Page 154 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“I wish for nothing more than for this war to end,” Duncan said, employing some effort to keep his budding resentment from tipping into visible anger. “But I cannot leave my men to die while I attend court. With all due respect, Your Majesty.”

Wolmer regarded him intensely. “You are tired, Lemierre. You must learn to share what you carry.”

“Perhaps,” Duncan conceded. “But the decisions are mine to make and the consequences mine to bear. I will not place that burden on my captains. I will not ask them to decide which father falls and leaves a family vulnerable, which son dies to leave a line diminished.”

Wolmer’s jaw tightened. “A ruler must hear those echoes but cannot follow them. If emotion directs every decision, the realm collapses under compassion.” He waved a finger. “The duty is not to feel less; it is to act reasonably even when feeling becomes unbearable.”

“Ironic that borders themselves carry no feeling,” Duncan said quietly. “They are constructs—arbitrary lines on a map we treat as scripture and die to defend.”

“Constructs that determine who eats in winter and whether villages burn or endure,” Wolmer countered, voice tightening. “Territory is rarely fought for pride alone.”

“And that,” Duncan said, “is the part that keeps me awake.”

“You speak like a man who has lost more than land.”

“I have, and I have gained more since then that I do not wish to lose.”

Wolmer’s expression softened, though his tone remained serious. “A ruler who sleeps easily through war is a danger to everyone.” He drew a slow breath before continuing, “In truth, leadership is not preservation, Lemierre. It is renewal. Empires and kingdoms decay. Alliances shift. Land changes hands. People change with it. What matters is the ability to build again—to look at ruin, loss, and refuse despair.”

They sat with their own thoughts briefly before Wolmer pushed back and rose. “I expect to see you back at court soon. Preferably alive, and with fewer reflections on borders.”

A knot formed in Duncan’s stomach as he left the chamber. Not because he wholly disagreed with Wolmer, but because of how easily the emperor had reduced a living man to a lesson. Each time a life was written off as expendable, the Empire grew easier to break.

“What news?” Isander asked as they began walking toward the derWhitte apartments.

“Nothing unexpected,” Duncan said, dragging a hand through his hair. “He will not negotiate with Oorlon, and he wishes the Ardennesse matter settled quickly.”

Isander nodded. “Should I return with you?”

Duncan paused only long enough for the truth to settle. “Yes.” He pivoted toward the stables. “Kora will be safe here. Nelsyn’s daughter arrives tomorrow to keep her company.”

Isander noted their change of direction. “Would you not like to say farewell to your wife once more before we depart?” The tone left no mystery as to what he truly meant by that farewell.

“No,” Duncan said. “If I see her again, I will never convince myself to leave this cursed palace.”

Chapter 72

Elara

“Cursed mountains,” Elara muttered, flinging out her arms as her boot skidded on ice.

Their route toward Norrelia’s western coast hardly deserved to be called a path. It was a string of jagged ridges, narrow ledges, and hidden gullies where sound seemed to vanish. Each step was a skirmish against snowdrifts and ice-crusted rock.

Njall caught her arm before she could land flat on her back. Once she found her balance, he lifted her pack from her shoulders and moved ahead with it as though the slope were no more than uneven cobblestone on an afternoon stroll.

“I was carrying that,” Elara protested, attempting a glare through the collar of her cloak. She lifted a fist of frozen fingers and waggled it in complaint, though the effort was weak.

He grunted without looking at her, then stopped. “The next stretch is steep. I will go ahead and cut steps into the ice.” His violet gaze settled on a dark seam in the rock. “There is a cave there. I will fetch you when the way is ready.”

“Come, child,” Kalaetzu said gently. “We will make no progress if one of us gets hurt.”

Elara muttered something about unfairly tireless fae but followed Kalaetzu toward the shallow hollow in the mountainside. She tried to hold on to her irritation, to tell herself Njall’s insistence was arrogance.

She could not.

“How are your toes?” Kalaetzu asked as they stepped into the dim shelter.

“They may have fallen off,” Elara said, scraping ice from her laces. “Difficult to say.”