Page 89 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“That’s one word for it.” Njall’s mouth twitched. Some of his guilt loosened its hold, eased by the relief that Pietre had not turned on him instantly, or named him monstrous.

“I remain profoundly uninteresting,” Pietre said lightly after a beat. “Completely black eyes—not even oraivane could improve me.”

Njall laughed. Then, releasing a breath, “There’s something else.”

Pietre’s brows rose. “Ominous.”

“I need your help.”

He told him about Kryovarre. About the girl who had followed his patrol through the forest. Who had thrown herself into danger to rescue a friend.

Pietre stared at him, mouth ajar. “You smuggled a human girl into the castle and have been hiding her in your chambers for months?”

Njall gave a wary nod.

Pietre blinked. “Let me see if I understand this. You couldn’t take her to Celestine because her eyes are plain brown and the facility only wants color. You didn’t have the heart to kill her. So instead you brought her into the wolves’ den.” He spread his hands. “Why not let her go back to Kryovarre?”

Njall’s mouth pulled between exasperation and reluctant humor. “Wait until you meet her. You’ll understand. She wouldn’t have listened. She was so determined to save her friend she’d throw herself into the wolves’ den twice if she thought it would help.”

Pietre only narrowed his eyes.

Njall grunted, defeated. “I couldn’t let her go. The panic it would cause… Most humans don’t believe we exist. Even one returning with inconceivable truths about fae abductions would spark hysteria. Chaos.” His jaw set. “And if Oorlon learned I released her after she’d seen me…”

Pietre rubbed a hand over his face. “This may surpass the absurdity of learning humans are diluted fae.” His grin returned, edged with teasing. “Tell me, Njall, have you taken up collecting trouble?”

Njall punched him lightly in the arm.

Pietre staggered back, clutching it with theatrical pain. “Cruelty!” he gasped. “To strike a poor human after confessing such sins!”

Njall rolled his eyes. “Will you help me?”

Pietre’s amusement softened into concern, then steadied into something more serious. “Of course,” he said, as though it had never been in doubt. “I know a place. Quiet. Out of Oorlon’s notice. Bring her here tonight once the castle goes to sleep.” He paused. “Avoid the south wing corridors. They’re warded against humans. She’ll feel them before you sense them.”

Njall let out the breath lodged in his chest. “Thank you.”

Pietre turned back toward the weapons. “Do try not to make things worse before dusk.”

On the way back to his quarters, Njall cut through the kitchens. Honey, bread, a few pieces of fruit. He knew by heart what Elara would eat and what she wouldn’t.

As he gathered the modest peace offering, Njall caught himself rehearsing how he would tell her she’d be allowed her walk—almost looking forward to the glee it would bring to her face.

Chapter 43

Gavriel

Gavriel caught the strike and guided it away in a clean arc, drawing murmurs from the crowd. Tables formed a square around the cleared center of the feasting hall at Selenar Castle, an improvised stage where his duel served as the evening’s diversion. Where he tracked every movement diligently, knowing the next might cost him dearly. Fighting. Performing.

He slipped aside, turned another cut, and transformed the motion into a flourish meant to please the onlookers. A needling laugh drifted from Oorlon’s table. Drifah.

He felt her eyes tracking his every step with undivided interest.

His focus slipped.

His opponent lunged.

The blade passed close enough to disturb the air beside Gavriel’s neck.

Gasps.