The parchment was covered in meticulous records of every income collected over the past several decades.
A grain caravan from the Reach had paid fifty Silver Stags. A band of merchants selling Dornish wine had left behind a hundred Silver Stags.
Even a minor noble passing through had been forced to pay ten Gold Dragons in tolls.
Little by little, a river swelled; grain by grain, a tower rose.
When Suleiman's gaze fell upon the astronomical sum representing the total tax revenue, even his normally steady heart couldn't help but skip a beat.
This brought in far more money than stealing the farmers' food from their hands. The soldiers outside were still cheering, but Suleiman could no longer hear them.
Suleiman rested a hand on the book's cover. Perhaps this was where he could start: control the Kingsroad, while Foulkeep controlled the point where it intersected with the Trident.
He slowly rolled up the parchment and set it on the table. The candles flickered in the hall, casting his shadow on the wall. A thought came to him.
Suleiman rose and walked over to the Leger family's enormous map table. His gaze followed the Kingsroad, then turned to Foulkeep.
His finger came to rest lightly on the map, on Foulkeep.
Now, this pitiful little tower had changed. It could be an inexhaustible river, flowing with gold and silver.
It could be the jewel on the Trident!
Whoever controlled it would have the Riverlands by the throat.
But perhaps it was too soon to think about all that.
Suleiman looked beyond the hall. For now, he needed to figure out how to crack that tortoise shell.
Night lay heavy over Willow Town like a swath of black cloth. Torches flickered beneath the towering stone walls of the inner keep.
Suleiman stood