The formal talks lasted three days.
They took place in a wide pavilion of bone-white and living vine at the centre of the expanded camp. Leaders of the independent powers sat in a loose circle with Lady Sable, Lian, Mei, Rhea, and Elizabeth. I remained at the middle of that circle because every faction had already agreed the binding figure needed to be present even when the words belonged to others. Fleet numbers, defensive lines, shared supply routes, and the question of what would happen after the great-clan threat was broken all received hours of careful argument. Agreements were written, rewritten, and finally sealed with the simple authority of people who preferred survival to pride.
The days belonged to politics.
The nights belonged to everything else.
