The meeting with Lord Tytos Blackwood was different. Tytos was a stern, cloak-wearing traditionalist who cared deeply about history. Rykker found him inspecting the perimeter of his camp, his raven-feather cloak shifting in the wind.
"Bracken wants to dig for mud?" Tytos asked skeptically after Rykker explained the proposal, omitting the part about the clay being on the Bracken side.
"He wants to lease the land rights to House Frey," Rykker corrected. "We will dismantle the mill. The mill that stands on top of what your maester claims is an ancient First Man burial site."
Rykker had done his homework in the Citadel archives—or rather, had paid a scribe to do it via raven. There was no burial site, but there could be.
Tytos stiffened. "A burial site?"
"The mill disturbs the earth," Rykker said solemnly. "If we convert the area to a transport road for the brickworks, we can pave over the sensitive ground, protecting it from… Bracken desecration."
It was nonsense. Beautiful, profitable nonsense. But it gave Tytos a moral victory. He wasn't giving up the mill; he was protecting his ancestors from Bracken industry.
"And the toll?" Tytos asked.
"Ten percent of every cart that crosses your land," Rykker promised. "Paid monthly. In gold."
Tytos looked across the river at the Bracken camp. "If Jonos agrees to tear that eyesore down… I will agree to the road."
The negotiations took three more days of back-and-forth shuttle diplomacy. Rykker spent his nights drafting contracts that were deliberately complex, ensuring that House Frey—specifically the operational entity he was creating—held the administration rights.
On the final day, the document was signed on a neutral flatboat in the middle of the river. Perwyn Frey stood in his shining armor, looking lordly, while Rykker did the work of pointing out signature lines.
As the lords departed, Perwyn whistled low. "You just turned a pile of rotting wood into a revenue stream. Father will be pleased. But where are we getting the gold to build a brickworks?"
"We aren't," Rykker said, rolling up the parchment. "I'm going to sell the development rights to a merchant guild in Maidenpool next week. We take the finder's fee and the administration cut. We don't lift a finger, Perwyn. We just own the paper."
Perwyn looked at the bastard with a mix of admiration and slight fear. "You're dangerous, Rykker."
"I'm useful," Rykker corrected. "Let's go home. I have a name to buy."