Page 143 of Iron Beneath the Snow

Eira remained where she was.

He had not turned away.

He had not withdrawn.

He had simply chosen not to remain.

And now that choice had carried him beyond her reach.

Ironfang absorbed his departure almost immediately.

Orders continued. Gates closed. The stronghold adjusted.

Eira did not.

She did not return to her chamber. Stillness offered too much space for thought.

Instead, she moved through the inner corridors without a defined destination, allowing the stronghold to carry her until the scent of smoke and iron gave way to dried herbs and heated water.

The infirmary.

She paused only briefly at the threshold before stepping inside.

Beds lined the walls in careful arrangement, low voices carrying between them without urgency. Bowls of steeped herbs rested along a long table, their scent rising into the warm air.

A woman stood near the far end, grinding something into a fine powder with steady, unhurried movements.

She did not look up when Eira entered.

“If you’re here to stand in the doorway,” she said, “you’ll be in the way.”

The tone was not unkind. Merely direct.

Eira stepped further inside.

“I’m not.”

“Then you can carry water,” the woman replied, gesturing toward a row of filled basins without interrupting the motion of her hands. “Or you can leave. Both are useful.”

Eira crossed the space without answering, took one of the basins, and carried it to another healer.

The task required no thought.

For a time, that was enough.

The woman at the table finished grinding the herbs and finally looked up, her gaze moving over Eira with calm assessment.

“You’re not one of mine.”

“No.”

“But you move like you don’t want to sit still.”

Eira set the empty basin aside.

“Does anyone here?”

A faint shift touched the woman’s expression.