Dasheill's gaze flicked briefly toward him. "Then perhaps our concerns overlap, Saint Duke."
"That is all for now, Your Majesty."
The Emperor nodded once. "Granted. Proceed cautiously."
Dasheill bowed and stepped back. His eyes met Silver's for the briefest moment before he returned to his place.
Next came the Duke of the South, Antonious Revaiosa presenting with smile that never reached his eyes.
"Your Majesty," he began smoothly, "our southern fields are thriving, but certain crops—particularly the golden vine—have succumbed to a spreading blight. We suspect contaminated irrigation or perhaps alchemical tampering."
The Emperor's voice cooled. "Have your apothecaries investigate immediately. If it is sabotage, I want the culprits found."
"As you command," Antonious said, bowing low.
The Duke of the West followed the tan burly man that seem to be as careless as he appeared to be when he asked for a dance. His face still flushed from drinking too much wine.
