"Chris Osbron occupied his private chamber alone, the solid sandalwood workspace covered in documents, financial records, and wax-sealed messages from merchants spanning multiple regions. Unsteady lamplight carved sharp angles on his countenance, drawing attention to the tension creasing his brow."
The latest market reports were grim. Grain prices had dipped sharply after an early harvest in the southern valleys, flooding the markets and undercutting established suppliers. Worse, the ore caravans from the northern mines had been delayed twice in as many weeks—banditry, sabotage, or something more deliberate. Either way, shortages were already spiking iron and steel prices, choking the weapon-smiting contracts he relied on.
Chris leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Compared to last month, turnover is down fifteen percent. Liquidity slipping. Merchant confidence is wavering."
His voice had a soft, deliberate quality, but it was tinged with a sense of frustration.
