Lyssia rolled out of bed at the first bird’s call that sounded outside her window. She couldn’t have gotten more than an hour’s good rest, but it had to be enough. She couldn't lay trapped under her blankets this morning.

A surprise greeted her ears as she skipped across the room to her privy area. The mystery songstress’ welcome to the dawn drifted in from the hallway. Looks like she wasn’t the only one who was up early.

Lyssia's eyes, heavy already from lack of sleep, began to drift closed as she leaned her head back against the wall. She missed the moment when the songstress moved on. The sudden absence of her voice shocked Lyssia back into motion.

"Mmmmmm…" She groaned as she pushed herself up straight. Her eyes lit on the bowl of water she'd set out last night. Without stopping to consider if it was a good idea, Lyssia gripped the edges of the bowl and slammed her face into the water.

"Aaah! Cold! Mask!"

She fumbled with the ties on her sleep mask, flinging it over her shoulder before dunking her head under again.

"Oohhh...kay…"

Her chilled nose and cheeks tingled. Cold water dripped down her neck and tickled her spine. Well, she was awake now.

Lyssia patted her face dry and approached her wardrobe, eyeing the contents with a critical eye. Her new dagger was hanging from the wardrobe's door handle. She had discovered the leather ties affixed to the side of the decorated sheath that could be used to attach it to a belt.

A belt, or a thick sash. She hesitated only a moment before grabbing the sash she had worn the day before and the black jeweled dagger.

There were many spoken and unspoken rules to be followed when it came to appropriate dress, but the most important rule was one Lyssia had made for herself.

No more long sleeves.

She could have easily spent half the day staring at her wardrobe, second-guessing every choice. Better to make a quick decision and walk away.

Decide quickly.

She picked out a cream-colored undergown with elbow-length sleeves and a sleeveless russet dress that tied on the sides and would fit easily over the thin undergown. It wasn't as formal as the fitted blue dress she had worn the day before, but it was cool and comfortable, and hopefully acceptable when paired with her second pair of calfskin slippers.

And walk away!

Chosen outfit in hand, she retreated to change by the glowing coals that winked at her from the fire grate. She slipped into a pair of warm stockings before reaching for her shoes, happily wiggling her cold toes.

She was aware of every second that passed as she conducted her morning face care routine and swept her hair into three sections for braiding. She caught a brief flash of her face in the mirror before she strapped on a white mask with artificially rosy cheeks that would help disguise her pale face and the tired circles under her eyes. Yes, her face gave evidence to her exhaustion, and her nerves, her hope, her...anger.

Anger? She stopped making her inventory of emotions and fixed her eyes back on her reflection. Why was she angry?

She had hope that today’s talks would not drag on as yesterday’s had. Magnor had told her that, unlike her father, he planned to actively lead much of the discussion on his side of the table. He would keep a tight rein on the number of rabbit trails the conversation was allowed to wander down and instead focus on concise, rehearsed, well-reasoned facts that did not lead to no-nonsense arguments.

It had taken all Lyssia's strength not to laugh openly at Magnor’s impassioned speech detailing how he planned to control today's peace talks. But she had wished him luck and, when prompted, had offered him her best advice.

"Don't speak softly, but never shout. If you do, you may be looked down upon for displaying weakness or pride. Keep control of yourself, and keep them wondering where and when you might slip, and you will better control their attention."

Lyssia had been nervous to find herself speaking so forthrightly around the young Kongr, but he had merely smiled and thanked her for her advice. His thanks somehow made her feel more nervous. She wished she understood the secret behind her glimpses of the future. If she could trigger a vision, she could prepare for what would come from Magnor's planning. But all she had was a vague sense of hope.

Today would be different. She might even get a chance to add her voice to the discussions again. Whether she ended up agreeing with Magnor's arguments or not, she would insist that he have the chance to speak and be heard. Their allies had earned at least that much. That's what her father had taught her, but he seemed less inclined to deal with Rijek’s son than he had with the man.

And then - once everyone had gotten a chance to speak, and the peace talks were over, and Magnor and his men set sail for Dunival again, and the Ilvanian guests left for their homes - maybe then she could return to celebrating Eda-Yute. If there were any days left to celebrate.

Lyssia gave the braid she was working on a sharp tug. Anger. It was one of the hardest emotions to control. Yes, she was angry that she would be stuck inside for another day at the negotiations table.

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She had known that this would be required of her. This was the year appointed for the renewal of the Dunival treaty. A week lost to negotiations. Only a week, and a grand celebration when it was all over to mark the end of Yute and the beginning of another year of peace and friendship. Something wonderful to look forward to...but all she could think was, It should not have snuck up on me so soon, and anger overtook her again.

All she had done for the past two months was still around and listen.

She had listened without complaint to the wind whistling outside the window when she could stand the cold that pervaded her room. An endless howling, like some mad dog set loose to scratch at the shutters.

She had listened without complaint to the snow being knocked off the boots of those strong enough to venture out during the coldest winter nights to gather fuel for the grand fire. An endless tramping of boots that drowned out the soft shush of voices that surrounded her.

She had listened without complaint to her father and Bjarke’s voice as they led those huddled together in the central room of the lodging facility in the endless remembrance ceremonies of Urd-Yute.

“Remember ye our foremothers, providers of life. Remember ye our forefathers, preservers of life. Remember ye Arvid of Ilvana…”

An endless refrain. Name after name. Speech after speech. Hour after hour.

But at least then she had little tasks to occupy her hands and happy thoughts of soon being able to escape outdoors to occupy her mind. Eda-Yute was the bright sun that led her out of the long dark night of winter and back into the land of the living.

Her father always grew more generous with his allowance of her roaming when the spring was new. A trip to Steiner Mart was only meant to be the beginning. She should have had two full weeks to gain her fill of riding and exploring before she was locked in that room again.

Now even that time had been stolen from her this year. She should be dressing for riding this morning, a real ride past the wall, past the gate, past the looks and the whispers and the...

Lyssia bit back an exclamation. The metal pin she used to help secure the braids at the base of her neck had nicked her skin. She pressed a hand to the spot and wiped away a drop of blood. Such a perfect, tiny circle of red. She lost her train of thought, staring at it. Was she experiencing another vision, or was the room actually spinning?

Stop!

Her body responded to her mind's command, her fingers just resting lightly in her temple. What use was panic to her? There was no reason. No vision. What use was anger with no one to be angry at? And what use was all the rest?

Her fingers itched to dig into her braids, rip them apart, and start again. But it seemed binding her emotions to her scalp would not be enough to get her through even her first meeting of the day.

Her father was an early riser. He would already be waiting for her.

She reached for a rag to wipe the blood from her finger and fixed her eyes on the mirror. A pretend face. A blank canvas. It was simple enough to show them all what they wanted to see.

Nothing.

With her hair pinned back, her hands laid out on the desk before her, and her breath returned to normal, she was almost there. A blank canvas, serene and untouchable, but for the storm clouds in her eyes.

Lyssia closed them and imagined dipping her fingers into the jar of salve sitting before her. Sparks swam before her eyes as she pressed the pads of her thumbs against them and inhaled. In-out-in.

She didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that it wasn’t working. As her hand dropped out of view of the glass surface, her attention was caught by the reflection of the tattoo that had been burned into her right forearm.

She dropped her eyes and brought her arm to rest on her lap, tracing the inner circle of the mark that marred her flesh. Hidden beneath the black band was a small raised bump of flesh, a remembrance of her first Elken hunt.

Lyssia's eyes jumped to the Drakun pendant that now hung on an empty peg above her desk. She slipped the necklace free and brought it near her forearm, comparing the two images. Whoever had crafted the necklace had melded the mark of the mountain out of a single piece of metal. It looked identical to the mark on her arm, down to the interwoven double circle and the capped edges on the mountains.

The silver Drakun had been added later. She could see the ridges that marked where the creature and the high peak of Aturnel had been fixed together. She ran a finger over the Drakun’s side, feeling the roughened texture the artist had given the creature, the sharp edges of its claws, its shimmering eyes.

This gift was far more precious than she had first perceived.

She had been too distracted the day she received the necklace to notice the tiny gemstones set into the Drakun’s face. She had never experienced the feeling that she was being watched at night despite the masks that hung on her wall. They were soulless without her eyes looking through them.

The Drakun, who never went to sleep but watched over her with eyes that flashed in the firelight, gave her a different impression. But the sight of them did not spook her. It felt oddly reassuring to have someone, or something, watching over her.

For just a moment, she had allowed herself to believe that something had passed between herself and Magnor’s necklace. The surge of strength she had felt when called to speak, the warmth that had coursed through her - she knew that was all in her mind. Such objects did not hold power or sway over people. Still, she had taken off the necklace as soon as she returned to her room, hiding it again in her jewelry box so she would not have to look at it for a while.

She shouldn’t even consider the possibility now, but she couldn't help thinking...if only she could cast aside her nerves and anger and melancholy for a time. If she could somehow lock them away in this beautiful vessel, close at hand but contained, would this day be easier to bear?

Who would suffer the ill effects of such an experiment? Only the one who wore the pendant.

It was a silly, childish thought, and yet wholly distracting. As she slid the chain over her head and pulled her hair through, she felt as if the last piece of her armor was falling into place.

She glanced up and caught sight of the Drakun's flashing eyes in the mirror. "Take them," she sang, closing her eyes against the feeling of the necklace humming against her throat.

It's all in your head. Her gaze flitted up to catch one last look at her mask before she stood and made her way toward the door. But it'd better work.

She paused only briefly to check the drape of the sash and the placement of the dagger before opening the door and slipping out into the hallway. She was as ready as she could be to face her father's anger.

He would be angry, and she could guess why. The only question would be how she would be made to pay for her latest transgression.

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