Page 36 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Duncan opened his mouth.

“No,” Oorlon cut in.

One of the wolves lifted its head, dark eyes fixing on Duncan.

Duncan might have been afraid, if he had not then felt the first sparks of anger. He exhaled slowly, knowing all he could do for the lad now was buy time. “I cannot promise this will be resolved immediately, but I will convey your terms.”

Oorlon steepled his fingers. “Perhaps you have not considered,” the king said, “there may be something in this for you.” His smile returned. “If the forges fall silent and your emperor falters, does that not create an opening? Your lands hold the richest veins. Sometimes power is best taken by letting what you have hidden do the work for you.”

Duncan nearly scoffed before biting it back. The suggestion hinted at a more sinister design beneath the demand, but he had no patience to examine it now. Only a pressing desire to be gone from this place. “As I said,” he replied, “I will carry your terms to the emperor.”

Oorlon laughed, already bored. “And do not mistake this for an unalloyed victory on my part. Returning your baron would deprive me of a formidable fighter and my daughter of her amusement.” He feigned sorrow. “But the goddess favors sacrifice. We shall see whose it is.”

The spark of anger flared fully in Duncan’s blood. He allowed it for a heartbeat, then forced it down, placing his hands on his knees and standing. “I thank you for your hospitality,” he said evenly. “It has been an honor to witness the Festival. We shall depart shortly.”

“Oh, no,” Oorlon protested calmly, remaining seated. “You must not leave before tonight’s finale.” He flashed his teeth and ran his tongue over an elongated fae fang, eyes glittering. “It is a delight you would regret missing.”

Duncan bowed, drawing on what remained of his restraint to say nothing else. He had to leave before the pounding in his ears drove him to jeopardize Pietre entirely.

Isander fell into step beside him once they cleared the hall, nearly jogging to match his pace. “That could have gone better,” he muttered.

“Get the men ready. We leave at first light tomorrow, no later.” Fury coursed beneath his composure, and his mind reeled from the brief touch of Oorlon’s magic. “I will take the duchess to the closing rites and find you before the feast to review our arrangements.”

Isander nodded once and peeled away without hesitation.

Duncan continued on alone, thoughts circling back to the imposter Pietre. Guilt settled in his chest. He had given the man hope, and had no certainty when, or if, he could see it fulfilled.

Chapter 19

Koraleise

The gown chosen for her today was threaded with green, as if meant to make her eyes part of the display. Like the others, its collar rose high at her throat while the bodice clung tight enough to steal her breath, hugging her so closely that air struggled to reach her lungs.

When the duke returned and saw her, that strange look crossed his face again before he smoothed it into calm neutrality. Without comment, he reached for her cloak and held it out, though the castle’s air was mild enough not to require it.

Kora turned, allowing him to settle it over her shoulders. His hands were careful at her throat as he adjusted the clasp, fingers brushing where her amulet lay cold beneath the silk.

“Stay near me,” he said, almost sternly. “Isander will not be joining us this evening.”

Kora faced him. Today, his eyes spoke of wrath. Of disappointment. “What were Oorlon’s demands?” she asked lightly, hoping that sharing might ease whatever weighed on him.

“That is not a matter for your concern.”

His tone was so cold it drove her a step back. Her lips parted to explain.

“Koraleise,” he cut her off, with finality.

Kora nodded, careful not to let the sting reach her face, and brushed past him toward the door. If he did not wish to speak with her of anything beyond the trivial, she would spare him the inconvenience of enduring her presence. Of staying near him. Until she could find a more fitting way to become invisible, the way he seemed to believe a wife ought to be.

At the temple gardens, where the ceremonial rite was to take place, Pietre joined them once more along the outer colonnade. Kora positioned herself deliberately so he stood between her and the duke, then tucked her hands deeper into her cloak, forcing them still. The baron’s blond brow arched briefly in question, but he remained silent.

An altar had been set before Selvara’s temple, carved from marble and etched with runes that shimmered like a winter’s breath across its surface.

“Children of Selvara,” the Norrelian King intoned in the common tongue, his gaze cutting pointedly toward their section. “For two nights we have honored Her, and now we come to the most sacred of them all.”

Kora risked a glance at her husband.

He stood straight and motionless as a drawn line, jaw tense.