The meeting room was on the upper floor of the north tower, overlooking the inner courtyard and the sea beyond the walls. The windows were tall, narrow, and the light of late afternoon entered at oblique angles, drawing yellow diamonds on the stone floor.
Irina Graylor stood by the window.
Her hands clasped behind her back, her fingers touching her wrist – an old habit, from the days when she waited for her father at the Graylor pier, watching the boats come in with empty nets. Her hands always trembled when no one was looking. Now they trembled too. But there was no one else in the room, only her and the echo of her own footsteps in the empty corridor.
Andy had left two hours ago.
His carriage, flanked by Delluzio and two trusted soldiers, had disappeared on the road to the port. She had watched him from her office window. They had not said goodbye. There had been no need. Words were for those who stayed. And she stayed.
The wall clock, an ancient mechanism brought from Aryster by her grandfather, marked six twenty. The minute hand dragged lazily. The second hand did not. It ran.
"Irina."
The door had creaked. Arthur Erréndias – Arth, as the servants called him – stood in the doorway, his face pale, his grey beard poorly trimmed. He wore the dark tunic of the servants, without any crest, without any mark of nobility.
"Arth," she replied without turning.
"The meeting will start soon. You should be preparing the teachers' room."
"It is already prepared. The students have arrived."
"And the teachers?"
"Endomir is sharpening the wooden swords. Lara is looking for the cakes she hid in the pantry. Gregorius is already in the yard, staring at the sky. Mátir… I don't know. He must be in his office, reading. Mára Ferão has not shown up yet."
"Mára never shows up on time," Irina said, trying to sound light. She failed.
Arth did not answer. He just stood there in the doorway, his hands hanging at his sides.
"Count Andy…" he began, after a silence. "The duke," he corrected himself. "Did he leave safely?"
Irina closed her eyes.
"He did. He took Delluzio. And two soldiers. He doesn't want a retinue."
"That is prudent."
"He is stubborn." She turned. Her tired green eyes met his. "He always was."
The silence between them was heavy, but not hostile. It was the silence of those who no longer had anything to say. Or who had too much.
"Arth," she said finally. "I…"
"You don't need to, my lady."
"Call me Irina. No one is here."
"We are always here," he replied with a sad smile. "That is the problem."
She did not insist.
---
The teachers arrived one by one.
Endomir was first. Grey hair, deep eyes, neat grey tunic. He greeted Irina with a nod and sat in the seat farthest from the table.
"The students are nervous," he said without preamble.
"That is natural," Irina replied. "They know the war is near."
"They know the enemy is near. War is made by adults."
"Adults die too."
Endomir did not answer. He just lowered his eyes to the table.
Lara Semorços entered with a tray of cakes, her radiant smile glued to her face like a mask. Her skin, lightly dark from Ban, gleamed with the sweat of rushing.
"I brought sweets," she announced. "The students like them. They calm the nerves."
"You need one too," Irina said, watching her.
"Me?" Lara laughed. "I am calm."
"Your hands are trembling."
Lara hid her hands behind her back. Her smile wavered.
"I am calm," she repeated.
Gregorius Grémul entered without knocking, his bald head shining, his apron stained with sweat and dirt.
"The sky is strange," he announced, closing the door firmly. "The clouds aren't moving."
"Clouds always move," said Mátir, who appeared behind him without anyone having heard him arrive.
"These don't."
Mátir did not answer. He sat at the back of the room, opened a book, and began to read.
Mára Ferão did not appear.
"Do we wait?" asked Lara.
"No," Irina replied. "We begin."
---
The meeting was brief.
Irina spoke of the threat. Trussum was on the peninsula, the Contraranures were approaching. The academy was a target. Defences had been reinforced, but they were not enough. The youngest students would be sent to the dungeons of the south wing, the safest. The older ones would stay on the walls.
"The chosen ones," she added, "stay with me. Ana, Ethan, Luna, Néris."
"And Zirinos?" asked Endomir.
"Zirinos is not chosen. He stays with the knights."
"The boy is strong. Stronger than most chosen ones."
"Strength is not everything," Irina replied. "He needs training. And discipline."
Endomir did not insist.
---
At the end, when the teachers left, Arth remained in the doorway.
Irina had not moved. Her green eyes followed the emptiness.
"Do you still think about him?" Arth asked quietly.
"About whom?"
"About the count. The duke. The father of your daughters."
Irina took her time answering.
"I do," she said finally. "I think about what could have been. And what was."
"Do you regret it?"
"Regret what? Marrying? Having children? Leaving him?"
"Everything."
Silence filled the room.
Outside, the wind had begun to blow.
"Go, Arth," Irina said. "The servants need you."
"And you?"
"I need to be alone."
He nodded. The door closed.
Irina stayed by the window, watching the sea where Andy no longer sailed.