Page 275 of Salt Between the Wolves

The question landed with uncomfortable precision—not what should happen, not what Soren would do, not what Vargan would do, but what she would do.

Eira looked down at the map spread across the table, where the northern mountains stretched across the parchment in dark ink and White Pass sat marked between two ridges, small and seemingly insignificant, just a narrow line drawn by someone's hand.

It was strange how often history depended on places that looked unimportant.

"I don't know."

It was the truth, and Leander accepted it without comment.

After a while he nodded once.

"I'll send the riders."

Eira exhaled, feeling both relieved and strangely disappointed, as if she had expected the decision to arrive from somewhere outside herself, as if information alone would solve the problem.

Deep down she knew better, because the question had stopped being whether something was happening in the north and had become what she intended to do if it was—and that answer no messenger could bring.

The riders left before dawn the following morning, and after that there was nothing to do except wait.

Eira quickly discovered that waiting was easier when it was tied to a problem she could solve, but this was not one of those problems.

The first day passed without incident, the second more slowly, and by the third she had begun measuring time against things that had nothing to do with calendars: the arrival of supply ships, the evening bells, the tide beneath her window, meals she barely remembered eating, and sleep that came late and left too early.

Silverwake remained stubbornly unchanged, with its crowded harbor, loud markets, and indifferent sea, while only Eira seemed incapable of behaving normally. She knew it, Leander knew it, and neither of them mentioned it.

Late on the fourth evening she found herself standing on the western wall overlooking the harbor, where the wind carried the scent of salt and rain and lanterns burned along the docks below, scattering gold across black water. For a long time she watched the ships—mostly merchant vessels, a few fishing boats, and one northern trader—but there was nothing unusual, nothing connected to Frostvein, Ironfang, or White Pass, and yet she could not stop looking.

"You are looking north again."

Leander's voice came from behind her, but Eira did not turn.

"There is no north from this wall."

"There is in your mind."

That was irritatingly accurate, and she folded her arms.

"You should find a less expensive hobby than studying my moods."

"I've invested too much time already."

Against her will she smiled, though only briefly, and the expression disappeared as quickly as it came.

Leander stepped beside her, and neither spoke for several moments while the sea crashed softly against the rocks below.

"You think they're there."

Eira knew who he meant.

"Yes."

"Both of them?"

"Yes."

Leander nodded once, as if he had expected no other answer.

"They may not be."