Page 290 of Salt Between the Wolves

Eira had expected curiosity, but instead she found urgency.

One of the officers stepped forward immediately.

"My lord, the eastern patrol returned."

Soren removed his gloves.

"Problems?"

"Not yet."

The answer earned several expressions that suggested everyone had grown tired of those two words, which carried the uneasy feeling of a door slowly opening.

Eira understood why.

The officer placed several markers on the map, and Soren leaned forward as questions followed—distances, patrol routes, supply reports, messenger schedules.

For several minutes nobody paid much attention to Eira at all.

She stood quietly near the edge of the table, listening and observing as the shape of the problem gradually became visible.

It was not one problem, but twenty, perhaps fifty—small things that were individually manageable but together exhausting.

A delayed supply wagon, an argument between patrols, hunters crossing the wrong boundary, scouts reporting contradictory information—none serious enough to start a war, yet all dangerous enough to create one.

The realization was unsettling.

Wars were easier to understand; this was something else entirely, a thousand opportunities for mistakes.

Eventually the officers departed one by one, and the tent grew quieter until only Soren remained at the table.

Kael lingered nearby, pretending not to listen and failing completely.

Eira stepped closer to the map.

The pass occupied the center, with Ironfang positions marked in black and Frostvein positions marked in white, the distance between them seeming absurdly small.

"You've moved the western patrols."

Soren looked up.

It was the first thing she had said since entering.

"Three days ago."

"Why?"

"Because your father moved first."

Eira studied the markers.

The answer made sense, unfortunately.

For several moments she remained silent, then pointed toward a narrow section of the pass.

"This."

Soren followed her gaze.