Page 155 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Kalaetzu responded with a tired chuckle. He placed a hand over the leather of her boot and sent a careful thread of magic through it. The cold remained, but the sharp numbness eased, as though tiny fractures had been coaxed back into place.

With heavy steps, Gavriel shuffled into the cave. He walked without assistance now, though the remnants of starvation and captivity still clung to the hard lines of his thin frame and the shadows in his eyes. His movements remained careful, as if he did not yet trust his own strength, and he preferred to keep to the rear of their small procession.

He eased himself down against the cave wall, and for a moment the three of them sat in a quiet that made the hollow feel cavernous.

“Do we risk a fire?” Elara asked at last, rubbing her hands together.

“Not much to burn here,” Kalaetzu said, glancing at the stone and packed snow, then settled beside Gavriel on the floor. Fae endurance kept him moving, but his years still claimed their due. The climb showed in the slope of his shoulders.

“Just my fortune,” Elara said, casting him a teasing look. “Two fae bloodlines with me, and rather inconveniently, neither carries the magic required to light a spark.”

Kalaetzu’s mouth curved faintly. “Yet you still have your toes.”

“I suppose that’s a fair exchange.” Her lips curved despite herself. She touched her wrist, still tender but largely healed by Kalaetzu’s care.

“I have always wondered. How does Aurumierran magic work?” Gavriel asked.

“Ameriel’s gift influences the interaction between elements,” Kalaetzu said. “It joins what would remain apart or divides what appears bound.” He tapped his chest. “It reaches further than that. They can sway emotion.” His lips tipped into a playful smile. “Explains their infamous tempers.”

Gavriel hummed. “Norrelians push and pull the world. Tsuchitsans quicken and slow processes. Aurumierrans alter the relationship between matter itself. It is almost as though the laws of nature were divided among your three bloodlines.”

Kalaetzu blew out a breath, somewhat amused though mostly uncomfortable. “I would not wish to meet a fae who carried all three gifts.”

“Such a being would not simply influence the world,” Elara said, unsettled by the thought.

“They would command it,” Kalaetzu agreed, his green eyes darkening. “That is too much dominion for one person. Each kingdom has settled into its limits, and that is well.”

“Worse still if one pair of hands could do more than manipulate what already exists,” Gavriel added. “If they could bring something into being and then bend it.”

Kalaetzu’s expression hardened. “A fae with all three gifts, and the power to conjure, would be worse than Oorlon.” His voice lowered, warning threaded through it. “There must be boundaries. There have always been boundaries. It is a mercy we cannot create from nothing. We draw from what lies beneath us and reshape what is already here. Creation belongs to older forces than ours. Older even than the goddesses. Not to fae.”

Elara drew her cloak tighter, looking toward the cave mouth where the white tundra stretched without end. “If concentrated Norrelian magic makes the world feel like this, and Aurumierran magic turns land into desert, what is Tsuchitsa Isle like?”

Strain eased from Kalaetzu’s face, replaced by longing. “An evergreen forest,” he said, warmth returning to his voice. “Always growing. Always blooming. Roots braided deep in the soil. Canopies so thick it is possible to forget what bare branches look like.”

Elara smiled at the image. “You must miss it.” She shivered. “Kryovarre winters are not gentle. Yet even I am weary of this frost.”

“I dream of walking again beneath those trees,” Kalaetzu admitted, eyes unfocused.

Elara glanced at Gavriel. “I have heard Duskmere may not be paradise, but you must miss something of it as well.”

“There is nothing to miss,” Gavriel said quietly. “And no one there to miss me.” His mouth tightened. “I may as well have died in that ditch at Netherfen Hallows.” His expression mirrored Elara’s own unspoken ache so closely that she had to glance away.

“We are grateful that you didn’t,” Kalaetzu insisted, then turned to Elara. “And you, child. Do you miss Kryovarre?”

Elara felt the silver ring on her pinky through her glove. “I miss Lorrain,” she said after a moment. Grief swelled in her throat without warning. “That is all.”

“That is the kind of love the world often forgets,” Kalaetzu said. “Lovers burn, write poems, and set history ablaze. But the love of friendship is quieter. It keeps the world from splintering. It reminds us who we are when life tries to strip that away.”

“I thought many would claim romantic love the greater bond,” Gavriel mused, not unkindly.

Kalaetzu’s smile turned thoughtful. “It has its place. Lovers can change the course of a life. But friendship steadies it. When passion fades or grief descends, it is any hand that reaches for yours and refuses to let go that keeps you from losing yourself.”

“I see that smile,” Elara said, leaning into the warmth of the exchange. “You must have stories, Kalaetzu. Have you ever been in love?”

“Many times,” Kalaetzu replied with a quiet laugh. “When one lives as long as I have, there is time enough for several foolish mistakes. And a few choices that were not.”

Elara brightened. “Tell us about the good ones.”