Page 89 of Iron Beneath the Snow

The voice came from her left, easy and unforced.

She turned.

Riven stood near the lower steps, holding a clay cup.

“Less than it probably should,” she said. “It only reminds me it’s there when I move too quickly.”

He stepped closer, stopping just short of her space, and offered the cup without ceremony.

“This should help with the swelling,” he said. “It’s bitter, but it works.”

She took it, the warmth of it grounding in her hands.

“Thank you.”

He gave a small nod, watching her take a sip before continuing.

“I saw where you stepped in,” he said. “You cut off the passage before he reached it.”

She glanced at him, registering the directness.

“He would have made it inside otherwise,” she said. “That was the only path that mattered.”

“That’s what I thought,” he replied. “You weren’t reacting to him. You were thinking ahead of him.”

She studied him for a moment.

“You’re not wondering why I was there at all?”

He shrugged lightly.

“You were where you needed to be. That’s what matters.”

“And if I had misjudged it?” she pressed.

“Then we’d be talking about that instead,” he said simply. “But you didn’t.”

The answer was so straightforward it almost disarmed her.

She took another sip. The bitterness lingered, but the warmth spread deeper now, easing something she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“You don’t speak about it the way the others do,” she said.

“The attack?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“They’re already trying to understand what it means,” he said. “I’m more interested in what actually happened.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“And what do you think happened?”

“They came in fast, didn’t stay long, and chose their moment carefully,” he said. “And you happened to be standing where it mattered most when they made that move.”

“You’re not concerned about why they targeted that path?” she asked.

“I assume someone else is already working that out,” he said. “My concern is whether we held the line.”