I pick up the knife first. It is heavy, solid silver, but the handle has been cast and chased to resemble a gnarled oak branch. The texture looks rough, like bark that would snag silk, but under my thumb, it is perfectly smooth, polished to a mirror shine. The blade curves gracefully, mimicking the sweep of a willow leaf, sharp and dangerous.
And there, winding through the silver ‘bark’, is a delicate vein of pure gold. It looks as though the metal grew that way, nature fused with wealth.
“The balance?” I ask, tossing the knife lightly in the air and catching it. It turns perfectly.
“Weighted in the handle,” Gunter explains. “So the blade does not tip off the plate.”
I pick up the spoon. The bowl is a deep, fluted tulip petal. It is almost too pretty to put soup in. The fork’s tines splay like roots, aggressive yet elegant.
“They are… organic,” I say, turning the fork over in the light. “They look like something a Dryad would use to eat a trespasser.”
Gunter blinks. “I… hope that is a compliment?”
“It is the highest praise,” I assure him.
I flip the knife over. On the smooth, flat section where the thumb rests, the inscription is engraved in tiny, precise letters: ‘Bounty provided by the Fey Embassy. A Gift from Princess Víl?.’
“Legible,” I note. “Even for a King who is half-blind from wine.”
“We had to use our finest engravers for the script,” Gunter says, rubbing his eyes. “It is small work.”
“It is essential work,” I correct. “Every time he lifts a fork to his mouth, he must remember who feeds his vanity.”
I look at the rows of velvet rolls behind him. “Is the full service ready?”
“Three hundred settings,” Gunter confirms. Polished and packed. We are just finishing the serving ladles. I took the liberty of shaping them like large lily pads.”
“Genius,” I say. “You will go far, Gunter. Perhaps I should commission a tea service next? I have a feeling the Queen would appreciate a teapot that looks like a pumpkin.”
Gunter pales slightly at the thought of more organic shapes, but he nods. “As you wish, My Lady.”
“Pack them,” I order. “Deliver them to the palace kitchen entrance. Tell the head cook they are to be washed and ready for the King’s dinner tonight. I want him eating off gold vines before the sun sets.”
I start to turn away, then pause, glancing at a bin in the corner filled with rejected pieces—forks with slightly crooked tines, spoons where the gold inlay hadn't set perfectly.
“Gunter,” I point to the bin. “The mistakes. What happens to them?”
“We melt them down, My Lady. Recover the silver.”
“Don’t,” I say. “Polish them up. Smooth out the rough edges. And send them to the Embassy barracks.”
Gunter stares at me. “For the guards?”
“My guards work hard,” I say, smoothing my gloves. “And a man fights better when he knows he is valued. Let them eat their stew with silver spoons that look like branches. Let them feel like lords. It builds loyalty.”
I drop a final bag of coins on the table. “This is the bonus for the rush job”.
“Excellent work, Gunter. You have turned metal into a garden. Now, let us see if we can get anything to grow in this stony soil of a kingdom.”
Once we’re back in the carriage, Melina looks at me. “How soon do you want to have this party?”
“In a few days, if we can manage it, but I’d like to have it before midwinter, and all the festivals begin,” I reply.
Here in Centis, midwinter signals the start of the season of religious feast days. Many are accompanied by great festivals where everyone attends, both out of social obligation and religious duty. I don’t want to compete with that. I want ladies of the court to come. They, more than most, need to have accounts at the Fey Bank.
Melina nods, “There’s still time for that yet. You just met with Brigit today. Let her work her magic.”
“I need Gerhardt to work his, too,” I reply, “I need that ledger to be ready for the women to be able to open accounts.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Can you explain all that?” Melina asks.
I nod and launch into the topic. “It’s not a simple explanation, or a short one. One of the reasons women here are taken advantage of so much is they have no money. Money, in quanitity, confers power. Let’s use the Guilds as an example. One artisan, alone, has no power. Band them together into a guild, and even though the wealth is distributed, now they have power.”
Melina nods, following me so far.
“With that wealth comes political power. The Guilds petition Oskar for laws. They give him gifts. They pay for the right to stand before him and state their case. Who makes the laws here?”
“Oskar, the dukes, his advisors,” Melina replies.
“What do all of them have in common?” I ask
“They’re men,” Melina replies.
I shake my head. “No they’re rich men who write laws to help them keep and grow their wealth. Laws are not written in the town square. They are written in back rooms and hallways. Admission to those places costs money. Money, which women here are forbidden to have.”
I see the gimmer of understanding in Melina as she processes this.
I point out the path. “With no money, how will women ever get the laws here changed?”
Melina nods, “I think I see.”
I smile. “That’s only the start of it. Money is freedom. How many women stay with abusive husbands just so that they can eat? If they no longer need that man, how many would flee over the border into Codegor? Money buys the right to say ‘no more’. Money buys them a carriage ride to the border, a bribe to a guard, or a room in place where no one strikes them. It doesn’t just remove the leash, it cuts the collar from their necks.”
Melina’s eyes are large as she considers this.
I grimace slightly, as I talk about doweries. “Then we have the whole idea of women buying a husband. You bring money into the marriage but you’re not allowed to control any of it. Everything you own, everything you have, is because your husband permits it. If he’s a good husband and a good man, then all is well. If he’s not, you are forced to sit and watch him fritter it away on booze, cards, foolish investments, or even other women. If they can hoard a few coins, here and there, from their household expenses, they can reclaim a part of that dowry.”
“Surely their husbands would be angry, if they’re caught. Why would women risk their wrath?” Melina asks
I try to answer another way. “Melina, you look at a gold coin and see a new hair ribbon or a pair of gloves. I look at a gold coin and I see a key.”
“A key to what?” Melina asks, confused.
“A key to the gilded cage that all these men want to see all of us trapped in. Listen to me. In this kingdom, a woman is only as safe as her husband is kind. If he turns cruel, she is trapped. Why? She cannot buy food. She cannot buy a room at an inn. She cannot buy a horse. The laws strip her of resources so that she must stay or starve.”
Melina nods.
“Having a Fey Bank here changes the equation. If a woman has gold her husband doesn’t know about, she has a choice. She can choose to stay because she wants to, not because she has to. It’s the start of a revolution and all it costs are few coins slipped into a bodice that get deposited into a Fey Bank. Since it’s a Fey bank, the funds can be withdrawn from any other branch, anywhere else.”
Melina sits back in the carriage seat, mouth open as she processes all this.
“The laws here are stupid and foolish. They cut their own noses to spite their face,” I grumble.
“What do you mean?” Melina asks.
“Allow me to introduce you to the concept of dead capital. Every coin that’s been hoarded and buried under flour or floor boards or even in gardens, is a coin, that for all practical purposes has ceased to exist.”
“But surely,” Melina asks, “saving is a virtue? My mother always said a penny saved is a penny earned.”
“That’s simple household economics. I’m speaking on a much larger scale. In the grand scheme of a kingdom, a penny buried is a penny murdered. You recall the card game?” I ask.
Melina nods, “It was all about flow.”
I smile at her, “Money is always about flow. Think of it like a river. The river flows so the grist mill turns, the sawmill turns, the factory hammers rise and fall.”
Melina nods, following me, so I continue, “Now imagine what happens to that river if all the women come and start scooping water out of it and burying it. Some will take a cup full. Some will fill jars. Others will fill barrels. What happens to the river?”
“It dries up,” Melina says.
“Exactly right,” I say, “The wheels stop turning because the water isn’t flowing. Merchants can’t make change, so they lose sales. The smith can’t buy iron. The miller can’t buy grain. None of it happens because there isn’t enough wealth but because what wealth there is, is in hiding. It’s tucked away in cellars, in gardens, in flour bins, and under floor boards.”
I fish a coin out of my purse, “If we stop for tea, I use the coin to pay. The tea shop owner uses this coin to buy more cakes. The baker uses this coin to buy a new pan from the blacksmith. The blacksmith uses it to buy ale at the tavern. That is one coin, on one day, doing the work five coins. This is called velocity. Think of it like the speed at which the river flows.”
I drop the coin back into my purse, “If I take the coin and bury it under the flour, it does nothing. It buys nothing. It is, for all practical purposes, dead.”
I lean back in seat, smiling, “This is why the Fey Bank is so important. It’s not just a vault. It’s a resurrection machine.”
Melina frowns at me puzzled, “How so?”
I grin, “When Duchess Priscilla puts her thousand gold coins in my vault, she feels safe. She thinks the gold is sitting there, waiting for her. And she is right. She can withdraw it anytime, from any of the branches of the Royal Fey Bank.”
Melina looks skeptical, “How does that make the bank a resurrection machine?”
My grin turns into a smirk, “While her gold sits in the bank, I’ve loaned it to the candlemakers. He uses it to buy wax and wick. He hires apprentices. He sells candles and pays me back with interest. The Duchess feels rich because she has the gold in her account. The Candlemaker feels rich because he has the gold in his hand to build his business. The same gold is now working for two people at once. The Bank is rich because it collects the interest.”
Melina’s eyes go wide. "That... that sounds like a trick. Like magic."
"It is some of the most powerful magic in the world, Melina," I say. "It is called Fractional Reserve Banking. We are going to take all that dead gold rotting under floorboards, and bring it here, to the bank, where we can bring it back to life. We are going to refill the river. Oskar thinks I am just building a building. He doesn't realize I am about to double the size of his economy simply by convincing his women to stop burying their power."
My grin turns feral and sharp, “The best part is that these men will have to come to me to access to that money.”
financial literacy as subversion, wealth as agency, and one exhausted artisan who has unwillingly become a pioneer of Fey?inspired silversmithing.
- safekeeping of wealth
- grain and silver loans
- interest?bearing credit
- long?distance transfer records
- accurate accounting tablets
transformational force, especially for women trapped by systems designed to limit their autonomy. Melina’s realization in this chapter that money is a key echoes exactly why the Ishtari priestesses used economic tools to empower their communities thousands of years ago.
- Gunter survives artistic torment
- the King is about to dine off political symbolism
- the guards are about to feel like royalty
- and Oskar still has no idea he’s living above a financial earthquake
ancient?world?inspired economic witchcraft.
Your turn:
- What do you think of her policy of aggressive kindness?
Let me know your answer in the comments.