The grain ship docked at dawn.
Duke Magnus Troydís watched from the pier, his ring‑covered fingers drumming on the wood. Behind him, a crowd of fishermen, women, children – all thin, all with hollow eyes, all waiting.
"Open the holds!" ordered the ship's captain.
The grain sacks descended in a chain of arms. Wheat, barley, corn – smells not felt on the islands for months. The people applauded. Some wept.
Magnus did not applaud. He just breathed deeply.
"Count Mercudoth keeps his word," said the captain, coming down the gangplank. "The agreement is for one year. Renewable if the harvests go well."
"Renewable," repeated Magnus. "As if hunger were an option."
The captain did not answer. He received payment in silver and gold coins, and left.
Magnus remained on the pier, watching the ship sail away.
"King Zayan will be pleased," said his wife, Melinda, beside him.
"King Zayan is in Decatry." Magnus turned. "His pleasure does not fill bellies."
"It does. News travels."
"News travels. Food does not."
Melinda did not reply.
Magnus looked at the horizon. The sea was calm. The seagulls cried.
'One year', he thought. 'And then?'
The answer did not come. The wind blew cold.