Page 159 of Salt Between the Wolves

"It appears to still be standing."

"Barely."

"I'll speak with the engineer."

"You said that last time."

"I did."

"You forgot."

"I did."

The worker nodded.

"Good. Just making sure we remember the same version of events."

Eira watched the exchange in disbelief.

The man sounded entirely unconcerned that he was speaking to one of the most powerful rulers in the region, and even more surprising was the fact that Leander seemed equally unconcerned.

They continued riding, and after remaining quiet for some time, Eira finally asked,

"They're not afraid of you."

Leander glanced sideways.

"Why would they be?"

The answer came so naturally that she almost missed it, as though the question itself seemed strange.

Eira looked ahead once more and noticed a group of children waving as they passed a farmhouse.

Leander waved back, and one of the children nearly fell into a ditch from excitement while the others burst into laughter. The entire scene felt absurdly normal, and somehow that unsettled her more than any display of power could have.

The afternoon stretched on as the air grew sharper and the scent of salt became stronger, until by evening even the gulls had become constant companions overhead.

Then, just as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, the road climbed one final ridge.

Leander slowed his horse, and the others did the same as something in their expressions changed into a familiar anticipation.

Eira frowned, followed their gaze, and forgot how to breathe.

Before her lay the sea, not as a distant line upon the horizon or a fleeting glimpse between hills, but as an endless, vast expanse of steel and silver stretching farther than her eyes could follow beneath the fading light.

The setting sun scattered molten gold across the water while distant waves rolled endlessly toward the shore.

For several seconds she could only stare.

Every story she had ever heard had failed completely, and no description had prepared her for either its scale or the feeling it inspired.

The world suddenly seemed impossibly large, as though the mountains she had once believed marked its edges had been nothing more than a doorway.

Then her gaze shifted, and she saw the city.

Silverwake rose from a rocky peninsula extending into the sea, its pale stone walls catching the last light of the evening while tall towers overlooked the harbor and white sails crowded the water below.

Several lighthouses stood watch along the cliffs while hundreds of windows glimmered like stars awakening against the approaching dusk, giving the city the appearance of something carved from sea spray and stone, beautiful, ancient, and alive.