Page 277 of Salt Between the Wolves
"There are two armies."
No one spoke.
Eira had expected those words; some part of her had known them before the riders ever returned, yet hearing them aloud was different.
"Whose?"
The question sounded foolish the moment it left her mouth, but the rider answered anyway.
"Frostvein and Ironfang."
A pulse beat once behind her ribs, slow, heavy, and real.
"How many?"
"Several thousand on each side."
Leander remained silent, watching and listening as the rider continued.
"Neither side has attacked."
Eira blinked, and for the first time, surprise broke through the dread.
"What?"
"Neither side has crossed the pass," the man said, shifting his weight. "They've been there for days—not hours, but days."
Eira looked toward the map spread across the table. White Pass sat exactly where it always had, a narrow gap between mountains marked by nothing more than a line of ink, and yet thousands of people now stood there waiting for someone else to make the next move.
"What are they doing?" she asked quietly.
The rider let out a breath.
"Watching each other."
The answer sounded absurd, because it was.
Leander moved first.
"That's not all."
The rider nodded.
"No."
His gaze returned to Eira.
"There have been messengers."
Something tightened in her chest.
"Between whom?"
"Between the camps."
Now Leander looked interested.
"What kind of messages?"
