"Mhm."
"Fortify them," Renan says, like I already answered. "I'll figure out the retreat path later. Moving on."
The elite exchange glances. Renan grins at them, daring someone to comment.
No one comments.
Iowyn's hand drifts toward her ribs. Stops.
She needs to rest. She needs food. When did she last—
Her stomach growls.
Small.
Unmistakable.
Cutting through Varn's droning about supply lines.
She goes rigid. Her shoulders hunch forward. Embarrassment flooding her face.
Hungry.
She's hungry.
She's been sitting here in pain while these idiots talk about trade routes and she's hungry.
"We're done."
Sira stops mid-sentence. "—what?"
"We're done." I step back from the chair. "Everyone out."
"Discord." Varn's voice. "We haven't finished—"
"Out. All of you. Now."
Renan laughs. Actually laughs. "You heard the man. War's on hold. The lady's hungry."
"The Coin response—"
"Can wait."
"It can't—"
Renan walks over to Varn, strangling his shoulder. "It can wait until she's eaten."
The Mad God of Discord just ended a war council because a mortal woman's stomach made a noise.
I don't care. I don't care. I don't—
I reach down and take her hand. She lets me. Her fingers curl around mine. Warm. Small. Alive.
"Let's go."
"Where—"
"Kitchen. You're eating."
