Suleiman said nothing. The air in the Lord's Hall grew still in the wake of his silence.
Lady Roslin gripped the armrests, her knuckles turning white. She couldn't read any emotion on that far-too-young face, which only made her more anxious.
She had no choice but to speak again, her voice carrying a faint, almost imperceptible plea. "Young Suleiman, surely you have another way, don't you?"
Suleiman's gaze swept across everyone present before settling on Lady Roslin once more. "This is the only way, my lady. Gold Dragons for swords—there are always brave men to be found when the reward is great."
"Ten Silver Stags, or even one Gold Dragon, for every Ironborn head. I believe the soldiers and farmers in the city would instantly turn from sheep into the bravest lions."
Everyone in the hall fell silent. They had to admit this was certainly the most effective method, but also the least likely to be accepted.
Lady Roslin's face turned deathly pale. She all but leapt from her chair and cried out, "No!"
Her voice twisted with agitation, stripped of all the poise befitting a noblewoman.
"Absolutely not! The wealth of House Deddings! It was amassed over generations! It is meant to protect us against unforeseen troubles!
"How can we! How can we squander it so carelessly on those farmers?"
Suleiman looked at her, the faintest smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He said nothing. He had known this would be the result. This was the fundamental difference between the old nobility and the new. The old nobility regarded everything they owned as their rightful due, sacred and inviolable property. Asking them to part with even a penny was like cutting flesh from their bodies—especially when it came to these ancient bloodline houses.
The new nobility, before they