Persephone figured he didn’t understand the question. She pushed up to her knees. “I think they want to know what steps you plan to take to prevent what happened to Dureya, and possibly Nadak, from happening here.”
Her comment drew a sharp look from Tressa, whose lips pulled taut.
“There’s nothing to do,” Konniger replied. “It won’t happen here.
We’ve
done nothing wrong.”
“But if a Fhrey has been killed, then—” Delwin started.
“
We
didn’t kill him,” Konniger said, cutting him off. “They have no reason to bother us.”
Tressa smirked. “Dureyans have always caused trouble. Serves them right. I call it justice. They brought the wrath of the divine down on themselves. But we have nothing to fear.”
“What about Nadak?” Gifford asked. “What’d they do?”
“We don’t know anything about Nadak,” Konniger said, then nodded at his wife and drew himself up straighter.
Not the best way to start,
Persephone thought. She knew firsthand how difficult it could be, making decisions while everyone watched. When people were scared and looking for someone to take that fear away, it was a mistake to leave them idle to speculate and worry.
“But there are still some things we can do, yes?” Persephone asked.
So much for being quiet and invisible. How long did that last, five minutes? But five minutes ago, Dureya and Nadak still existed.
All eyes shifted between the new chieftain and the old chieftain’s widow.
Just say yes. Say,
Of course,
and if you can’t think of anything, ask me later when no one is looking. But don’t leave them lost.
Konniger declared, “There are things beyond the control of men, and the will of the gods is one of them.”
Seriously?
“I agree. We can’t control what the gods will do,” Persephone said. “But we aren’t helpless, either. We could send a delegation to Alon Rhist explaining how we had nothing to do with the actions of Dureyans. And we could send messengers to the other dahls, like the men of Nadak who came here. We should let others know what’s going on. At the very least, we should send someone to Nadak to check out the smoke Tope saw. Maybe they weren’t attacked. Perhaps they just had a fire that got out of control. If Nadak has also been destroyed, that’s much different than if it was only Dureya. We need to know for sure, as that bit of information significantly changes what we should do.”
“Persephone”—Tressa interceded for her husband, straightening in the chair as she spoke—“we grieve for your loss. But Reglan is dead, and Konniger is the chieftain. I think your voice would best serve the dahl by being silent.”
Persephone would have ignored the verbal slap if Tressa hadn’t mentioned Reglan. At least that was what she told herself afterward. Instead, she said, “If you were paying attention, Tressa, you’d know I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Konniger patted his wife’s hand, probably to defuse the tension in the room. “And if we find out Nadak has been attacked? And if no one at Alon Rhist will talk to us. What then?”
“If this is true, if the gods have declared war and won’t negotiate a peace, we need to gather what we can and leave.”
“Leave?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. “And go where?”
Having me give you all the answers in front of a crowd is no way to instill confidence.
Persephone had hoped Konniger could find his way if she pointed him in the right direction. Apparently, that was wishful thinking. “At this point, I’d say south is a good direction. I’d aim for Dahl Tirre to give us as much time as possible to—”
“To what?” Konniger asked. “In Tirre, we’d have our backs to the sea, without walls or food. And do you think Tirre would welcome us? Such an invasion would spark a clan war. And for what? If the gods are after us, what would a few more miles matter?”
“The time to organize and prepare.”
“For what?”
“For war,”
Her comment drew a sharp look from Tressa, whose lips pulled taut.
“There’s nothing to do,” Konniger replied. “It won’t happen here.
We’ve
done nothing wrong.”
“But if a Fhrey has been killed, then—” Delwin started.
“
We
didn’t kill him,” Konniger said, cutting him off. “They have no reason to bother us.”
Tressa smirked. “Dureyans have always caused trouble. Serves them right. I call it justice. They brought the wrath of the divine down on themselves. But we have nothing to fear.”
“What about Nadak?” Gifford asked. “What’d they do?”
“We don’t know anything about Nadak,” Konniger said, then nodded at his wife and drew himself up straighter.
Not the best way to start,
Persephone thought. She knew firsthand how difficult it could be, making decisions while everyone watched. When people were scared and looking for someone to take that fear away, it was a mistake to leave them idle to speculate and worry.
“But there are still some things we can do, yes?” Persephone asked.
So much for being quiet and invisible. How long did that last, five minutes? But five minutes ago, Dureya and Nadak still existed.
All eyes shifted between the new chieftain and the old chieftain’s widow.
Just say yes. Say,
Of course,
and if you can’t think of anything, ask me later when no one is looking. But don’t leave them lost.
Konniger declared, “There are things beyond the control of men, and the will of the gods is one of them.”
Seriously?
“I agree. We can’t control what the gods will do,” Persephone said. “But we aren’t helpless, either. We could send a delegation to Alon Rhist explaining how we had nothing to do with the actions of Dureyans. And we could send messengers to the other dahls, like the men of Nadak who came here. We should let others know what’s going on. At the very least, we should send someone to Nadak to check out the smoke Tope saw. Maybe they weren’t attacked. Perhaps they just had a fire that got out of control. If Nadak has also been destroyed, that’s much different than if it was only Dureya. We need to know for sure, as that bit of information significantly changes what we should do.”
“Persephone”—Tressa interceded for her husband, straightening in the chair as she spoke—“we grieve for your loss. But Reglan is dead, and Konniger is the chieftain. I think your voice would best serve the dahl by being silent.”
Persephone would have ignored the verbal slap if Tressa hadn’t mentioned Reglan. At least that was what she told herself afterward. Instead, she said, “If you were paying attention, Tressa, you’d know I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Konniger patted his wife’s hand, probably to defuse the tension in the room. “And if we find out Nadak has been attacked? And if no one at Alon Rhist will talk to us. What then?”
“If this is true, if the gods have declared war and won’t negotiate a peace, we need to gather what we can and leave.”
“Leave?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. “And go where?”
Having me give you all the answers in front of a crowd is no way to instill confidence.
Persephone had hoped Konniger could find his way if she pointed him in the right direction. Apparently, that was wishful thinking. “At this point, I’d say south is a good direction. I’d aim for Dahl Tirre to give us as much time as possible to—”
“To what?” Konniger asked. “In Tirre, we’d have our backs to the sea, without walls or food. And do you think Tirre would welcome us? Such an invasion would spark a clan war. And for what? If the gods are after us, what would a few more miles matter?”
“The time to organize and prepare.”
“For what?”
“For war,”
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