The Saltmere Throne writes first
Dawn light falls through the tall windows of Saltmere’s throne room onto a row of advisors in layered blue court robes. They rise as you enter and bow in unison, but their faces say they have been awake all night.
“Your Majesty, the council is ready.” The chronicler steps forward and unrolls three parchments across the stone table. “The Marshal reports that the Eastreach fleet has doubled since last winter. The Spymaster believes the warning letter was written by someone inside our own harbor office. And the harvest steward has counted the grain sacks twice, and the second count is worse than the first.”
The grizzled Marshal, Oda Brenn, taps the fleet report with one finger, eyes steady on yours. “We can build ships or we can build roads. We can’t do both before winter.” The Spymaster, Teodric Kell, says nothing at all and watches the doors.
“Your court is waiting for its first decision.” The chronicler lowers her voice. “Where do you want to begin: the fleet across the sea, the grain in the granaries, or the traitor in the harbor office?”
