Page 100 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“They have,” Valdir admitted, albeit reluctantly.

“Tonight, you will see for yourself,” Oorlon said quickly. “I have summoned my potion master for a demonstration.”

A sound of approval came from Valdir. “You truly believe the mixture will be refined by autumn?”

“I do.” A pause. “But if you seek a certain victory, strike in winter.”

“Wise counsel.” Valdir hummed. “The emperor and his court will be occupied with fancy balls and merry drink. They will expect nothing.”

“And a distraction,” Oorlon added. “We will need one.”

“Leave that to me,” the duke said at once. “I have a man inside Vaelstrom Palace. When the moment comes, he will act. And when I reclaim the Empire, your desire regarding iron will be honored. In truth, the outcome of Ardennesse matters little.”

Gavriel’s chest constricted. Lemierre had to be warned. He eased back into the alcove, mind turning once more to escape.

“I admit when you first contacted me, I hesitated,” Oorlon laughed under his breath. “I am pleased I did not refuse.”

“Then do not insult me by courting both sides,” Valdir replied coldly. “I am not blind. I know you made gestures toward Lemierre. Toward Wolmer.”

A ripple of frosted air washed through the chamber. “Do not confuse contingency with betrayal,” Oorlon said, anger plain in his voice. “And do not question me again.”

Silence.

Gavriel spotted a narrow vent and began edging toward it.

“Forgive me,” Valdir said after a long pause, his tone altered entirely. Then he cleared his throat. “While I am here, an accomplice of mine asked that I inquire after one of his lords, Pietre derOlpendorf.”

Gavriel halted.

“He prospers,” Oorlon said with a short laugh. “His talents have served me exceedingly well.”

“Talents?” Valdir scoffed. “I have met the man. Pietre is a useless fool. What game are you playing?”

“Hm,” Oorlon mused. “I did have my suspicions.” He rose sharply and whistled. A growl sounded from his chambers. Then a few sniffs.

The wolf appeared before Gavriel a moment later, teeth bared and snarling.

“It seems he can answer for himself,” Oorlon said, amused. “Come, Pietre dear.”

Gavriel cursed under his breath.

Then he shaped a crooked smile, lifted his hands in theatrical surrender, and, carefully avoiding the growling wolf, stepped into the open corridor. “I was only looking for bread,” he said softly, taking tentative steps toward Kryovarre, the duke’s men, and Oorlon, who was grinning with anticipation. “And fruit.”

Gavriel saw Valdir clearly for the first time. He was lean and severe: white hair carefully shorn, his lined face set in a permanent expression of cold calculation. A tapestry of furs and velvet draped his frame, every clasp carved from gem and bone. His dark eyes assessed Gavriel through narrow slits.

“This is no Pietre,” the duke spat.

Oorlon hummed. “He was useful while he lasted.” And, with a shrug, to the guard, “Learn who sent him. Then kill him.”

Gavriel thought of how far he had come. Of Elara waiting in the storeroom. Of Njall, and what it would mean for their friendship when the truth of his lie reached him.

He lunged for the door.

The guard moved faster.

Chapter 48

Elara