Page 104 of Of Iron and Moonlight

May the moons, if they watch, keep you from harm. Or failing that, remind you of the strength you already carry within you—strength enough to guard yourself.

His reply came three days later.

You wrote that Nelayne distrusts honey merchants. She is right. In Vaelstrom once, a spoiled shipment soured trade for a month. You both have my leave to bar them. Also, do not believe all of Rhalen’s tales. The sow racing is true, but it was Garriden’s idea. I was coerced into joining and left in the mud. Your words about home eased me more than you know. Keep writing. I depend on it more than I should admit.

“If you read that letter one more time,” Nelayne said without looking up from her quill, “the words will wear through the page.”

Kora startled, having forgotten she was not alone. She folded the letter carefully and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, turning back to the contract before her. “He says we should bar the honey merchants.”

Nelayne clicked her tongue. “Do you agree?”

“No,” Kora said. “We should lower the tariff. The tolls have outpaced their means.”

“You are not suggesting a sharp cut, I hope.” Nelayne lifted a brow.

“Of course not.” Kora smiled faintly. “A gradual reduction. With guild oversight.”

Nelayne leaned back and studied her. “You are wasted as a duchess.”

Kora blinked.

“That is a compliment,” Nelayne added.

Kora laughed, feeling joyful heat rush to her cheeks.

Nelayne’s mouth twitched with something like fondness before she bent again over her work, muttering occasionally about poor arithmetic and indolent courtiers.

In later letters, Duncan began asking her thoughts on the war. She answered with care, uncertain whether her counsel held any real value.

You were right. They meant to mire us. We held the ridge and struck them as they circled back. I begin to think I should keep a place for you among my captains.

Kora smiled despite herself and murmured into the quiet, “You already have me.”

The memory of his kiss with Seraphine still ached like an open wound. The near-kiss they had shared the night Kryovarre attacked unsettled her even more because of how fiercely she had wanted it to happen. Her resolve to keep distance endured. Yet she could not summon anger toward him, nor could she leave his letters unanswered.

So the weeks passed in the steady exchange of ink and paper. Until one evening by Lyra’s hearth, the pattern broke.

Lyra was midway through a story—one of the girls sneaking a piglet into the kitchen and declaring it her squire—when frantic pounding struck the door.

A rider stood on the threshold, cloak streaked with mud. “It’s Cairon,” he said. “Struck down. He lives, but his condition is grave.”

“Ronnie.” Lyra collapsed into Kora’s arms.

Kora’s own heart thundered so violently she struggled to breathe as the weight of the tidings settled beneath her ribs.

“We must go,” she decided, without doubt. “We ride to him.”

Chapter 50

Duncan

By the time the sun broke over the ridges of Ardennesse like hammered bronze, Duncan was already slick with sweat and grit, battle pounding through his chest as Merrenfield smoldered around him. His horse reared when another volley hissed past. Steadying the animal with one hand, he raised his blade with the other.

“Shields!” he bellowed. “Hold formation!”

A knot of his soldiers locked shields as arrows struck.

Duncan rode the line through churned mud, reading the fight like a chart—strain building in the north alley where Kryovarri pikes pressed hardest, the first falter along the western flank.