“Winter is coming,” one of his advisors said, holding a quill as he stood before an inkwell and some parchment. So far he’d only written down a few random orders involving shipping, plus Leon’s opinion of upcoming marriages between high-blood families in the Hillock west of the Kingstrip. While Leon had no official say in such matters, his opinion had meant both the creation and destruction of many engagements.

“What do I care about winter?” Leon said as he took another bite. “I have enough fat on me to hibernate with the bears. The wind can only tickle me while I laugh.”

“I more meant the fruit,” the advisor said. “Try not to get too addicted to the plums. They come all the way from Ker, and I doubt any more shipments will arrive. I’ve heard reports of an early frost.”

“A shame,” Leon said. He sucked the rest of the fruit into his mouth and chewed around the pit. “So, what word from our little puppet?” he asked, slobbering the whole while.

“Gerand Crold has taken the tutor Haern into custody, although it appears the boy, Aaron, escaped just before the soldiers stormed the home.”

“Little runt knows how to run and hide, huh?” Leon laughed. “Sounds like his father. Stung him with the venom of a sea-mantis, and he still escaped. Have our men keep an eye out for him. He’d be a lovely bargaining chip. Remember that wagon of peaches Thren ambushed on the Kingstrip? He had his men piss all over them before feeding them to herds of swine. I’d love to piss all over his little boy’s head…”

“Perhaps if the gods are kind, you will get your wish,” the advisor said in a dull tone. “We’ve also received a report from one of our cutthroats inside the Gemcroft home. Maynard has thrown his daughter, Alyssa, into the cold cells for supposedly planning to overthrow him.”

“All children plan to overthrow their parents,” Leon said as he grabbed another plum from the basket beside his enormous chair. “That’s why I never had any.”