Chapter 13: The Merchant's Game
Merriton's streets were no longer the crumbling husks they had once been. Brick by brick, stall by stall, life returned—tentative, wary, but real. Yet beneath the surface, something darker stirred.
Jack stood in the new granary, watching as townsfolk unloaded sacks of wheat delivered under the royal grant. A year ago, they wouldn't have trusted him to hold a shovel. Now, they greeted him with nods, even smiles.
It made him feel heavier than proud.
"Sir," Damon said, entering. "There's a merchant here from Delvin. Says he wishes to speak to the 'lord of Merriton.'"
Jack raised a brow. "We don't use titles here."
"He insists."
---
The merchant waited by the town square, surrounded by guards in polished bronze. He was short, wide, and carried himself like a man used to getting what he wanted.
"Lord Jack," he said with a deep bow. "I am Perros of the South Guild. Word of your... potato has reached every corner of the merchant road."
Jack gave a noncommittal nod. "We're not selling it yet. Not outside the kingdom."
Perros smiled, his teeth gold-trimmed. "That's exactly why I'm here. I represent a collective of noble investors who see value in securing exclusive rights—before others beat us to it."
Jack crossed his arms. "Exclusive rights?"
Perros pulled out a scroll. "A simple deal. You sign, and your 'Merriton Root' becomes a registered property under the South Guild's name. We handle distribution, pricing, and royalty. You get ten percent of all profits."
Damon shifted beside Jack.
Jack didn't even look at the paper. "And the kingdom?"
"The kingdom receives nothing. They didn't create it. You did."
Jack took a breath.
For a moment, he imagined it—wealth, comfort, a future away from court politics and cold glares. But then his thoughts wandered…
He remembered a child. Thin as a reed. Filthy. He had passed him on his third visit to the outer villages of Merriton. The child had smiled at him, clutching a crust of dried bread.
The next time Jack visited, that child was gone.
"Died," one of the villagers said. "Starved while we waited for seed to grow."
Jack's hands tightened into fists.
---
Back in Merriton, Jack exhaled slowly.
"No."
Perros blinked. "Pardon?"
"I said no," Jack repeated. "It belongs to the people. And the kingdom. Not to a guild looking to own hunger."
The merchant's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret that, my lord."
Jack met his gaze. "Maybe. But I'll sleep better than you."
---
That night, Damon paced in Jack's room.
"You made an enemy today," he warned. "Perros isn't a small fish. He's the mouth of something deeper. Marquis Rook's kind."
Jack rubbed his temple. "Let them come. I won't sell my soul to men who eat from silver while children chew on roots."
He stood, walked to the window, and looked at the sky. The moon was high.
"Besides," he murmured, "I've already been hated before. If they think it'll break me... they're late."
---
In Delvin, Perros stormed into a shadowed hall lined with silent men.
"He refused," he spat. "That peasant-born worm—he turned me down."
Marquis Rook leaned forward, wine swirling in his goblet.
"Then perhaps," he said, "we need to remind the peasant that soil only grows what we allow."