Page 180 of Salt Between the Wolves

The man wisely chose not to repeat himself, and the discussion resumed.

Eira paused in the doorway while Leander walked past her without hesitation. No one rose to greet him, no one bowed, and no one rushed to silence the room. Instead, one of the men merely pointed at him.

"You're late."

"You started without me."

"We hoped to finish before you arrived."

"A noble ambition."

The woman seated beside him sighed.

"It failed."

The discussion resumed immediately, and Eira took a seat near the edge of the room to listen.

At first the entire process seemed completely impossible. Everyone disagreed with everyone else. The harbor master wanted repairs, the treasurer complained about costs, the merchants wanted expansion, and the sailors wanted greater safety. Whenever the conversation drifted into pointless circles, however, the loud woman near the maps cut through the confusion like an axe through rope.

"No, that's not what he said."

"Stop arguing with numbers."

"If you have a better idea, use words."

At one point two merchants began speaking over each other, and she slammed a hand onto the table hard enough for the sound to echo through the chamber.

"One at a time."

Both men stopped immediately.

Eira blinked in surprise. The woman was not the ruler of Silverwake, nor was she even leading the meeting, yet somehow half the room obeyed her on instinct alone.

For nearly an hour they argued over a single damaged pier, and Eira found herself wondering how anything in Silverwake was ever accomplished. Gradually, however, something began to change. The harbor master described the damage, the merchants explained the losses, the sailors proposed alternatives, and the treasurer identified available funds. Piece by piece the problem took shape, and eventually, almost without her noticing, a decision emerged.

It happened not because someone had ordered it, but because everyone had contributed part of the solution.

The realization both unsettled and fascinated her.

The meeting continued as they moved on to trade routes, ship schedules, storage shortages, repairs, and preparations for future storms. Every issue followed the same pattern of arguments, information, and eventual solutions. The process felt messy, slow, and occasionally infuriating, yet it was also strangely effective.

A knock interrupted the discussion, and a courier entered carrying several sealed letters. The room quieted—not completely, but enough for everyone to pay attention.

The courier distributed the correspondence and departed.

One of the council members broke the first seal, and his expression darkened almost immediately.

"What now?" someone asked from across the table.

The man rubbed his forehead.

"Frostvein."

Several groans answered him, causing Eira to look up.

Another council member extended a hand.

"Let me guess."