Or you can, but you have to give up any pretense of morality if you do.

“I want to know where all the food is,” Kip said.

“Food?” Lord Appleton asked, as if he hadn’t gotten it through his head yet that Kip wasn’t a moron.

Kip said, “I understand hoarding food to take care of your own family and household in uncertain times. At some point it gets venal and cruel to your neighbors, but I understand it. But when you’ve got so much set aside that you have no fear of starvation but instead you’re using that food to enslave your neighbors—making them trade their own children and their own bodies for a crust of bread—for that I have no patience.”

“There’s no law against being wise enough to buy food before a siege.”

“No,” Kip said, “but I daresay there are laws against hoarding it and then using your votes as councilors to buy it back from yourselves at ever-inflating prices. We call that corruption where I’m from.”

“We’ve done nothing illegal,” Lord Culin Willow Bough said.

“Considering that you’ve written the laws in this city and that Satrap Willow Bough is probably incapable of providing oversight on the lacing of his boots, that may actually be true,” Kip said. “Your ledger books will tell us that.”

“Those books are private,” Lord Willow Bough said.

It had been Tisis who’d given Kip the idea of inspecting their books originally—they’d planned to do that regardless. A marching army needs food and supplies, and the nobles they liberated would have every incentive to underreport what they had available. It was Ferkudi who’d been puzzled by the scouts’ reports that the city was desperate. This was a rich area that had had a long, long time to prepare for the Blood Robes’ arrival.

Kip had been shocked only at how bad things had gotten, how callous these rich men had become to the suffering of their own people. The plan had always been to spring these changes on the Divines as if Kip were coming up with them off the top of his head—that was the only way to make sure they got no word of it beforehand.

They wanted to see him as young and impulsive? He’d play that happily enough with one tiny twist—he was young and impulsive and therefore dangerous.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Kip said. “You’re going to give me all the food you’ve stockpiled, and half the coin.”

“Ha!” said Lord Golden Briar. “You’ll have to hang all of us before we agree to this outrage!”

“Oh, I’ll hang you if I must,” Kip said. “But first I’ll let it be known to the whole city that you’ve stockpiles of food and coin in hidden rooms in your houses, and that no soldiers or guards are present to protect them.”

“That’s not true,” Lord Appleton said tightly. He believed Kip now. “We would never put ourselves at such risk—”

“But thousands of starving, angry people won’t know that, will they? The mobs will tear apart your homes, steal everything they can lay their hands on, and then likely burn them down when they find no food. I should think your families and any servants on the premises won’t fare well, either. Heart trees will be cut down before your eyes. In the aftermath, new noble families may well have to be chosen.”

And finally, finally, true fear began to trickle into their piggish little eyes. “You wouldn’t,” Lord Willow Bough said. “You’re one of us. You wouldn’t turn your back on fellow lords.”

“One of you? I’m one of them,” Kip said, pointing to the starving hordes, “just in nicer clothes. The entire reason your class exists is so that when your city falls on hard times, you’re there to feed the starving and protect the vulnerable. In return for that, in peacetime and in plenty, you’re allowed to enjoy the fruits of excess. But you’ve not kept your bargain. You’ve not just failed your basic purpose, you’ve betrayed it. You’ve torn down this city and exploited its people when they needed you most. So this… this is my mercy. And it’s the last mercy I’m going to offer you.”

And like that, they were broken. Cúan Spreading Oak and Lord Ghiolla Dhé Rathcore actually looked ashamed of themselves. But it was Lord Golden Briar, the conniver, who hit his knees first.

Even connivers have their place.

The rest dropped to their knees in submission. And Kip pressed on, because Andross Guile had taught him something: a hard push does the most when a man is already stumbling backward.

“And here’s my first decree,” Kip said. “Don’t stand until you consent. Anyone enslaved in the last ninety days will be freed, immediately. In addition, we’re now enforcing the old Slave Code. Anyone caught taking a slave or snipping a child’s ear will face death. Families will not be split. Children born to slave parents will be born free and entitled to a freedom price when they reach majority. If you can’t produce papers for any slave currently owned, they’ll be manumitted. Period. Of those still in bondage after all this, their papers will be revised to show that on the seventh year, the Year of Jubilee, they’ll be granted freedom. That’s five years from now, in case you’ve forgotten. Plenty of time to adjust to the new reality. Copies of the new contracts will be signed and witnessed by a magistrate and a luxiat and be filed here and with the Chromeria.”

Lord Golden Briar, still looking at the ground, whispered, “Are you insane?”

“Idealistic. It’s a near cousin.”

“We could resist,” Lord Golden Briar said. “We might not win, but we could stain your image irreversibly. The Luíseach is supposed to be a uniter.”

“I’ve never claimed that title,” Kip said. “I’m just another man trying to protect his people… But others have claimed that name for me, and imagine their fury at you if you try to tarnish it.”

A silence stretched out. Then, like a weed too long in the pitiless sun, the man shriveled and wilted. “My lord,” Lord Golden Briar said, and he reached out his hand to touch Kip’s foot in submission.

And just like that, Kip had a city, and his army had food.

Chapter 73

“I had hoped to find you in better condition,” the man said.

“Grinwoody?” Gavin asked, incredulous. “Is that you? Did my father send you? Did something happen to him?”