“Fine,” Jax says darkly. “It wasn’t pity. It was a rich lord riding through a small town, throwing some generosity to the poor folk of Briarlock. Maybe our taxes pay for a life of ease in the Crystal City, where you can borrow the king’s magic to solve all your problems, but here, all you’ve done is remind us of what we’ve suffered. Of what we lack.” His voice has grown sharp with disdain. “So forgive me, my lord. You have my thanks.” Lord Tycho looks like Jax has slapped him. Even Nora is silent.
