The Family Business

By the third night, the mob around Castle Thorn had grown so thick that their bonfires reached the river, making a constellation of pyres that stretched as far as King Oswald Thorn could see. “I swore my sandwich trees would’ve been the answer to this famine,” Oswald grumbled. “They are complaining about the famine, right?” Dribbin, the king’s wizened counselor, felt his throat go...