Page 47 of Salt Between the Wolves

When dawn finally began gathering beyond the narrow window, she was still in the same place, wearing the same clothes and staring at the same dark stains on her hands.

A knock sounded at the door shortly before dawn.

It was soft and measured, not loud enough to startle anyone awake, and Eira already knew who it was before a word was spoken.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then his voice came through the wood.

"Eira."

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Soren stepped inside, bringing a sliver of pale morning light with him before it disappeared again behind the closing door.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the untouched bed, the discarded cloak, and the dried blood still staining her clothes.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

The silence between them felt different from the one in the square. It was quieter and heavier somehow, carrying a weight that seemed far more dangerous than raised voices ever could.

"You didn't sleep."

It wasn't a question.

"No."

His eyes lingered briefly on her sleeves and on the blood still darkening the fabric.

Riven's blood.

After a moment, he looked away.

"The funeral pyre will be built today."

The words settled heavily between them.

"At sunset."

Eira lowered her gaze.

Until that moment, some stubborn part of her had continued refusing to accept what had happened. A funeral pyre left no room for denial and no space for hope or self-deception.

Only finality remained.

"He would have hated it."

Soren's attention returned to her.

"The attention," she said quietly, her voice distant. "Everyone standing around talking about him as though he isn't there."

For the first time, something shifted in his expression, whether it was a memory or grief she couldn't tell.

"He probably would."

Silence settled over the room once more.

Eira rubbed her thumb against a dried stain on her wrist.