Page 40 of The War of Four Winters

"I could... supplement our forces, if it becomes necessary,” Daraith offered. “The dead require no provisions, no rest."

A cold silence fell over the council at his words. Even those who had accepted Daraith's necromancy as a necessary weapon in our rebellion seemed unsettled by the suggestion.

"The morale cost would be significant," Taelyn observed cautiously. "It’s one thing to raise them for an imminent fight, but another entirely to allow them to patrol the walls.”

"A last resort," I agreed, though I didn't dismiss the option entirely. In a siege where starvation threatened, every resource might eventually be needed—even the darkest ones. "But worth remembering if our situation grows dire."

The Empress of Bones smiled, a sharp expression that reminded everyone present of her fearsome reputation. "The storms are strong, but the old ways are stronger. My people walked these lands when the first elves were still learning to build fires. We know paths your battle mages have never dreamed of."

I nodded with respect. "Send your call, honored Empress. We would welcome your people's strength."

"It will be done," she replied, settling back into her seat.

"We will not starve," I said firmly, addressing the full council again. "The Spine warriors will help secure our supply routes, but we must still be cautious. Implement strict rationing immediately. All luxury foods reserved for critical workers: healers, mages, those maintaining our defenses. Expand the hunting parties to cover the western forests, magical storms or no."

I turned to the quartermaster. "How much seed grain remains in storage?"

He straightened, understanding immediately where my thoughts led. "Perhaps a month's worth, Your Majesty. But if we consume that—"

"Then we plant nothing come spring," I finished for him. "I know. But spring planting means nothing if we don't survive winter. Keep it as absolute last reserve."

"In the meantime," I continued, addressing the full council, "we prepare. Katyr, focus your apprentices on strengthening weather wards around our immediate territory. I want at least the hunting grounds accessible. Lord Stoneriver, inventory all private stores in the fortress. No hoarding will be tolerated. Lord Northfire, your scouts must find gaps in the Seashore patrols where the Craiggybottoms might slip through."

My gaze swept the council. "We've defended these walls against worse odds. Vinolia may have battle mages and the Seashores may control the coast, but we have something stronger."

"And what's that, Your Majesty?" Northfire asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.

"Necessity," I answered simply. "We fight not just for victory but for survival. For the future we're building. That makes us dangerous in ways our enemies cannot comprehend."

As the council dispersed, Katyr remained behind, his expression troubled as he studied the map.

"Speak plainly," I said, once the last of the council members had filed out. "You've worn that expression since dawn."

Katyr remained at the map table, his golden curls falling forward as he studied the markers representing enemy forces. "I don't think we'll be able to drive her back this time. She was humiliated before. She won't let that happen again."

“What do you propose, then?”

He sighed, tracing his fingers over the map before standing straighter and meeting my eyes. “Cut off the head of the snake. I must face my grandmother directly. Leadership of the clan will fall to me once she’s gone.”

I raised an eyebrow at my half-brother's declaration. "What are you suggesting?"

Katyr's expression hardened. "That we remove her from power by any means necessary."

I studied him. "She's a lich. How will you face that kind of power?"

"We find and destroy her phylactery," Katyr replied, his voice steady. "I believe I know where it is. She keeps her bone combs on her at all times and I know they are artifacts of great power. I’d stake my life on them being what we’re after. All I have to do is get close enough to take it from her hair and destroy it."

I moved to the window, gazing out at the swirling snow that Vinolia's battle mages had summoned. Katyr's plan had merit. Cutting off leadership would indeed throw the Runecleaver forces into disarray. It might even win some of them to our cause. And yet...

"It's a suicide mission," I said finally, turning back to face him. "Even getting to Rünhyll would be nearly impossible with her forces controlling the passes."

"Only if she believes that’s what we’re there for. We need a diversion. Something to draw her attention."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Peace talks," Katyr said, his eyes lighting with realization. "You could open negotiations with Vinolia. As king to clan matriarch. A formal diplomatic mission under a banner of truce."

I leaned forward. "While you and Daraith search for the phylactery."

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