Page 112 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“Yes.”

His brow lifted in challenge.

“You live among them,” she said quickly, desperation driving some of her momentum. “You walk their roads and fight where it matters to them, not where banners demand it.” And, after a pause, more earnestly, “You have their respect.”

Merrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s say I stake the Ashfell Quiett on a duke’s word. What assurance do I have that Lemierre won’t break its promises once the war ends? I’ve heard lords make vows before. None have ever fed the poor.”

“The terms will be written plainly,” Kora said, straightening. “You will witness them and hold standing to call breach if any are broken.”

He swung his legs once. “This is no small thing you’re asking of me.”

“You know my family honors its oaths,” Duncan said, stepping in, tone cautious.

“I do.” Merrick shot Duncan a crooked smile. “That’s half the reason I haven’t dismissed this out of hand—and why my bands only trouble Kryovarri merchants in Lemierre.” He paused, then turned back to Kora. “But Lemierre holds more lords than derWhittes. It’s them I don’t trust not to fold the moment their purses are pinched.”

“Any lord who tries will answer to me,” Garric said.

Merrick laughed, the sound genuine. “I believe you.” Intrigued, his eyes lingered on Garric, recognition passing between them.

He leaned back. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Help us deliver grain to the people,” Kora said. “They refuse aid from us. But if it comes through you, if they see you standing with Lemierre, it changes what the aid means.” Then, sensing he would appreciate the full truth, “It won’t solve everything, but it opens a door.”

Merrick was silent for a long time.

Finally, he slid off the crate. “You’ve convinced me of one thing: you aren’t lying about your intentions.” Then, already angling for his exit, “But I cannot risk the Ashfell Quiett’s work on it.”

Disappointment tightened in Kora’s chest, sharper for how close they had come.

“Please.”

It was one word. But coming from Isander, it carried a thousand worth of meaning.

Merrick stopped. The prowling ease left him. He turned back slowly and faced his brother fully.

For a long stretch, they only looked at one another, the silence thick with everything that had and had never been said between them.

At last, Merrick blew out an exaggerated breath. “The contracts will carry real protections for the towns. The first profits from the mines go to food, not coffers.” Then, more quietly, “Meet those terms, and you have me.”

Relief moved through Kora, though she kept her expression composed. She looked at Isander and gave him a bright, grateful smile.

He only watched Merrick, expression unreadable.

They stayed a while after that, shaping plans in rough lines and provisional assurances. Despite the undercurrent of menace that radiated from Merrick, Kora found she did not fear him. His danger lay less in violence than in persuasion. He could draw people close until they forgot where they meant to stand. And theatrics aside, he was quick and practical, unwilling to bend even when surrounded by power.

By the time they returned to Trivolen and dawn had begun to pale the sky, Kora’s pulse still carried the quiet pride of having done something that mattered. Perhaps this would change the lives of Ardennesse’s people for the better, even beyond the war.

“We should attempt a few hours of sleep,” Duncan said, shrugging off his cloak. He reached for a spare blanket. “I’ll take the ground.”

Kora turned to him, startled from her thoughts. “Don’t,” she said quickly, almost reaching for his arm. “I’d rather you not give up the bed on my account.”

Grey eyes met hers, something thoughtful passing through them before they softened. He inclined his head once, accepting the offer with quiet gratitude.

And so, for the first time since their wedding night, they lay side by side. They faced opposite directions, blankets divided like borders drawn, in a truce neither dared test.

Kora felt the pull to close that careful space and resented herself for the impulse.

Yet as sleep claimed her, her heart felt lighter than it had for weeks. For the simple fact of his nearness.