Page 103 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Hope stirred, thin but persistent. “Can it hide other things too? Objects?”

He shook his head. “I will think on it. There may be another method. An ointment, perhaps.”

Before she could answer, the door swung open. Even Kalaetzu looked caught unawares.

“What are you doing here?” Njall entered with a hurried stride. “And where is Pietre?”

“I don’t know,” Elara blurted, startled. “I have not seen him since yesterday evening.”

Njall’s mouth hardened. Concern softened his features briefly before disappearing behind gravity. He stepped forward and caught her arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

She wrenched free, fear giving way to anger. “You know what they’re doing to the captives,” she accused, voice shaking. “You’ve known all this time.”

Njall said nothing, which for once, was answer enough.

“Help me save Lorrain,” she whispered. “Please.” Even as she said it, she expected the usual. Dismissal. Frustration.

But something in his eyes was different today. He stood still, studying her face as if considering a decision that he knew would cut deep, then gave a curt nod.

“I will help you.”

Her breath caught.

“But only when the time is right,” he added. “If we act too soon, it will get us both killed.”

She nodded, throat tight. Then, turning to Kalaetzu, “We’ll help you too.”

The Tsuchitsan’s mouth curved, but the motion held more disbelief than hope.

Njall guided her from the room. His hand stayed close at her back, never touching yet always there. He walked with meticulous purpose, placing himself between her and every sound they passed.

Elara glanced up at his ridiculous, now familiar, height as they moved toward his chambers. An understanding surfaced without invitation—one instinct warned would complicate matters beyond easy mending.

She had missed him.

Chapter 49

Koraleise

Mornings belonged to trade routes and tariff tallies. Nelayne joined her, and Kora buried herself in maps and contracts as if they might tether him back to Emberglade. Afternoons she gave to the new Southbridge school, where Rhalen’s stories of his boyhood filled some portion of the hollow he left behind. Evenings she spent beside Lyra’s hearth, folding linens and tying herbs while idle gossip filled the hours she would otherwise have spent thinking of him, and of how empty life seemed without him. Late into the night, pushing through exhaustion, she spread Osric’s ledgers across his desk, the dependable scratch of her quill standing in for his presence.

His letters came every three days.

At first, she avoided replying as carefully as she avoided her own traitorous feelings. Duncan loved Seraphine, and she could not hope to rival Seraphine’s beauty or grace. Answering him would only nourish the dangerous hope she had misread his kiss, that his devotion to Seraphine existed only in her imagination.

Still, she read each letter until she knew the shape of his script as well as her own.

When one arrived late—four days instead of three—the waiting nearly unraveled her. She paced her chamber through the night, hands damp against her skirts, thoughts circling every darker possibility. It finally came, and she tore the seal with such force the page nearly split.

Forgive the delay. We reclaimed Trivolen and shifted camp beyond its walls. Preparations took longer than expected, while we waited for the forces from Devrough to join us. Kryovarre still holds the rest of Ardennesse, but we will take every town and city back one by one.

The men are steady enough, though Bran grumbles as always. Ronnie insists I will collapse if I do not rest, and I told him I have no intention of granting him that satisfaction. I trust Emberglade is safe. Keep the accounts true and the household steady.

She sat down immediately to answer, intending to keep the reply courteous and brief.

Her words ran well past that intention.

Emberglade remains as it should be, and Lemierre keeps to a semblance of ordinary life. I have Osric’s ledgers in hand. Nelayne and I are negotiating tariffs with the honey merchants of Gryon, a livelier affair than expected. The Southbridge school has opened and now claims most of my afternoons, while Master Rhalen fills quieter hours with tales of mischief in your youth. He insists you once attempted to ride a sow through the courtyard, though I suspect embellishment.