Auraya glanced at the other White. Rian sat straight in his chair, but his gaze was distant. Even when he looked at Auraya, and acknowledged her with a nod, he seemed distracted. Mairae looked exactly as she had ten years before when she had come to Oralyn to negotiate with the Dunwayans. This evidence of the White’s immortality sent a shiver down Auraya’s spine. One day, she thought, someone will look at me and marvel at this sign of the gods’ powers.

Meeting Auraya’s gaze, Mairae smiled, then turned to look at Juran. The leader of the White had closed his eyes.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. Once again, we thank you for the peace and prosperity you have brought. We thank you for the opportunity to serve you. We thank you for the powers you have given us, that allow us to guide and help the men and women, old and young, of this world.”

“We thank you,” the others murmured. Auraya joined them, having been taught the ritual by Dyara.

“Today we will use the best of our wisdom in your service, but should we err in our judgment or work contrary to your great plans we ask you to speak to us and make your wishes known.”

“Guide us,” Auraya recited along with the others.

Juran opened his eyes and looked around the table.

“The gods have made it known to us that they wish for all of Northern Ithania to be united,” he said, looking at Auraya. “Not by war or conquest, but through a peaceful alliance. They wish for all the lands to choose and negotiate the terms of their alliance with us. Those lands that are not predominantly Circlian are more likely to ally with us for reasons of politics and trade rather than obedience to the gods. Peoples like the Siyee and Elai, who are suspicious of landwalkers, need to learn to trust us. Those peoples who are predominantly Circlian would obey an order from the gods, but if they felt an alliance was not fair or beneficial they would cause trouble for other lands.”

Juran looked at Dyara. “Let us discuss those allies we already have. Dyara?”

Dyara sighed and rolled her eyes. “The Arrins of Genria and the King of Toren are still antagonizing each other. Every time one of the Arrin families produces a son—which they seem to be doing every few months—Berro puts restrictions on imports from Genria. The royal high priest reminds him of the terms of the alliance, but it always takes several weeks for the restrictions to be lifted.”

“And the Genrians? How are they taking this?”