Page 111 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Garric surrendered the final knife from his sleeve, looking rather annoyed, and obeyed when the broad man gestured toward the building. Kora and Isander began to follow. Duncan, however, remained where he stood, breath heavy, eyes turned toward the river.

Kora glanced back at him, perplexed. The naked fury radiating from Duncan was so unlike his usual demeanor that she could make no sense of it. “We must go in before they withdraw the offer,” she urged, her eyes flicking nervously toward the hidden door where Garric had just disappeared.

Duncan grunted, displeased but reining himself in, and began to walk.

The warehouse looked and smelled much the same inside. Old crates were piled deep in the shadows. Beyond them, figures loomed half-lost in the dim light. Kora’s gaze moved over those gathered, searching for Merrick less by face than by posture, by the subtle shifts that revealed who the others watched. Who they answered to.

A panel in the far wall creaked open.

A man dropped lightly to the floor. Drama followed, prowling at his heels like a cat certain of its claim to a space. He crossed the room with unhurried grace, and before he deigned to say a word, the atmosphere shifted. Ashfell men straightened, almost without knowing it. A slanted shutter seemed to right itself, as though answering an unspoken cue. Even the air stilled to listen.

“Hello, brother.” Less a greeting than a challenge.

Where Isander was stone, Merrick was smoke. He was airy and lithe, with a voice that lifted easily into the rafters and a smile that hovered between humor and mockery. Brown hair fell where it pleased, stubble lending careless charm to features unmistakably kin to Isander’s.

Isander’s mouth opened, but nothing came.

Merrick’s attention slid past him. “Duncan.” He dipped his head. Not quite a bow, but close enough to be deliberate. “Still tall, dark, and handsome, I see.”

“It’s good to see you alive,” Duncan replied, inclining his head slightly in return.

Merrick’s brown eyes drifted to Kora, curious. “And who’s this?”

“My wife, Koraleise,” Duncan said. He gestured toward Garric. “And Garric Holt. A recent addition to the Lemierre Council. You would not have known him.”

For the first time, Merrick’s mien slipped. His eyes widened, then warmed with genuine delight. “You?” he said with a laugh. “Duncan derWhitte claimed by one woman at last? Circumstances notwithstanding, I never thought I’d see the day.”

He took Kora’s hand, not with courtly ceremony but with the grip of a conspirator. “Lady Koraleise. You have my condolences.”

Then, after a beat, more sincerely, “And my envy.”

“In that order?” Kora asked, amused despite herself.

“Flexible.” He flashed a quicksilver smile.

Then he clapped his hands once. The Ashfell Quiett reacted immediately. One took position near the inner door. Another moved toward the river side. A woman scaled the loft ladder and began to watch from above. The warehouse came to order while Merrick hopped onto a crate, swinging his legs as though this were a tavern rather than a den of knives.

“Now, before I charm myself to sleep,” Merrick said, eyes gleaming, “to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit?”

Duncan glanced toward Kora and nodded, encouraging.

Merrick’s gaze followed and settled on her.

She drew a breath. “We’ve come to ask for your help.”

“My help?” Merrick pressed a hand to his chest in theatrical affront. “How could a man like me possibly be of service to the Duke of Lemierre and his merry court of councilors?”

“As you may know, we are at war with Kryovarre over Ardennesse.”

“I may have heard rumors,” he replied mildly. “Different year, same blood-soaked story. Kryovarre and Lemierre have been fighting over that spit of land for centuries.” His expression sobered. “Before you continue, my men are not mercenaries. I don’t sell them for hire, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“We aren’t asking for soldiers. We have men and steel. What we lack is trust.”

Merrick cocked his head. “Trust.”

“The people of Ardennesse are starving,” Kora continued, finding her footing as she went. “Trade is strangled, fields burned, and roads claimed by armies. Kryovarre rules by fear. Lemierre by extraction. They are asked to choose between two harms. It is no choice at all.”

Merrick chuckled quietly. “And you believe I can persuade them otherwise?”