Page 123 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Isander forced down the anger that simmered beneath his skin as he and Garric searched boots, belts, sleeves, and cloak seams.

“Clear,” Garric called at last.

Duncan entered at once, grey eyes hard as a brewing storm.

“Lemierre,” Valdir said casually. “It has been some time.”

“And yet,” Duncan replied, “not long enough.”

A faint scowl touched Valdir’s mouth. “We waste men and coin on this war. Let us end it today. You keep what you have reclaimed. I keep what I hold. The border is drawn. Peace.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

Isander flinched at the edge in Duncan’s voice.

“You will starve them,” Duncan went on, stepping closer, knuckles whitening as his hands curled. “Beat them. Drive them into your mines until they bleed. And you call that peace?”

“Better alive in my mines than dead,” Valdir said lightly. “Which they will be, if you refuse.”

Duncan’s eyes widened. Then his fist came down on the table with a crack that snapped through the tent. “I will not barter lives for your convenience.”

Kryovarre watched him with faint amusement. “Such fervor. Where was this fire at court?”

Civility balanced on a blade’s edge. Isander bit the inside of his cheek as he watched tension gather in Duncan’s shoulders, the line between control and violence continuing to fray.

“Well, then.” Valdir’s smile narrowed, when it became clear Duncan would not bend. “The blood that follows is on your conscience, not mine.”

Chapter 58

Isander

Even Isander’s composure faltered at those words. He forced himself to swallow the burst of fury threatening to break free—

Someone rushed into the tent.

Isander’s sword was half-drawn before he recognized Griff. The lad’s eyes were wide with panic as he rose on his toes to whisper in Duncan’s ear.

Duncan’s entire face changed. Whatever he heard stripped away every trace of restraint. “To the useless moons with your peace,” he spat, overturning the table in a violent sweep. Wood split. Crates toppled. “Take your parley and shove it back to whatever cursed snake pit spawned it.” He stormed from the tent, rage flaring in his stride.

Isander didn’t wait to see Valdir’s reaction. He vaulted after Duncan, nearly running to keep up, the echo of splintering wood still ringing in his ears. “What happened?”

“She’s unconscious,” Duncan rasped. “The healer now thinks she may not survive the day.”

New scents of crushed herbs and leaves struck them as they burst into the command cavern. Lyra crouched beside Koraleise, trying to coax a spoon to her lips. Rensaya hovered nearby, face taut with concern.

Koraleise lay limp on the table, dark hair stark against her pallid cheeks.

Duncan dropped to his knees. He took her hand and pressed it to his mouth, holding it there as though it were sacred. The despair on his face twisted something deep in Isander’s chest.

“Stay with me,” Duncan whispered. Pleaded.

At the sound of his voice her lashes fluttered.

A thin sound escaped her throat, fragile as wind through a reed.

“Kora?” Duncan leaned closer, suspended on that faint syllable of response.

With visible effort her lips shaped a word again.