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Thornden looked at Saeryn. She was looking at her hands, her jaw clenched and her lips a tight, thin line. He saw that she was not prepared to speak civilly to the new eorl, so he took it upon himself to break the heavy, practically tangible silence that hung over them after Degas’ exit.
“Perhaps it would be best to begin with what we need almost immediately,” Thornden said.
“No,” Saeryn said, finally finding her tongue, “No, I think we need to begin with a thorough understanding of where everyone stands in with this new authority.” Her glance and her tone were poisonous as she looked at Lord Athanar. Thornden felt his stomach clench inside him.
“Lady Saeryn, please,” he said, fixing her with as stern a look as he could muster at that moment. He had no wish to check her or put her down, but this was dangerous ground. He knew it at once. Athanar made it very clear he would not be trifled with, and going at it head on was clearly not the way to convince him of anything. But then Thornden’s look softened. “It will be well,” he said in a lower voice. He nodded reassuringly. “It will be.” How he could make such a reassurance, he did not really know. He had no idea what Athanar would do if people stood against him. Thornden knew he must be strong, and more than anything now the people needed his calm, steady thinking.
“The original reason that Lord Eodwine asked the landlords to come to us was because of our low store of food and winter clothing. We cannot hide it from you – winter is upon us, and we are ill prepared for it.”
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