Page 246 of Salt Between the Wolves

The wind moved between them, and for a long moment neither man spoke before Leander looked out across the sea once more and said, "And if I'm right..."

His voice was quieter now as he finished, "...the answers you're looking for won't be found in Silverwake."

Soren frowned and asked, "Then where?"

Leander's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as he answered, "In whatever everyone stopped questioning hundreds of years ago."

The wind strengthened as far below the sea struck the cliffs hard enough to send white spray into the air, and for several moments Soren said nothing before finally asking, "And what exactly do you expect me to do?"

Leander looked at him and replied, "About what?"

Soren let out a laugh that carried very little amusement as he answered, "About any of it," sweeping his hand outward to encompass the mark, the law, the North, the horizon, the sea—everything.

"You tell me I'm carrying too much," he continued, his voice sharpening, "you tell me I don't have answers, and you tell me there are questions nobody bothered asking."

A bitter smile appeared on his face before vanishing just as quickly as he asked, "Wonderful, but what would you like me to do with that?"

Leander remained silent, and that silence irritated him even more, prompting Soren to take a step forward and say, "You want honesty?"

The wind tore at his cloak as his gaze locked onto Leander's and he went on, "Fine, I don't care why the mark exists; I care whether it threatens my people, and I don't care who created it, I care what it does."

The sea crashed below as he added, "I don't have the luxury of spending months digging through forgotten records while Ironfang waits."

Leander watched him, still calm and still listening, which somehow made it worse, and Soren's jaw tightened as he said, "You keep talking about questions, but questions don't keep people alive."

For the first time since the conversation began, something flickered across Leander's face—not disagreement, but understanding of the worst kind, because it meant he knew exactly why Soren believed that.

The silence stretched until Leander finally nodded and said, "You're right," an answer that stopped Soren and made him frown as Leander continued, "Questions don't keep people alive, but neither does ignorance."

The sea rolled endlessly below them as the wind moved between them, and for a moment neither man spoke before Leander's gaze shifted toward the horizon and he said, "I think that's what frightens you."

Soren's expression hardened as he asked, "What?"

Leander didn't look at him as he replied, "You know how to fight enemies, you know how to survive winters, and you know how to make impossible decisions, but this is something you cannot solve through force, sacrifice, or endurance."

Soren looked away as Leander finally turned toward him and added, "And that terrifies you."

A long, heavy silence followed as Soren felt the familiar instinct rise immediately—denial, anger, dismissal, anything but agreement—yet none of the responses came, because the worst part was not that Leander might be wrong, but that he might not be.

The wind swept across the cliffs while neither man spoke until, quietly, Leander said, "The North cannot afford to lose you," and the words returned not as a warning or a political statement, but as something older and more personal.

Leander's eyes held his as he added, "And despite your best efforts, I'd rather not lose my friend either," with a faint shadow of a smile appearing on his face.

For a moment neither man spoke as the wind moved between them and the sea continued its endless assault against the cliffs below.

Soren looked away first, not because he had an answer, but because he didn't, and that, perhaps, was the most irritating part of all.

Leander had spent the better part of an hour dismantling certainties and replacing them with questions Soren neither wanted nor needed, or at least that was what he told himself.

A distant sound carried across the headland, faint at first and almost lost beneath the wind.

Leander turned before Soren did, his eyes narrowing toward the southern path.

A rider approached, fast—too fast—and the easy stillness vanished immediately.

The horse was lathered with sweat despite the cold air, and the rider wasn't slowing nearly enough.

Something tightened low in Soren's stomach, because nobody rode like that to deliver good news.