Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(57)

“What is this about?” Jack said, dropping heavily into his seat.

“Your Grace”—Stevenot’s eyes were wide and round—“the people are demanding action.”

“Action?”

“Yes, we’ve received a petition with well over two thousand names.”

“And what do all of these people want?”

Calladeen leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “To eject the refugees from Elsira.”

Pugeros passed around mimeographed copies of the treasury reports. “The numbers do not lie, gentlemen. The Principality simply cannot afford to continue providing food and care for the refugees. In a few more weeks, we will have run through our reserves entirely.”

Jack reviewed the documents in front of him. “How is there no money?”

Pugeros widened his arms and lowered his head, the motion indicating that he was not to blame for the dire financial straits.

“Then we take out a loan.” Jack turned to Stevenot. “And we work to educate the people on why ejecting political refugees is not only a callous move but is fundamentally un-Elsiran. We would send these women, children, and elders where, exactly? Back into the grip of a madman?”

“They could go to Udland. It is closest to the climate they’re used to. Or perhaps Raun,” Stevenot said.

“Udland is a wasteland of superstitious tribes. They would never allow outsiders entry. And Raun . . .” Jack shook his head. “You would send women and children to a nation of pirates?”

“Your Grace is surely not suggesting that we destroy what’s left of our economy and plunge ourselves further into debt for a handful of savages?”

Jack slammed his hand on the table. “What of our honor?”

“Honor is not about doing what is right in a vacuum of consequences. Honor is doing the hard thing and letting history determine your legacy.” Calladeen’s voice was low and measured. He quoted words Alariq had said many times. Jack wanted to punch the man. “Besides, we have no knowledge that their safety is at risk if they are sent back to their home.”

Jack’s teeth ground together. “Why exactly do you think they risked their lives to leave?”

“I believe Prince Jaqros is right,” Nirall spoke up. “The people are jumping to rash conclusions not borne of fact. Perhaps if His Grace were to give a speech? Take to the radio waves with a formal address and assure our people that we hear their concerns. That may go a long way toward assuaging them.”

Jack considered. The idea of a speech made him antsy, but he had not formally addressed the people since gaining power. Maybe that was just what everyone needed, to be reassured he wasn’t just the reserve prince, though that’s how he felt every day. A strong statement could put things on the right track, acknowledging that though times were hard, Elsirans overcame.

He nodded, filled with gratitude for Nirall. The speech could change their minds. Even as he agreed to the plan, the faces looking back at him were less than convinced. Pugeros shuffled his papers, and Stevenot blinked his round, watery eyes rapidly. Calladeen seethed, glaring at his uncle.

“There is another matter, Your Grace,” Stevenot said, some color returning to his features.

Jack kneaded the bridge of his nose, wary of whatever else the man had on his mind. “What is that?”

“High Commander of the Armed Forces.”

“Is that a question?”

Stevenot swallowed. “The Prince Regent generally does not hold both titles at once.”

“Minister, the eve of war is not a time to change the leadership structure of the military. I’m leaning on my top generals while I deal with things here, but it would be foolish to make a formal switch now. Besides the High General is only months from retiring, someone else must yet be groomed for the position.”

Calladeen leaned forward, propping his chin on steepled fingers. “The option of a choosing a High Commander from outside of the military has been broached.”

The air in the room changed as Jack met Calladeen’s gaze. “And whom do you propose?”

No one spoke for a long moment, but Jack waited them out.

Nirall broke the silence. “Minister Calladeen focused on military science in university and even spent a year abroad observing the Fremian Warriors. He would be a suitable candidate for the interim.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Observed and studied, but never fought, is that correct?” No one at the table would now look at him. “You gentlemen honestly believe our country is safer with the military led by an untrained novice who’s never looked a man in the eye in battle and shot him where he stood?” He turned to Calladeen. “Or have you, Minister? Is there some secret life you’ve led of which I’m unaware?”

Calladeen’s jaw tensed. “No,” he gritted out.

“I trained for nine years before taking over the title I was born to. I lived side by side with the men whose lives would be affected by my decisions. I fought next to them in the last breach.” He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles cracked. “I have bathed in the blood of the men who gave their lives for this land, and I will not allow you to disrespect their memories with your ignorance or incompetence.”

Outrage had his blood moving faster. He stood suddenly, the heavy wooden chair in which he sat screaming as it slid across the floor. “Is there anything else?”