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“Some of us have a harder time defending our walls and keeping the beasts out of the valley,” came the first contribution from the Second of the Omisold Clan.

Sorahn Omisold was serious and composed as he stared fiercely with leonine eyes at the First of the Vyukovolds. Like his sister beside him, he was tall and lean, though clearly built like a warrior. Their clothes were the least fine of all the clans, just simple and practical.

“That is a worry for your clans, not mine.”

Iryana was really starting to dislike this clan leader. She let a little of her temper gain control as she turned toward him.

“May I remind you, First,” Iryana cut in, “of the responsibility you claimed from your connections with the duchess. Sometimes we must think past our own needs to those of people who might not have the same advantages as you. Doesn’t this sort of arrangement strengthen the border and thus the settlement? Is it not in the duchess’s best interest? And given the way things are changing out in the forests, we need to be proactive.”

The First of the Vyukovold clan stared at her intensely, lips twitching as if he were trying not to sneer.

Jesha coughed lightly, pulling everyone’s eyes back to her. “Another option we can discuss is trade. We have access, through one means or another, to all wells but fire. We would be happy to provide access and escorts in exchange for the goods we need. And of course, we can expand the trade we facilitate. There is already a stronger network being built by the King Commander and those brigades allied with him.”

They volleyed back a series of questions, demands, and arguments, which Iryana mostly tried to hold her tongue for. Her clan’s arrangements with the 18th were already established, and she hoped everyone else would come around.

But after hours of arguing details, with the Vyukovold First being defensive and uncooperative and the River Brigades holding firm, it didn’t feel like they had gotten anywhere.

“I will discuss the latest trade proposal with my heirs,” the Vyukovold First finally relented, though the way he said it didn’t instill any confidence that he’d change his mind.

Iryana cleared her throat. “Perhaps it’s time to take a—”

“Let’s break until after lunch,” the Vyukovold First announced.

Iryana didn’t hide her narrowed eyes.

Did he look down on her because she was not First of her clan? Because she was young? Or could he see how unqualified she was? She needed air.

Iryana pushed her chair back with a loud screech.

Before she had finished pulling on her hat and gloves, Iryana was already walking out onto the balcony. The air nipped at her fiercely, but the fire-forged gear fought back. Last night’s storm had cleared, though a fresh layer of snow had been deposited and blown up along the sides of the castle.

She could hear her uncle’s boots tapping against the snow-dusted stone behind her. No one else had decided to retreat into the cold, thankfully. She had no interest in feigning niceties at the moment.

“I’m not cut out for diplomacy. We should have sent Hadima.” Iryana wasn’t sure why she was vomiting all her fears at Dinhal; she never used to. She used to enjoy their silence, their gentle ignoring of all the pain and horrors going on around them.

“Hadima isn’t Third.”

Helpful.

“No, but Hadima knows how to get people to cooperate,” she said.

“Perhaps. But she doesn’t have the vision for this that you do.”

Iryana slumped, leaning over a wall that looked down into the castle’s main courtyard.

She was working through her self-directed speech about ignoring her fears, adding a few lines about how it didn’t matter that she felt incapable, when the doors to the balcony opened.

The Omisold Second and his sister walked toward them, bundled up more than Iryana and her uncle. Their steps weren’t slow and meandering; they were headed straight for her, strides long with intent.

The only bit of Sorahn she could see around his hood and coat was a gentle oval face and a short-trimmed beard. His sister, Mandisha, was as tall and broad as her brother and had the same face shape. They would have looked nearly identical were it not for the more delicate and feminine features on her face.

“Third,” Sorahn addressed her with a respectful nod, then turned to her uncle, “Gyen Dinhal.”

They returned the greetings, and Iryana waited nervously for what they’d come for.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would like a few private words.” Sorahn betrayed nothing in his tone.

Dinhal stilled at her side, but Iryana nodded at him. Mandisha led Dinhal to the other end of the balcony, starting up a conversation about their sled dogs. She was grateful that he listened and wasn’t overly protective or pushy like an older clan member could be.