Aemond watched his back.
He needed men like this. Eager, hungry wild dogs. Ambitious. Such men were rare among the nobility, and even rarer among the commoners. But when they appeared, he would pluck them out one by one, feed them, nurture them, and set them loose to bite.
Moreover, he needed another intelligence network.
Talya was very good—loyal, capable, and in her hands she held the secret passages of the Red Keep and the "little bird" spy network. But Talya would soon be betrothed to Will. Will was the Master of Coin, his trusted man, who controlled the royal purse. One in charge of intelligence, the other in charge of gold—they would become a family. Aemond did not doubt Talya's loyalty, nor Will's. But he had to prepare for both possibilities. Power could not be placed in a single basket. No matter how trustworthy that basket might be.
Kermit would be his second throw of the dice.
Common-born men like this could rely only on him. Maintaining Aemond's power meant protecting their interests. These men of common birth could be given everything by him—and could just as easily be stripped of everything at any moment.
Aemond looked away. He looked at another man walking in the distance.
The acting lord of Moonspire, Carter.
Carter had been waiting there for a long time. He watched as Kermit left Aemond, watched as the former street boy departed, and guessed what had happened. Another man elevated. He was glad that common-born men like themselves—secretly despised by the ancient noble houses in King's Landing—were banding together. In the future, there would be more and more like them, forming a bloc of shared interests. Those lords of thousand-year houses would no longer dare look down on them.
He looked away, straightened his collar, and walked toward Lothron.
When Lothron saw him, a low rumble came from his throat. But it was a different rumble than the one he had given Kermit.
Carter laughed.
Every time he came to see the prince, the first thing he did was bring food for Lothron. Fresh mutton or beef—whole carcasses. Lothron knew him. He knew that this man brought good food every time he came.
Carter clapped his hands.
Behind him, several soldiers from Moonspire approached, carrying two goats that were still struggling.
Lothron's eyes lit up. He fixed his gaze on the two goats, and his throat began to glow again—but this time with greed.
Carter gestured for the soldiers to stun the goats.
"Lord Lothron, how would you like to eat today?" he asked with a smile. "Roasted, or swallowed in one bite?"
Lothron ignored him. He lowered his head and took a goat in one bite. The goat cried out briefly, then was tossed into the air, met a mouthful of flame, and vanished into the dragon's jaws. Lothron chewed—quite contentedly. Then he took the other goat. This time he did not chew but swallowed it whole.
Lothron belched, expelling a blast of hot air smelling of burnt hair.
Carter waved to him. "Your Grace, digest slowly. I will go to the prince now."
Lothron ignored him. He was already beginning to doze.
Carter turned and quickly walked toward the fortress.
Aemond was walking toward the castle. Carter caught up immediately, half a step behind, and followed.
They walked a while.
Aemond asked without looking back. "Some say I am a cannibal beast. What do you think?"
Carter answered without hesitation. "That is the ignorance of the world. Some people are scum. To live is to waste food."
Aemond did not speak.
Carter continued. "Some have escaped. Trying to return to High Tide, or to flee elsewhere. If we catch them, they will be severely punished. To set an example for these tens of thousands."
Aemond stopped. He turned.
"Many have escaped?"
Carter nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. Those people from High Tide do not obey discipline. They flee in groups. Hundreds have already escaped."
He continued. "The whole territory is under great pressure. Sixty thousand people must eat, live, and be managed every day. We do not have enough men."
Aemond was silent a moment. He looked at the migrants working in the distance. They moved slowly. A little lazy. Reluctant.
Aemond's eyes were cold.
"From now on, put them in groups of twenty. If one escapes and the group members do not report it, all will be executed."
Carter's heart stopped. All executed.
"Those who escape, if they have families," Aemond continued, "all will be executed."
Carter drew a deep breath. "Yes."
Aemond looked at him. "Inform the Stormlords nearby, and the lords of the eastern coast. If any of these fugitives are caught, the Iron Throne will reward them severely. For every man they send back, they will be rewarded a silver stag. All captured fugitives will be hanged."
Carter nodded repeatedly. "Yes."
Aemond's smile returned to his face. "As for the families of those who commit treason—I only make them serve their sentences. A few more years of labor reform. When the war ends, they will be free. Why do they not understand each other?"
His smile deepened. "Then do not blame me."
Carter lowered his head. "Your Grace is merciful."
---
Entering the fortress, sounds rushed to meet them. The hammering of masons, the rasp of saws, the rumble of stone carts on stone slabs, the shouts of overseers and the answering calls of workers—all echoed through unfinished halls.
Aemond stood at the fortress gate, watching the bustling crowd. The main stronghold of Moonspire was largely complete. Grey stone walls rose from foundations, the tallest towers were roofed, and stacks of arrows and scorpion bolts were being installed. In six months, the fortress would be fully operational.
"Your Grace," Carter's voice came from behind. "All of Moonspire still needs expansion. More people arrive daily, and we lack labor."
Aemond did not look back. "The labor corps has five hundred men. Moonspire's garrison has five hundred. Carter, how many people are in the territory now?"
Carter said, "Adding those from High Tide, nearly sixty thousand."
"Sixty thousand," Aemond repeated the number.
"We are barely managing," Carter said. "But it is difficult."
Aemond was silent a moment. "Then recruit another thousand men."
Carter's eyes lit up. "Your Grace."
Aemond continued walking inside. Carter followed.
"Your Grace," he said, "one more thing."
"Speak."
"After shipping to King's Landing was cut off, refugees from King's Landing have begun coming to us seeking a living. Several hundred have arrived."
Aemond stopped. He turned.
"What did I tell you? My granaries?"
Carter bowed his head. "They were built long ago. Grain was bought in advance a year ago. And the grain deal with Braavos. The food stored there is enough to feed the people of King's Landing for more than a year."
Aemond looked at him.
Carter asked, with a hint of caution in his voice. "Your Grace, we could wait until food shortages in King's Landing drive prices up a little. Then we could not only supply King's Landing but also earn some coin for the royal treasury."
Aemond smiled and looked at Carter. There was something approving in that smile.
"You learn quickly."
Carter breathed a sigh of relief.
Aemond turned and continued walking. "Do not burden them too harshly. Let them pay me food tax."
Carter kept pace. "Your Grace is wise."
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