Mirabelle stood in the middle of the training courtyard and smiled.
Not because she had somehow accidentally acquired a Territory Development System.
No.
Today she was smiling because of grain.
Lots of grain.
Golden Thorn-grass covered nearly every available patch of stone.
Bundles of harvested stalks lay in neat piles beneath the warm afternoon sun. The scent of dried grass filled the air, mixing with the smell of heated stone and dust.
The courtyard itself was rectangular and usually reserved for training.
Weapon racks lined one wall.
Practice dummies occupied another.
Over the last few days, however, the soldiers had effectively been evicted in favor of agriculture.
Sunlight poured down from above.
Around the courtyard ran a covered walkway supported by pale stone columns and graceful arches. Cool shadows pooled beneath the roof while the center remained bathed in light.
Exactly what she needed.
A few servants waited nearby.
Owen stood closest to her.
