"My queen, my wine is the balm our thirsty nation needs. You will be delighted."
Corinn doubted delight would play any part in her emotions. She did, however, hide a keen interest behind her intentionally bland facade. She had waited years for this vintage. Balm for the thirsty nation. That would be a useful thing, indeed. It had not taken her long after seizing power to realize that her brother-however he had managed it-had left her gravely handicapped. The people were off mist, and their memories of the nightmares the drug had begun to induce must have been vivid, for none of them returned to the pipe. That was fine in the early days after Hanish's demise. There was work to be done, and more than enough for the people to focus on.
Before long, however, their clear-eyed awareness began to be a problem. They set their sights on her and started to grow disgruntled. First one nation and then another grumbled for independence, complained about being overtaxed, claimed that agents in the night still stole their children, argued Aliver's old pledges as if they were words from some holy book. Corinn was sure that she had to maneuver, cajole, bribe, flatter, and punish at a frenetic rate precisely because the people were no longer drugged. No Akaran monarch since Tinhadin had worked as hard as she had. If she had clamped down on dissent forcefully, it was the people's own fault! The Numrek were hers to deploy, and use them she did.
Initially, she had asked the league to find some way to spread the drug again. After all, it would upset their trade with the Lothan Aklun. Those foreigners still wanted quota. That was why the league had taken over the Outer Isles, to make them into a plantation for raising quota. But the Known World, it seemed, no longer wanted mist in return for it. The league had urged caution, patience. They said that to simply put the people back on mist would be a mistake, even if it were possible. It was too easily recognizable, too much a sign of their old condition. Some might take to a slightly altered variation, yes, but others would chafe and foment against it. All still remembered Aliver and considered him their deliverer from mist. It would not do for Corinn to simply reverse that. They convinced her to wait for a new product to control the people, and in the meantime she accepted payment for the quota in coin and jewel and a variety of other things needed to rebuild the empire. That she couldn't argue with.
It was seven years before they finally came to her saying the new drug had been perfected. It was, they said, made from the same base elements as mist, but they had managed to formulate it in such a way that it could be consumed day or night, without altering one's ability to work, sleep, or procreate. It had proven difficult to contain it in liquid form and in a substance that did not degrade over time. This was important to them, though, as they were convinced the drug should not be smoked. It should seem nothing like mist. This time, they urged, it should be consumed as a beverage, a beverage like… wine. Prios had long had a history of wine making. With Corinn's permission, and under league supervision, the operations had been expanded to cover as much of the island as possible. The result, finally, was this Prios vintage, a wine with a measure of the formula mixed in before bottling.
"Watching the test subjects," Paddel said, "one almost wants to throw reason away and join them." He leaned forward, beads of sweat clinging to his tattooed hairline. "The vintage, it isn't grandiose. It isn't unpredictable like mist. It doesn't take one over completely. Instead, from the first drink of it one feels the hum of mild bliss, a constant, happy sense of expectation. On the wine, they are convinced that something wonderful is about to happen. Always about to happen. The feeling, when properly dosed, never wears off. They never wonder why this wonderful thing hasn't happened; they only know that it is going to. It's coming. Always coming."
"And yet they still work?"
Vigorous nodding. "They do. Of course they do. Why wouldn't they? They feel wonderful, so what's a few more hours cracking rocks or whatever labor they're at?"
Corinn glanced at Rhrenna, the only other person in the room. Her small features did not do justice to the sharp mind behind them, but Corinn liked that about her. With her freckled Meinish skin and pale blue eyes she could sit within most rooms without drawing any more attention than an average household servant. She was much more, though. She asked, "And when they are deprived of it?"
"That's another bit of brilliance," Paddel said, addressing the queen as if she had asked the question. "If we withhold it, the test subjects feel only a vague unease, like the start of hunger pains or like a chill. And what does one do when hungry?" The vintner paused, grinning. "Eats! What does one do against a chill? Puts on a cloak. Nobody thinks 'Why am I slave to this hunger?' or 'Damn this chill, I'll fight it!' No, they do what comes naturally, Your Majesty. The same is true of the wine. In our trials the patients don't even understand that they crave the vintage. They'll do anything to get it, but they don't even know they want it. And I do mean anything…"
Corinn watched him rub his fingertips across his thumbs at some memory of this anything. "What of our military? If our own soldiers drink this stuff, will it make them unwilling to fight? Peaceful?"
"Not at all. They'll rush to battle confident of victory! Understand that the vintage-Oh, how should I say…" Paddel squinted his entire face as he searched for the words to explain himself. "They see the world with gilded highlights, yes, but they still see the world. They still walk through the motions of life as before, and honor their responsibilities. They honor them even better, in fact! You, my queen, will rule an empire of happy citizens. They'll do whatever you wish, and they'll never see their lives for what they are-complete and total drudgery!"
"And how do we control it?" Rhrenna asked. "Much of the empire drinks wine. Even children drink it diluted. How do we control who is on it and who is not?"
Paddel responded directly to the queen, grinning through his words. "That is for her majesty to determine, but in my opinion… Well, in my opinion, each and every person in the land could drink the stuff. They would all be happier for it, so what's the harm?"
Rhrenna, catching the queen's eye, expressed her loathing with quick pursing of her thin lips. Corinn silently agreed. She had never heard of anything worse, but she did not say so or let any emotion other than vague displeasure show on her face. "Fine. Continue production as you will, then. Store it carefully. Securely."
"Of course. We do. We do. The Ishtat Inspectorate guards the warehouse. When, Your Majesty, might we begin distribution? Sire Dagon said the league are ready and will aid at your pleasure."
"At my pleasure is correct," Corinn replied. "You may go now."
Go he did, ushered out by Rhrenna, although he clearly had to swallow a host of questions and declarations to do so. Once the two left the room, Corinn inhaled deeply, trying to loosen the tension that had built in her as she spoke with the vintner. She smelled him-a sweet, salty scent as if his sweat were some sort of sugared seawater. She would ask Rhrenna to have incense lit when she returned. A soothing scent-that was what she needed. Something to let her think clearly on this.
She loathed the pleasure Paddel seemed to take in the venture. Coming from him the entire project seemed tainted by his vile fingertips. But that should not matter, she knew. It was the result that she cared about; and the results, by all accounts, were as advantageous as she could have hoped. She understood now why the league had been willing to wait to see the formula and the means of distribution perfected. She had only to give the word. The wine would flow through the veins of trade, to markets and taverns, to sit on tables in every corner of the empire. It would wet the lips of laborers and thieves, farmers and merchants, scholars and officials. It would be hard to keep it from the gilded goblets of the aristocracy, but they were as troublesome in their simpering ways as ranting prophets like Barad were among the masses. Let them all be deluded. Let the world rest for a while without strife. Even Aliver could not have objected to that.