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Dinhal offered her an apologetic smile. “Perhaps instead you can join more of the training drills. Some of the techniques you’ve brought back have been helping.”

She sighed. That really wasn’t the point, or at least not all of it. “Yeah, I can do that.”

The desire to push harder, to convince them, roared up inside her. But it couldn’t defeat the fear of pushing them too far. Of pushing them away. She had only just returned to the clan, to living and working among them. She couldn’t risk it.

“That’s it then. You’re all dismissed.”

Iryana found her grandmother in her bedroom, hunched over the tiny writing desk next to the fireplace. The small flames crackled and danced, pushing the autumn chill away from the room. Her grandmother didn’t notice her at first, and Iryana took a moment to study the woman who had chosen her as heir.

When she wasn’t facing down her enemies or ordering her family around, Vesima Kleesolda looked smaller and frailer than Iryana thought she should. She was turning seventy-nine this year, and the last fifteen years had not been kind. Her silver-gray hair was twisted into a braid so thin that Iryana expected she could rip it easily with her hands. Vesima’s forehead was deeply grooved, her drooping jowls, pulling the corners of her mouth with them. As she wrote in the journal before her, her hand seemed to be shaking.

The blue dress and flower-covered shawl seemed to swallow her.

It did something to Iryana, seeing her grandmother in such an unguarded state. She needed the clan’s First to be strong. To live another decade so that Iryana had time to prepare herself to lead. She wasn’t ready, and the thought of having to take over made her feel desperately ill.

“First,” Iryana greeted her.

The First sat up straight, her back now seeming rigid and strong. She even rolled her shoulders back, putting on what Iryana suspected was a front of strength.

“How were the reports?” the First demanded as she gestured for Iryana to sit in the old wooden rocking chair on the other side of the fire.

Slowly sinking into the worn wooden seat, Iryana tried to imitate the way her grandmother sat and recounted all the reports she had just heard. The First listened carefully, nodding and agreeing with Iryana’s solution for the supplies.

“And how did they take your proposal?”

Iryana’s gaze slipped toward the floor until she remembered herself and forced it back up to meet her grandmother’s.

“It went as well as you said it would,” Iryana sighed. “I wish they understood we need to heal this relationship between our guardians and the 18th. We’re going to need each other.”

“Gods save us if we do.” The First sighed. “I don’t disagree, granddaughter. But this is going to take much longer than you think. We need to take it much slower.”

“It’s not like we can avoid interacting with them,” Iryana pointed out. “We need them for trading, for their protection, for their escort to the temple…”

“We’ve been on opposite sides of the wall for too long,” the First reminded her bluntly, a hint of anger coloring her words. “There is much they must still make up for.”

“It’s only been a few weeks since I challenged Karvek. So much is changing right now, for the brigade and for us,” Iryana pointed out softly. “If we’re going to change hearts as well, this seems the time to do it.”

The First tapped her fingers against the desk, a rushed tempo that betrayed her conflicted thoughts. “If it weren’t for that, I would not be so supportive of you trying this.”

“You’ll have to forgive them eventually, too.” Iryana looked to the side sheepishly. “If this is to work.”

Her grandmother just clicked her tongue in response.

This was how it went every time Iryana brought up trying to heal the relationship between their people. It wasn’t just because of Pyetar and her friends in the brigade; it was the best path forward she could see for her people. And she knew it wouldn’t be easy. It had taken her months living in their fortress to realize some of the soldiers were good. To realize most of them were.

“Perhaps the pilgrimage will show them we can get along.” They’d be together for weeks, so she hoped that was true. Plenty could change in that amount of time. “Pyetar—the General—is going to make sure things go smoothly.”

The First scoffed. “I don’t trust him. The second he wants something from us, he’ll twist our arms behind our backs until we comply. He’s heartless and without honor.”

“We’ve fought at his side,” she reminded the First, though her voice weakened. “We took the fort for him. Has that not done anything to improve your opinion of him?”

“We did that to stop a war. To tear a warmongering dictator from power. The new General Horvol has the power he wanted.” Her voice was hard as steel. “That doesn’t make him our ally.”

“Our alliance makes him our ally.” She swallowed. “You’ll see. I promise you will.”

Iryana always struggled to find the words to defend Pyetar in the face of her grandmother’s contempt. She knew there was bad blood between the two, but that hatred was one of the hardest parts for her to stomach. Pyetar was loyal and honorable, and he had opposed his brother, though admittedly he’d done so in secret before they’d marched on the fortress. He was a survivor who was forced to bend to his brother’s will, and he’d saved Iryana’s life many times.

In the early days after Iryana had freed her clan members from Karvek’s dungeons, she’d explained some of what Pyetar had done. But despite knowing most of that, the First still hated the 18th’s new general. Iryana was afraid to push too hard and upset her grandmother.