Page 120 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked softly instead.

She looked at him with such longing and regret that Duncan knew there was no emperor’s command, no comfortable distance, no reason in all of Oraith compelling enough for him to deny her.

That night, Kora wept in quiet intervals. Duncan held her without speaking, his arms steady as each wave of grief passed through her and into him. He offered no platitudes he knew were useless and made no attempt to mend what could not be mended.

He simply stayed.

And he did not let go, because he feared what it might do to him.

Chapter 57

Isander

Garric brushed iron dust from his sleeve. “You called for him?”

“I sent Griff not long ago,” Isander replied, still marking positions on the map.

Content, Garric dropped into a chair, stretching his legs before him. Brannoc was already seated in Grayhollyn’s new command chamber, oiling the head of his axe with steady strokes. Cairon occupied the far end of the table, surrounded by sketches, a small forge model at his elbow as he adjusted a hinge with careful concentration.

Merrick sauntered in. “Another day breathing iron,” he said, sweeping the room with theatrical dismay as he claimed a chair. “I withdraw yesterday’s remark. This truly is miserable.”

Cairon chuckled. Brannoc grunted without looking up. Garric offered a low greeting.

Isander’s shoulders stiffened.

“Good morning,” Merrick added, angling his grin toward him, light and unbothered.

“Morning,” Isander answered, clipped, as Nelsyn and Jeffren entered, their discussion of troop counts following them in fragments. Then Duncan appeared, the stairway casting him briefly into shadow, Koraleise just behind him.

The room rose.

Duncan lifted a hand. “Sit,” he said. “Please.”

They did, though the air remained taut with attention.

Isander glanced at Koraleise as everyone settled and felt worry stir. She stood near Duncan, eyes swollen, hands clasped too tightly before her. Duncan’s hand rested at her back, and, in truth, she looked as though she might collapse without its support.

“Griff said we have news,” Duncan said.

“From the scouts,” Garric replied. “Kryovarre has been sighted. He requests parley.”

Voices and anger erupted at once.

“What’s his game?” Brannoc demanded.

“Assassination,” Merrick said without hesitation, a hard gleam in his eyes. “That snake murdered his own brother for that duchy. He won’t hesitate to do the same to Duncan.”

Isander’s jaw set. He locked eyes with Merrick across the table and shared, for once, not contempt but recognition. On this, they certainly agreed.

“Perhaps he seeks a truce,” Osric offered, weary but pragmatic. “Their losses have not been light. Desperation breeds negotiation.”

“Or deception,” Nelsyn countered. “He aims to offer peace with one hand, strikes with the other.”

“If he comes to us,” Jeffren ventured, “then he is cornered. We have leverage.”

Merrick expressed his thoughts on that with an exaggerated scoff.

Isander let the debate that followed wash over him. He glanced at Koraleise and saw her eyes lose their brightness, her focus drifting. Her skin had gone almost translucent, the pulse in her throat nearly visible beneath it.