Page 91 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“We mark those who didn’t survive their first cold here,” he explained. “There’s a hunt, and afterward a fire. Some of the older ones insist on singing, whether they’re good at it or not.”

“And you?” she asked.

“I take part,” he said, and this time there was the faintest trace of humor in his tone. “Though I wouldn’t recommend listening too closely.”

That drew a quieter reaction from her, something that didn’t quite reach laughter but came closer than anything had since the courtyard.

She became aware, in that moment, of how tightly she had been holding herself before, and how unfamiliar it felt to let even a fraction of that tension go.

“You should rest,” he said, glancing briefly toward her arm.

“I will,” she replied, and now the answer came without resistance.

He nodded, already stepping back, as though the conversation had reached its natural end.

He didn’t linger, and he didn’t look for anything further from her.

“Eira,” he added before turning fully away.

She looked at him.

“You handled yourself well when it mattered.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight without needing emphasis.

Then he left.

She remained where she was, the warmth of the cup still steady in her hands, watching the courtyard as it moved below her.

The tension hadn’t disappeared, and she didn’t expect it to.

But it had shifted into something she could hold without it pressing in from all sides.

Above, somewhere beyond the line of her sight, the familiar awareness beneath her skin held steady, close enough to register.

She didn’t look up.

And for the first time since entering Ironfang, the line between obligation and choice no longer felt as narrow or as fixed as it had before.

Chapter 25: First Winter

Eira

By morning, frost lay quietly across stone and wood alike until the courtyard carried a faint silver sheen that broke under the first steps of those gathering near the gate.

It did not feel sanctified.

There were no raised voices, no deliberate gestures meant to elevate the moment.

The wolves gathered without being called. Their presence filled the space gradually, forming a line that held without instruction. Breath rose in pale threads in the cold air. Movement slowed, not from hesitation, but from awareness.

An elder stepped forward.

When he spoke, his voice did not carry far, yet it reached everyone.

He spoke names.

Not loudly, not with emphasis, but steadily, as though each one belonged exactly where it was placed. They were not only the names of warriors. Some were softer, some younger, some carrying the weight of lives that had ended before they had fully taken shape.