Traded to the tyrant
"Refined iron is under imperial embargo by royal decree. The King has commandeered all northern metals for the western legions."
"The King makes decrees in the capital, Admiral," I said, leaning in just enough to lower my voice below the roar of the ballroom orchestra. "The merchants in the high mountains trade with those who pay in silver and honor their treaties. We have no interest in feeding imperial armies that burn their own border towns."
Admiral Marrow went very still. The casual, festive air around him vanished, replaced by the razor-sharp focus of an old predator sensing a trap.
"That sounds dangerously close to treason, merchant," the Admiral murmured, his eyes darting briefly to