Page 79 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“Thank you.” Duncan exhaled. “I would rather she did not hear more.”

“I assumed as much.” Isander’s mouth curved without humor. “I wondered if you were the reason the countess came with Duskmere. She rarely leaves Moscowa during the off-season.”

“That may well be so.”

Isander glanced at him, meaning plain. “Be careful.”

“I was,” Duncan replied. “I sent her away.”

“Good.”

They reached the muster yard as the first sunlight cleared the ramparts, laying long bars of gold across the packed earth. The scent of cedar, leather and steel grounded Duncan as surely as breath after exertion. He rolled his shoulders while Isander drew his sword and tested its balance.

Dust lifted around their boots as they circled.

Between passes, “Duncan.”

Duncan parried, eyes flicking up.

“Does Duskmere’s visit trouble you?”

“Aside from my near death?” Duncan paused. “Thank you, by the way.”

Isander nodded once. They resumed.

“The timing does feel suspicious,” Duncan said. “I know better than to trust him. Why?”

Isander’s brown eyes hardened. “I have a bad feeling.”

“About?”

“Kryovarre. It has been quiet too long. Then Duskmere arrives, loud as a trumpet.”

Duncan caught Isander’s wrist and sent his sword skidding across the yard.

“Fine,” Isander said, breathing hard. “You win.” He tipped his head with a crooked smile. “Though I’ll remind you, I had you flat two days ago.”

Duncan chuckled, then sobered. “I think you are right.” He lowered his blade. “Once Duskmere leaves, I will ride to Ardennesse and Devrough myself.”

Isander sheathed his sword. “I will come with you.”

Duncan watched him go, then turned toward the horizon. The free morning no longer felt like a luxury. It stretched ahead, taut with anticipation.

Only when the sun had begun its descent did Ernst finally wake and request an audience. Duncan readied himself, bracing for maneuvering and evasion, still uncertain what the man truly wanted. Yet even with the added apprehension of Kryovarre’s impending strike circling his thoughts, his steps felt lighter than they should have been. He was looking forward to seeing Kora.

She waited outside the main study doors, dressed in one of his mother’s gowns, dusky blue embroidered with vinework at the cuff. Her dark hair was coiled into a careful braid, every pin set with care, and his breath caught at the sight.

“Kora,” Duncan called, his voice warming as he crossed the corridor.

When she turned, her expression was composed. Too composed. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and she seemed to gather herself before replying. “Your Grace,” she said coolly, dipping into a precise curtsy.

Duncan slowed, unmoored by the greeting, then tentatively offered his arm.

She gave a distant nod and stepped aside instead, falling a pace behind as they entered.

The refusal was slight and should not have mattered so much, but it struck him all the same. He tried to tell himself she was simply observing propriety before their guests. Yet beneath that lingered a sneaking suspicion that a door he had not known he wanted open had just closed.

Duskmere stood in conversation with two of his men near one end of the table. At the other, Osric waited with Cairon, ledgers laid out with care. In truth, Nelayne ought to have been present, but Duskmere’s poor reaction to a woman at the table would only have deepened the tension already palpable in the chamber.