steward said, bowing quickly with one hand braced against the doorframe.

"The Voice is at the gate." Fenril's stomach tightened. Ivet reached for her gloves and put them on with sudden speed.

"Well," she said, pulling the second glove tight at the wrist.

"At least I did not change into house shoes." Fenril led the way back through the hall. Servants had already opened the front doors. Cold air moved through the entrance, carrying the sound of horses and the murmur of people gathering beyond the gate. Fenril stepped outside with Ivet at his side. The royal Voice stood before the estate in a dark formal coat marked with the king's colours. Two trumpeters stood behind him, instruments lowered. A clerk held a leather case.

Another servant carried numerous scrolls bound in red cord. Fenril bowed; Ivet curtsied beside him, deep enough to show respect and smooth enough to prove she had been doing this since before Fenril learned to walk.

"My lord. My lady," the Voice said, inclining his head with one hand resting on the rolled proclamation.

"I come by order of His Majesty." Fenril kept his expression still.

"House Fenril receives His Majesty's word with loyalty." Ivet smiled beside him.

"Always gladly," she said, speaking out of turn. She folded her hands at her waist.

"Though I hope His Majesty has chosen a warmer route than I did." The Voice's mouth barely moved. It might have been amusement, but training quickly defeated it.

"By order of His Majesty," the Voice said, opening the proclamation with both hands, "all noble houses presently within or arriving near the capital are hereby informed that His Majesty has appointed Master Alric as royal factor." Fenril felt Ivet glance at him without turning her head. The Voice continued, his gaze moving across the gathered household.

"This appointment concerns the purchase and movement of fruit and grain through Master Alric's own agents, for royal purposes approved by the crown." The clerk beside the Voice opened the leather case.

"All noble houses are expected to cooperate under this appointment," the Voice said, lifting the parchment slightly as the wind tugged at one edge.

"Any surplus grain or fruit of fair quality is to be made available for purchase at ordinary market price." A servant stepped forward with a sealed scroll. Fenril accepted it and felt his fingers tighten around the cord before he could stop them.

"House Fenril understands His Majesty's instruction," he said, bowing his head.

"We shall be delighted to cooperate," Ivet said, curtsying again with a smile bright enough to trouble anyone who knew her.

"Please convey our respect to His Majesty."

"I shall," the Voice said, inclining his head.

"Good day, my lord. My lady." The trumpeters turned first. The Voice followed with his attendants, moving toward the next estate along the street. Fenril remained still until they had gone through the gate. Ivet turned toward the house.

"Inside," she said, touching Fenril's sleeve with two fingers.

"Before you say something you shouldn't." Fenril looked at her with a frown, then followed. They returned to the study. The steward closed the door behind them without being asked. Fenril broke the seal before he sat down.

"The king moved quickly."

"He often does when people are slow enough to let him," Ivet said, removing her gloves again and placing them neatly on the desk. Fenril unfolded the scroll and read the first lines.

"This is worse than I expected." Ivet took the scroll from him without asking. Fenril let her have it.

"We have orders now."

"Yes, I heard the handsome man with the good voice," Ivet said, reading down the page.

"Do sit before you wear a path in the carpet." Fenril did not sit.

"How much fruit can he really use though?" he said, frowning at the page. Ivet looked up over the scroll.

"Fenril." He stopped.

"You have learned the large parts of politics," Ivet said, pointing the scroll at him.

"Titles, contracts, public insult, marriage offers, which cousin must never be seated beside which advisor, but you have far to go yet." Fenril frowned.

"Meaning?" Ivet turned the scroll and tapped one word with her nail.

"Surplus." Fenril looked down and read the word. She tapped the word again. Fenril stared at the page for three breaths. Then he looked at her in confusion. Ivet's smile returned slowly but with a deep sense of patience.

"Surplus, Fenril," she repeated. Fenril took the scroll back and read the sentence again.

"Any surplus grain and fruit?"

"Of fair quality," Ivet said, raising one finger.

"At ordinary market price. It's so very reasonable and very difficult to object to," Ivet said, sitting down at last and arranging her skirt.

"But we have no surplus, it's tragic, really." Fenril looked at her and tilted his head.

"There may be war," Ivet said, spreading one hand to the fire. She spoke as if explaining something obvious and far away.

"Terrible harvest this year, our commoners need support. We are, of course, deeply worried." Fenril began to smile as his eyes widened. Ivet leaned back in the chair.

"I suspect House Fenril will not have surplus for years." Fenril finally sat opposite her again.

"And the other houses?"

"I will talk to them, of course, it is why your father sent me here, I think", Ivet said, tapping her knee with her hand.

"So many houses owe me favours, though most will pretend they don't." Ivet paused for a long moment, considering carefully "Lady Berest will tell anyone anything if she believes she heard it first. The Solmeres will resist anything just because someone else asked them to do it. By dinner tomorrow, half the houses will be very concerned about our reserves." Fenril folded the scroll carefully.

"That blocks him."

"It slows him," Ivet said, her eyes sharpening.

"It is not the same, don't confuse the two." Fenril's smile faded a little.

"You think he will find another way?"

"I think a commoner does not become a royal factor by waiting politely for permission," Ivet said, leaning forward. Fenril nodded once. Ivet studied him for a moment, then softened by a fraction.

"You were clever to send the letter, you may save many houses yet."

"That is comforting," Fenril said, rubbing one hand over his jaw. Ivet glanced back at the scroll.

"Now. Tell me everything you know about this Brewer. Not the official parts. The useful parts, who visits him, who defends him, who laughs when his name is mentioned, and which women are suddenly walking straighter because of his tailoring." Fenril looked at her and let out a long sigh. The queen had mentioned the same things, but Fenril did not understand then and still did not.

"Does it matter?" Annoyance flashed over Ivet's face. She opened her mouth before closing it; then she closed her eyes a moment.

"It does, dear, but I will look into it, don't worry." Fenril nodded slowly; he understood he was being chastised gently and didn't like it. He tried to be helpful.

"The letter says grain as well. For brewing, I expect. Fruit for wine and brandy. Grain for beer and other spirits if he goes that way." Ivet's mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Of course he will go that way." Fenril looked at her.

"How are you so certain?"

"My dear boy," Ivet said, leaning forward and patting his knee once, "a man who makes better brandy from wine will eventually stare at grain and wonder whether it has been neglected. That is not a prophecy, it is simply how men with workshops become problems."