A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

“The Coupers are dead,” I announced.

“Who?” my stepbrother asked.

My back stiffened. “Farmers whose lands were infected by the Rot.”

“You mean the Rot you failed to stop,” Tavius corrected, lifting a date.

I ignored him. “Do you at least know who they are?”

“I know who they were,” my stepfather said, placing his pipe on a crystal tray. “I was notified of their passing no more than an hour ago. It’s most unfortunate.”

“It is more than unfortunate.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and my eyes narrowed because I had enough sense to know better. “What they decided to do is tragic. Those children—”

“What they felt they had to do, you mean.” I crossed my arms to stop myself from picking up one of his precious figurines and throwing it. “What is tragic, is that they felt they had no other option.”

My stepfather frowned and shifted forward in his seat. “There are always other choices.”

“There should be, but when you’re watching your children—” My breath caught, and it burned through my lungs as little Mattie’s giggles echoed in my ears. “I don’t agree with what they did, but they were pushed to their breaking point.”

“If things were so bad for them, why didn’t they simply seek other employment?” Tavius tossed out as if he were the first to have thought of such a thing. “That would’ve been a far better choice.”

“What employment would they have been able to find?” I demanded. “Do you think a person can just walk into any shop or company or onto a ship and find a job? Especially when they spent their entire lives perfecting one trade?”

“Then perhaps they should’ve learned another trade the moment your failure ruined their land,” he suggested.

“How many trades have you decided to learn and mastered to the point you could then demand a job?” I challenged.

Tavius didn’t answer.

Exactly. The only skill he’d mastered was how to be an expert ass.

“I believe what your stepbrother is attempting to say is the same as I have,” the King reasoned, placing his hands flat on the desk. “There are always choices. They chose wrong.”

“You make it sound as if they had no reason. They were already dying. Starving to death!”

“And they chose to take their lives and those of their children instead of doing everything possible to feed them!” The King rose from his chair in a rush of plum-adorned black silk. “What would you have had me do that could have possibly altered that outcome? I have no control over the Rot. I cannot heal the land. You know that.”

I couldn’t believe he would even ask that question. “You could’ve fed them. Made sure they had food until they could grow their crops again or find employment.”

“And is he supposed to do that for every family that can no longer work their land?” Tavius asked.

Hands balling into fists, I turned to where he sat. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on the leather boot propped on the hard surface of the ottoman. He tilted his head in my direction, not a single curl spilling over his forehead. The blackened eye I’d given him had faded far too quickly. His features were perfectly pieced together. Yet all those handsome attributes were somehow wrong on Tavius’s face. “Yes,” I answered. “And not just the farmers. You should know that as the heir to the throne.”

His lips, already thin, pressed tightly together.

“It’s the harvesters who rely on the fields to feed their children. It’s the shop owners who struggle each week to buy food because the prices have increased.” I stared at him. “Do you even know why the prices have gone up?”

The tautness eased from his face. “I know why. You.” He smiled, popping a date into his mouth. I doubted that he did. “Tell me, sister. How do you think we could provide for every family?”

Disgust curdled my stomach. “We could ration. We could give them some of the food here, starting with the dates in that bowl.”

Tavius smirked and then bit down on another piece of fruit.

I turned back to the King. “There is more than enough food here, within these very walls, to feed a hundred families for a month.”

“And then what?” my stepfather asked, lifting his hands, palms up. “What do we do after a month, Sera?”

“It’s not like we’d run out of food. There are other farms—”

“That are already being pushed to their limits to make up for the lands that can no longer produce,” he cut in. “Where would we draw the line? Deciding who we feed and who we do not. As you said, it’s not only the farmers. It’s the harvesters and more. But there are others who either cannot or will not fend for themselves. Those who will come with their hands out and their mouths open. If we attempted to feed them, we’d all starve.”