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She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve missed you too.”

It hadn’t been that long, though, and they’d have to get used to much longer times apart.

“I need to have a few conversations with the others tonight. I can’t linger long.” He sounded remorseful. “But I needed to see you first.”

“I understand.” It wasn’t like she could blame him. Making sure this meeting was successful was far more important than time together. As much as she wished she could talk things through with him.

“I think Nenad and Jesha are going to be a big help here, and the King Commander sent his support for this.”

“That’s good to hear. And how are things going? For you?”

Pyetar took a moment to answer. “I still hate being general. No surprise there. But…”

“But?” Iryana urged him on, brow furrowing.

“I’m starting to realize how much power I have to help those in my territory. And I want to help them. I’ve felt…” He looked around, rubbing the short beard that had filled in more since they’d parted ways. “More motivated.”

She nodded, stomach sinking slightly. “You have a good heart, Pyetar. They’re lucky to have you.”

He smiled softly at her. “Perhaps.”

There were so many things she wanted to tell him, to ask him, but she knew she had to be quick. So, Iryana just recapped her few observations of the clans for him as succinctly as she could. She left out her worries and the things she thought might go wrong.

When she was done, she sighed, hiding her sinking confidence. “I won’t hold you any longer.”

“I will see you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

They were in clear view of the brigade representations down below, at least from the shoulder up, and they couldn’t feed the rumors. Pyetar reached for her hand, though, rubbing his thumb along the back of her glove. Her skin seemed to tingle from the pressure of his touch, even through the wool.

“Good night, Pyetar.”

Everyone was gathering for the meeting, and Uncle Dinhal was waiting for her. Iryana paced in one of the side halls. Couldn’t bring herself to join them. She needed to put on a fake smile, shove all these messy thoughts into a chest and lock it. Pretend everything was all right. Like she’d been doing for months.

Who did she think she was—going to all the clan leaders and telling them what to do? She was no one. She hadn’t earned this. The clans had likely only agreed to the meeting out of respect for her grandmother. They wouldn’t listen to her.

The part of her mind that reminded her to not let the fear control her was too small, too weak. It was drowned out by the terror.

Her breaths were quick and shallow, her stomach roiled, and she worried she was going to pass out if she couldn’t calm down. She’d been fighting for months to tackle this feeling—this panic. But here it was, sinking its claws into her with a vengeance.

She just wanted to be free of it.

Iryana forced her clenched hands to release her skirts, not wanting to wrinkle them too badly. Those hands shook as she braced herself against the closest wall, trying not to hyperventilate.

What would her clan think when she returned a failure? If she couldn’t convince any of the clans or brigades to work together? Would they lose all faith in her? Realize she wasn’t as capable as they thought? She didn’t know how she’d face that.

Iryana groaned, smacking one of her hands against the wall. Get it together, she begged herself.

It was just fear. Right? But gods, she had always felt so unworthy, hadn’t she? Ever since she realized she’d driven her own mother away. Since she’d ruined everything she touched.

Steps echoed down the hallway perpendicular to her own, so Iryana shielded her face, steadying herself. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

“Told you,” Vaneshta’s familiar voice mumbled.

“Can you make sure we have a moment?” Pyetar’s deep voice answered.

She heard one set of footsteps moving back out of the hall.

Iryana still didn’t look up. Couldn’t.