He pulled his attention back to the Council meeting, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the Council members, after their initial shock, were actually pulling things together. Surprised? No—astonished. He truly hadn’t thought they would bury their differences and get straight down to working together, burying feuds and sparring and jockeying for power so quickly—

But they were! The horseshoe-shaped table buzzed with half a dozen overlapping conversations, as the Councilors dropped their political differences and settled down to the task at hand. Sendar somehow kept track of it all; Selenay just kept track of who was in need of a page, of writing materials, or just another pitcher of drink. As the time candles burned down, Selenay sent more pages for food and drink, while the Council organized and coordinated the resources of their territories, Guilds, crafts, and associations. They were tallying up what could be brought down South immediately, what could be collected in a fortnight or a moon, what could be spared, and how much could be done and still leave just enough to keep everyone from starving to death over winter, and no more. Because now, finally, they all realized that even if the entire kingdom was left impoverished, that ruthless stripping of resources still had to be done in the face of the enormous threat that the Tedrels posed. Finally, finally, they understood. And at least now that they understood, they were prepared to act, and act swiftly, with no argument. The shock over, they were showing their mettle. Even Lord Gartheser.

“Better hungry and cold than dead and cold,” said Lady Donrevy grimly. That seemed to sum up everyone’s feelings.

Not before time, but at least it was in time. Alberich settled his face into a mask of indifference. It was time for him to observe, and nothing more. As the candlemarks passed, the daylight faded, and pages brought and took away laden and empty platters and pitchers, he watched and listened.

His time to act would come later.

* * *

“No, and no, and no!”

Selenay was in a temper; losing patience with her maidservant entirely, she pulled the useless gowns out of the traveling chest, wadded them up, and threw them on the floor. She did not want the creature to try and foist the blasted things off on her again.

“I will not take those gowns, or these gowns, or any gowns at all!” she snapped, as the maid snatched the dresses up with an expression of shock and offense, and smoothed them hastily. Selenay felt a pang of guilt over the crumpled and wrinkled state of the delicate white silks and satins, raimes and linens—but not enough to show that she felt any guilt. “How many times must I tell you? I’m going to a battlefield, not a fete, a ball, a state visit, or a festival!”