Krayson's tent in the camp was empty save for a simple bedroll, though it was as large as those used by the legion's officers. Reyn supposed she wasn't surprised. Krayson struck her as the sort to travel light. Everything he owned could be carried on his person. He only had the one outfit, and he kept it clean with wizardry.

Reyn stood behind where Krayson sat crosslegged in the center of his tent. She rose up on her toes to get a better look at the object of his study. "So that's what the arcanists are whispering about? A spellwrought spearhead?"

Krayson hummed an affirmative. He picked up a small ingot of orichalcum and pressed it slowly against the cutting edge of Enfri's white blade. Without effort or resistance, the ingot of blue metal was sliced cleanly through.

"Orichalcum has a tensile strength five-fold greater than steel," Krayson murmured. "Hence its value as a strategic resource, particularly in theurallurgy and weapon smithing. To be cut so easily... Mistress Reyn, how difficult would it be to procure a diamond? The size doesn't matter."

Reyn shrugged. "Not very, I wager. Do you suppose it could cut one?"

"I think it might," Krayson muttered. "Thunders, but I don't think there's anything this couldn't cut."

"And it is not magical?"

"Not in the immediate sense," Krayson said. He gave the blade a small swipe and observed the lightning trailing after it. "Fascinating. I wonder if the discharge is... oh, all seven thunders!"

"What is it?" Reyn asked, crouching down.

"When it cuts through the air, it cuts through the air."

"You lost me."

"Are you familiar with Hierarch Aydan Ordo's papers on micro-divination?"

"In layman terms only. Atomic elements and the periodic table, yes?"

Krayson's mouth went increasingly wider as he observed the lightning. "The ozone scent... It's possible the blade is sharp on a subatomic level, shaving electrons from the atoms' nuclei and ionizing the air. The electrical discharge isn't due to spellcraft. It stems from the same principal behind natural lightning strikes. But to sever the covalent bonds... Thunders take me."

Reyn narrowed her eyes. "Forgive me, Brother Joshuan, but you have strayed beyond the bounds of what I would consider layman terms."

"It's sharp enough to slice open air particles and make the lightning come out."

"And then you dumb it down to the point of being nonsensical. I despair to think of you mentoring the Bastion."

"To be clear, I'm in no way an expert in the field of micro-divination. Though, I am intrigued by the basic structure of what we perceive as the mortal world. Were there an immediate and practical way to implement House Ordo's research, I can't imagine what advances in the sciences we might see in our lifetimes."

Reyn pursed her lips, skeptical.

Krayson caught the look. "You should know, it was micro-divination that led to lead-based cosmetics being banned. The connection between rouge and blood poisoning might have come much later than it did."

"I do not wear cosmetics," Reyn said.

"You don't?" Krayson's eyes widened. "Thunders. You're beautiful."

Spirits save the woman who couldn't stop herself from blushing at an earnest compliment. Distressing, but Reyn now knew she was that woman. "Selkies can make their own faces, Brother Joshuan. Cosmetics become redundant."

"I wouldn't let Her Majesty hear that. From what I gather, she and Princess Pacifica nearly came to blows when Pacifica forced her to learn how to apply mascara."

"An exaggeration," Reyn said as she stood. "It was eye liner, and Her Highness held the empress down so there would be no danger of violence."

"You're joking."

Reyn smirked. "I'm afraid it is time to put your work on hold, Brother Joshuan. The Dragon Lords will convene soon. You must make your report on what you learned in the Spired City, and I must attend Her Majesty."

Krayson gave the white blade a regretful look. "Yes. I should have realized this wasn't a social call."

"Nevertheless, I found it fascinating," Reyn assured him. "With your permission, I might call on you in the future?"

Krayson looked up at her and blinked. "For socializing?"

Reyn nodded.

"I'd like that. Yes, of course."

Reyn smiled and offered her hand to pull him to his feet. Once he'd placed the white blade into his holding spell, Reyn led the way out of Krayson's tent.

"You do realize, Brother Joshuan, I mean in a strictly platonic manner."

Krayson missed a step. "I didn't consider otherwise."

"I thought not. I only wished to be clear."

"Very. I was under the impression your courting preference was women, in any case."

"You're not wrong," Reyn said, "but there is a misconception humans often have. I do not deny the allure of any gender. I am simply attracted to traditionally feminine features most often. A slender waist. Soft lips. Smooth skin." She gave Krayson a sidelong smirk. "Agile fingers."

"What do fingers have to do with anything?"

Reyn snorted and succumbed to a full-bodied laugh. "There is much I must teach you about women, Brother Joshuan— should you ever decide intimacy is a facet of relationships you wish to pursue."

Krayson wrinkled his nose. "Pursue? No, I think not. There's not much appeal for me."

"A valid stance."

Krayson looked ahead, pensive. "Though, I admit it's a subject I've given more thought to. Since coming to Shan Alee, observing the empress or the knight-marshal, I think I understand better what they find in romantic relationships. It is not so unappealing as I once considered it to be."

Reyn's eyes and grin both widened.

He caught the look. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not looking, even if I knew what to thundering look for."

"Also valid. In my personal experience, sex can be attained by seeking it out. Love should be allowed to find you."

"And there's a difference between the two."

"As I see it. Others, like the empress and her betrothed, see it different. That is their prerogative. So long as they do not require me to adhere to the same strictures, there is no reason the two philosophies cannot coincide."

Krayson held his chin in his fingers. "I believe I understand. Rather than as a social construct, you say sexuality and romance should be strictly personal."

"Here's a commonality of shifters I think humans would be wise to adopt. We abhor being relegated into a labeled category. People are too complex for that, and variety is infinite."

Too late to stop herself, Reyn realized she'd said that as they passed a squad of House Ulthred armsmen heading out on patrol. She said "we" in reference to shifters. Where humans might overhear.

Reyn went quiet and walked on, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. So far as she could tell, the armsmen were too engrossed in their own conversation to catch her slip. Even so, Reyn's heart thundered in her chest, and she began to feel light-headed.

Throughout history, ever since the rise of Shan Alee, complacency had killed more shifters than swords and spellfire combined. She'd spent too long a time in the company of those who knew what she was— allowed herself to grow too at ease with keeping her tongue unguarded. It was a failing, one she intended to remedy.

I'm not as brave as Starra, Reyn thought, and she wondered if she ever could be.

Krayson eyed her with concern and looked like he was about to inquire what was wrong. Before he had the chance, Reyn slapped her forehead and growled in annoyance.

"Starra," she muttered. "Spirits curse me, I was supposed to tell her about the meeting."

"Not a problem," Krayson said. "Her tent is on the way."

Reyn pursed her lips. "With Starra, there is always a problem. If there shouldn't be, she invents one."

His face turned grim. "That is also my experience, yes."

Altering course, Reyn went down a line of tents reserved for the arcanists in camp. Pacifica's was further down the row, near the surgeons, but she'd already be on her way to join the other Dragon Lords if not already there. Starra's place in the camp formation was as close to her new apprentice as she could arrange.

As they came to the tent, Krayson put a hand to Reyn's arm to stop her.

"Wards," he said. He must've spotted them with his witch sight. Not as detailed as a sorcerer's ethersight but sufficient to detect locked spellcraft.

"Of what kind?" Reyn asked.

Krayson grimaced. "Privacy wards."

Reyn groaned.

"It may only be that she's conferring with her contacts by sending," Krayson offered.

Reyn would rather jump onto her pyre than barge in and find out. She stooped to pick up a pebble from the ground and lobbed it inside. After a few moments, Reyn considered finding something larger, a bucket of cold water perhaps, when Starra peeked her head out of the tent.

Her hair was disheveled, and though it was difficult to be sure while only her head was visible, Reyn had the distinct impression Starra was covering herself with a blanket.

"Oh, dear ones. Is it that time already?"

Reyn frowned. "You already know of the meeting?"

Starra blushed. "I heard it from somewhere, I'm sure. One moment only. I'll be right with you."

Reyn glared, suspicious, as Starra withdrew back inside. True to her word, Starra emerged seconds later fully dressed and running a brush through her white hair. She wore a black, off-shoulder dress that hung from a collared halter. The open bodice was a bit much, in Reyn's opinion.

No woman has any business being so... so aggravatingly attractive.

"That was fast," Krayson observed.

Starra favored him with a sly wink. "I'll let you in on a secret, Brother Joshuan. My mastery of illusion spells is very advanced."

While Krayson blinked in confusion, Reyn reached forward to put her hand on Starra's chest. As she suspected, light essence. Though her eyes said she should be feeling silk, there was nothing but Starra in her hand.

"Dear one," Starra said in a coy tone, "I appreciate the gesture, but right here in front of the blood runner?"

Reyn snatched her hand back. "You cannot go before the Dragon Lords, the Dragon Empress, in the nude."

"It's no different from physical clothing," Starra persisted. "I'm just as clothed as you are, and you're just as nude as I am underneath... whatever you call that outfit. Bloody hell, dear one, but you simply must let me have my way with your wardrobe."

"You see what I mean?" Reyn asked, turning to Krayson. "Inventing new problems the likes of which we could not have imagined."

Krayson shrugged. "It seems a practical use of spellcraft to me."

"Out of sight, out of mind," Starra said gaily. She tapped the end of Reyn's nose with a fingertip. "But not completely out of mind, I trust."

There was an extra sway in Starra's step as she walked away towards the south end of camp. She could say she was clothed all she wished, but Reyn knew without a doubt Starra was getting an exhibitionist thrill from this.

Reyn got red in the face and more than a little warm under the collar. She had half a mind to wait until Starra had the full attention of the meeting, then strip the illusion off her with a spike. If Reyn hadn't been fully convinced Starra would continue the meeting unabated, she might have.

"Do you dislike her that much?" Krayson asked.

Reyn startled. She'd nearly forgotten she wasn't alone. Giving herself a pinch to settle her nerves, Reyn shook her head and followed in Starra's wake. "It is not dislike," she said.

Krayson would probably accept that as a full answer, but Reyn felt obligated to explain herself.

"Lady Starra confounds me. She never behaves as I was raised to believe a noblewoman should."

"Or a shifter?" Krayson asked.

Reyn grimaced, though she heard the accuracy in it. "As you say."

"I understand some of it," Krayson said. "I, too, have been confounded by her. Lately, I've come to realize the source of it."

Reyn glanced at him as they walked.

"My ghosts aren't as dead as I thought," he said. "I didn't think I could feel envy anymore."

"Envy? Of Starra?"

Krayson nodded. "She has a talent I will never have. No matter where she is or who she finds herself among, Starra will thrive. She makes people like her."

Before she knew what she was doing, Reyn took his hand and held it as they walked. He arched an eyebrow at the gesture but made no comment. Reyn was glad, because she didn't think she had the capacity to explain herself. Only, it was a profound comfort to have someone else who understood the life she led if just by leading a similar one.

Reyn didn't hold to the notion of soulmates, especially when it came to romance. But, she did believe there were souls out there that matched well with others, imprints that forged connections more readily because they recognized the similarities in the other. That was surely where the human concept of family of the heart came from.

Pacifica and now Krayson, they were of Reyn's heart.

A cousin of the heart, in Krayson's case. Maybe an oddball nephew. Regardless, it was so.

It was a significant walk to the meeting place, well out of camp and away from distractions. It was important this gathering was held away from ears to overhear and mouths to spread gossip. Reyn, Krayson, and Starra walked past the hill where the skirmish with the angels took place and onto a wide swath of grassy pasture.

Reyn placed her steps carefully. The Goodman Weaver who owned this megarach ranch wouldn't appreciate anyone treading on his newborn spiderlings. Reyn was slightly disappointed she didn't spot any of the little dears. Young megarachs were terribly skittish around people and had probably scurried off to cling to the bellies of their mothers.

There were signs of them. Rabbits and groundhogs, wrapped up in silk, dotted the pasture between the camp and homestead. Megarach pastures were placed on top of extensive rodent warrens. Maintaining the population of prey animals was as vital to the ranchers as milking silk.

The homestead itself was an extensive affair, and it was plain the owner had ambitions of claiming a title of nobility. The main house was a three story manor, brick and mortar with an elegant roof and fine stonework. There were three separate bunkhouses for the ranch hands, large stables, a carriage yard, storehouses, and even a guard post all arranged around a central fountain and courtyard.

There was little in the way of activity. Most of Goodman Lucien Weaver's family and hands had either retreated into Drok Moran when legions approached or went to the nearby village. Now that hostilities were over, goodfolk returned to the ranch, but it appeared to be just the Weavers themselves and a few helpers.

Reyn headed towards the largest of the three bunkhouses. She heard the surrounding township would often come to the megarach ranch when Lucien Weaver, a notoriously gregarious man, hosted extravagant festivities for his neighbors. This building would be used as a dance hall and therefore had more than enough space for the empress' needs.

Two Sapphires in full plate and their blue dragons stood watch in the courtyard. Reyn wasn't familiar with the knights, but the dragons were Daleur the Tower and Fash the Bulwark. Both blues were in their truest form and sat on their haunches. They were young as the mighty reckoned things, no more than two hundred years old and forty paces long. Blues had shorter necks and stockier builds than most dragons, though much wider wings and knobby scales like cerulean tortoise shells. Blue dragons were solid in a way few but the yellows could match.

"Hail, Blood Runner," Daleur called out. His voice was powerful and booming. "I see Lady Starra and Mistress Reyn, but is our Bastion not with you today?"

"Not today, Lord Tower," Krayson answered, raising his voice so he could be heard by someone so tall. "Saveen flew off with the Rampart almost as soon as we returned."

"They've much to discuss," Fash said with a nod of her massive head. "It isn't often our kind has the chance to reunite with family we thought lost. My little sister's return was a wondrous gift after so many blues fell to dragonslayers over the years. Our chroma owes you a great debt."

"I was only repaying mine, Lady Bulwark."

"In either case," Fash chuckled, "it means this lout beside me is forced to put his best face forward. The number of blue females who can tolerate his homeliness is a desperate situation."

"Bite your tongue," Daleur gasped. "Saveen's still a dragonet."

"And you're the one blue male who isn't related to her. Hide those fangs, my Tower. It will be decades before Saveen is ready to give a clutch. Long enough for you to shed that dull-headedness of yours."

"Blazing woman," Daleur muttered.

Standing underneath the blues, their Sapphires were sighing and sharing suffering looks that suggested this was a typical exchange between their dragons.

Reyn and the others left the dragons to their banter and went inside through the open double doors.

It was a large open room, long and floored with polished hardwood. Small doorways led off from the main hall at regular intervals, likely leading to dormitories. There was a wide hearth, currently cold with the blackened remnants of last night's fire, at the north end. Small glass windows and landscape paintings on canvas lined the walls.

The room was large enough that the massive banquet table brought in from the storehouses fit easily within. There remained more than enough space to move around it. The table was dark oak and the sort one would expect to find covered in food for a village festival feast. The longer edges curved outward and would afford anyone seated a serviceable view of everyone else.

Reyn looked around to take roll of those present. The room hardly felt cramped at all despite how nearly a hundred people were present. The twenty-five Dragon Lords from each order of the Arcane Knights and their partner dragons— several of which were Eldest— made up the greater part of the gathering. Most were paladins or arcanists raised from the vassal houses, others were heads of houses, and the rest were experts chosen from the legion's ranks.

Not all had been given a bond to their dragon yet. Enfri wasn't as cautious about forging bonds as she'd been before the battle, but there were far more dragons seeking knights than she could see to in short order. Reyn didn't fully understand this business of factions among the spooks in Enfri's head alternating in prominence, but she understood why Enfri preferred to expose herself to their influence while it was a faction she agreed with. In essence, politics as usual.

Other than the Dragon Lords, there was a group of five representatives from the camp workers and also a small army of scribes and clerks. It came as a profound relief to see that second group. Reyn had feared she'd be required to see to every aspect of the bureaucratic nonsense that came of gatherings like this.

A good number of fey were present. The empty ones who led each tribe that came to safeguard Rippling Moon's unborn child were mostly arrived. Light Hoof wasn't there yet, nor was the chieftain of the Frozen Waters clan of orcs. Besides the knight-marshal and the Dragon Empress, mostly everyone Reyn expected to see was there.

There was, however, one person Reyn had not expected.

"What is Mistress Hana doing here?" Reyn asked.

Starra peered over Reyn's shoulder to get a look at the old woman speaking in a friendly manner with Pacifica. "Empress Enfri's steward? Oh, I believe she came in this afternoon around the same time as the king's retinue."

"What king?" Reyn asked suspiciously.

"Bloody hell, but you're out of the loop for a spy."

"I am not a spy."

"You most certainly are. You simply lack for someone to spy on. Now, dear one, if you'll excuse me, I just saw someone it's in my best interest to torment." Starra swayed her hips in the direction of Cobrin, the Lord of Citrines. The gruff surgeon went on guard when he saw her coming and looked ready to dive through a window to escape.

"She didn't answer the question," Reyn growled. "You don't know, do you?"

Krayson shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I've been preoccupied since the attack last night. If we've a royal visitor, my best guess is Fen Algara."

Reyn wrinkled her nose. She wouldn't think so if what Enfri said about tea poisoning was true. In any case, Pacifica was back from her negotiations in Drok Moran, so Shan Alee's business with Nadia was hopefully concluded.

Krayson withdrew to report to Dragon Lord Thaan. The Spinel Knights and orchid dragons were intended to serve as liaison between Shan Alee and the magocracy— once there was a magocracy again— so Krayson ostensibly fell under Thaan's jurisdiction.

The Dragon Lord himself was a hierarch, the only one Shan Alee had besides Pacifica. He swore his fealty to Enfri out of desperation like many of her vassals. When the Sanguine Tower fell and took the magocracy with it, Thaan's position in the Irdish royal court was no longer required, and his holdings were seized. Some aristocratic backstabbing had been at play as well. He saw Shan Alee as both the salvation of his house and an opportunity to extend his arcane research.

Reyn went to the bags she'd had delivered earlier in the morning. She retrieved her writing palate from them and prepared for the empress' arrival. Once Enfri came, the meeting would begin.

For the moment, everyone gathered into small groups and conversed among themselves. The atmosphere wasn't as gloomy as it'd been in the days leading up to the Battle of Moran Valley. After the debacle at Mount Vorti, the legion had needed a victory, and Moran Valley had been as decisive a victory as any other in living memory.

Outnumbered five to one yet victorious with minimal losses. Even in the ground battle there'd been significantly less casualties than there would usually be in such a brutal engagement. Partially due to excellent tactical leadership by the Corwyn, the Ulthred, and Princess Jin. Mostly, it was because the Crescent Legion had been unable to adapt to such an unconventional opposing force. Mortals, fey, and the mighty. It was without a doubt an army like none other the world had ever seen.

Morale was high, as were the hopes of Enfri's vassals. They saw good things in the future. So much, in fact, that they hardly raised a fuss at all about Enfri's allegiance to Princess Maya. Truthfully, they saw it as a good sign to have the patronage of the woman hoped to become the Highest Queen of Althandor. That much remained a state secret, as it would be inconvenient for word of it to spread beyond Shan Alee, but the Arcane Knights at least knew who the kingdom owed fealty to.

More arrived. Reyn recognized Landon Marchand, the leader of the Aleesh pilgrims. The man at his side, however, was a stranger. He appeared Althandi and was dressed in white robes like those of a priest. He had shoulder-length black hair that needed to be taken better care of, pale skin, a strong and broad jawline, and a wide mouth. What drew the most attention was the bandage wrapped around his eyes and the way he shuffled with a walking stick questing ahead of him.

Reyn narrowed her eyes. He must've been the blind guide who led the Aleesh here. Kai, she believed. He looked Althandi, but that wasn't an Althandi name. It was Old Vaylese. A word for victory. Reyn watched as Goodman Marchand led Kai to a chair along the outer wall and sat beside him.

She looked away and noticed something curious. The fey in the room had there nostrils flared as they looked at Goodman Marchand. The looks they were giving ranged from curiosity to wariness.

Reyn sniffed the air. She smelled nothing out of the ordinary, but selkie noses weren't quite as sharp as other shifters. Certainly not fey who seemed able to smell imprints in the Weave. Reyn couldn't begin to guess at what scent they were getting off an Aleesh merchant.

There was time before the empress would show up. Reyn decided she should take her measure of this man. If nothing else, she'd like to have a better impression of the new arrivals than what she got from that daft boy who caught an eyeful of her naked.

"Goodman Marchand," Reyn said as she drew to his side.

Landon looked to her and all but leapt to his feet. His hand went to the brim of his flat-topped hat, holding it down in a respectful gesture towards a woman. "Mademoiselle," he said.

Reyn nearly swooned. It'd been too long since she heard anyone speak Old Gaulatian to her. Without a horrendous accent, at least.

Landon was most assuredly one of the more attractive men she'd seen. His golden hair was gorgeous, so long and lustrous; he should have done his guide a service and school him on proper hair care. Reyn seldom found herself attracted to men, but Landon Marchand was proving a sterling example of the gender. A little old for her, nearing forty, but older men were quite often the more skilled lovers. Easier to manipulate, also. They so enjoyed the thought of being admired by young women.

Reyn blinked to wipe those notions away. She didn't need to seduce a honey spoon for herself, but she filed it away for future consideration. "My name is Reyn, Goodman. I am the handmaiden to Her Majesty."

"It is an honor," Landon said with a slight bow. He raised an eyebrow at her accent. "Gaulatian?"

Reyn smiled, a genuine one. "Oui, Monsieur. I come from Rosewater, near the border with Rook."

"I know of it, though I am afraid I never had the pleasure." He gestured towards his blind companion. "I apologize for my manners. May I introduce my associate, Kai?"

"Goodman," Reyn said in greeting.

Kai didn't turn his head to look at her. He continued to face forward, though he gave a bare nod to show he'd heard. "A pleasure, Mistress Reyn."

His voice was a gravelly baritone. It was almost as painful to listen to as it must have been to speak with. Reyn wondered if Kai had suffered a throat injury to go along with his blindness.

"I wished to make certain your needs have been seen to," Reyn said, turning back to Landon. "Are your people receiving all the proper care?"

"Oui, and then some, my lady. The children have had their hurts and ills tended by the empress' own hand, the women are comfortable, and the men are provided work. None could hope to find better at road's end."

"Save perhaps road's end. I fear there is a long march ahead of the legion, and the choices open to your caravan are to march with us or venture south to Ecclesia."

Landon shivered. "Summer may be the best time to do so, but I doubt many of us would leap to reside in Altier Nashal. Her Majesty indicated there may be another option and asked I come here to speak on our group's behalf on the matter."

"Another option?"

"Her Majesty declined to elaborate, citing it was a slim hope but one she was willing to pursue. I had the impression she thought it might solve other..." Landon halted in mid-sentence and looked off to the side. His hand went again to the brim of his hat. "Your pardon, mademoiselle. I believe we are about to begin."

Lord Bannlyth entered the hall from a side passage, his Huntress and the goblin Light Hoof beside him. "Her Majesty, Empress Enfri the Yora," Ban announced without breaking stride.

Conversation ground to a halt and any who were seated rose to their feet. Most bowed, saluted, or curtseyed as Enfri followed the knight-marshal into the hall. She was accompanied by her Storyteller and Princess Jin.

"Forgive my tardiness," Enfri said as she strode towards the table. "Is everyone..."

An orc woman came through the front entrance at a jog. Her pale green skin was flushed from a hard run, and the retractable claws on her fingers slid in and out with her anxiety. The tufts of white fur at the end of her long, pointed ears twitched when she noted everyone looking her way.

Fallen, empty one of the Frozen Waters clan of orcs, usually exuded an aura of quiet competence. Reyn thought it strange to see the powerful warrior out of sorts. Then she noted the playful wave Lady Starra was giving Fallen and the orc's heavy swallow when she saw it. Princess Jin rubbed at her eyes and sighed.

The mystery of who was in Starra's tent with her, Reyn thought wryly. Solved.

Judging by Enfri's blush, it wasn't lost on her. She cleared her throat. "Yes, I believe everyone is. Please, sit."

Enfri took the chair in the center of the longer side of the table facing the entrance, Jin sitting to her right. Reyn nodded to Landon as she withdrew to stand in her customary position behind the empress. Meanwhile, the Dragon Lords took their seats around the table. In the interest of conserving space, the mighty assumed tiny-sized versions of their true selves and sat on the table in front of their knight. The rest of the gathering, the fey and camp workers, sat across from Her Majesty. Starra stood behind Pacifica, Krayson behind Lord Thaan, and nearly everyone had a clerk or two at their shoulder.

It was a slight surprise that Lord Ban didn't sit to the empress' left as should be his place as First Knight. He was instead on Jin's right, and the chair between Enfri and Pacifica was kept open. Reyn was furrowing her brow over the oddity when she heard the empress murmur her name.

She went to one knee at Enfri's elbow. "Yes, Majesty?"

Enfri smiled at her. "Please, take your seat, Reyn."

"My seat?"

She nodded. "The first order of business will be telling everyone what your role in Shan Alee will be from now on."