Page 167 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Darkness. A chill that sank into bone. The low ceiling. It all conspired with memory and tightened around Gavriel like a noose. His breath hitched against the now hostile air, and his mind dragged him back to the Niverna prison. To a narrow cell. Moonlight shifting. Iron bars. Until he could almost feel the bite of shackles against his wrists.

The vessel dipped over a swell, and the motion snagged his nerves. His stomach clenched, anticipating a blow. His body remembered hands forcing him down. Waking without knowing how much time had passed. Waking with blood dried on his skin. Waking to Damlor’s magic crawling through his mind until even his thoughts felt borrowed.

Gavriel curled his fingers into the grain sack beside him. The roughness anchored him. As did the scrape of Elara shifting behind the crates. The soft rustle of Kalaetzu’s cloak.

This was not a cell.

He was not chained.

He could stand.

He could leap overboard if he wanted.

He took a long, controlled breath through his nose to keep his lungs from locking, and kept his eyes closed until the tremor in his fingers dulled.

The fear remained, needling at him in stubborn pulses. But he did not try to banish it. He only tried to keep it contained before it could take hold entirely. Then, slowly, he set his gaze on the thin strip of light slicing the gloom.

Footsteps struck the planks directly above.

All four of them drew in a breath without looking at one another, attention lifting toward the ceiling. The boots crossed once, halted, then resumed. The hatch creaked open. A silver-haired sailor descended the ladder, muttering in sharp Norrelian syllables. Gavriel picked up a few words he had learned, the rest he could not decipher.

Light from the male’s lantern spilled into the hold in a crooked wash of violet, peeling back the deeper pockets of shadow as it moved across the crates. The glow drifted dangerously close to Elara’s face. Gavriel saw fear flash in her eyes before she pressed herself deeper into the gap.

The fae’s head turned toward where she and Njall crouched. He took two steps toward them.

Gavriel rose just enough to reach the rope strung tight along the sacks beside him. His fingers hooked into the coarse braid and jerked hard. One sack slid. Then another. The column collapsed in a thunderous spill, grain bursting across the boards in a rushing hiss.

The sailor swore and lunged toward the fallen cargo, stumbling into the mess. Violet light from his lantern swung wildly as he bent to right the toppled sacks.

Gavriel held himself motionless until his lungs burned.

Someone shouted in irritated Norrelian. Something about preparing for arrival, Gavriel thought. The male snapped a reply, shoved a sack upright with an exasperated grunt, and brushed dust from his palms. He climbed the ladder still muttering.

The hatch slammed shut.

Gavriel released his breath.

Across the narrow gloom, he saw gratitude soften Elara’s features as she mouthed, thank you. Njall inclined his head once in quiet acknowledgment. That small exchange sent a brief warmth through Gavriel’s chest before it folded back into the familiar ache he carried.

The rest of the crossing lasted less than a quarter hour. It felt longer.

They waited until the disembarking flow thinned.

Njall lifted a hand in signal and moved. He crept toward the ladder, body close to the boards. Elara and Kalaetzu followed silently. Gavriel brought up the rear, joints stiff from stillness and nerves fluttering.

They slipped over the rail, sliding down mooring ropes to the dock, and made their way toward the warehouse looming at the dock’s edge, its metal gate lifted.

The cavernous room was filled nearly to bursting. Crates towered in neat stacks like the ribs of some vast dormant beast. Row after row stretched into the dimness, the acrid, metallic scent of oraivane clinging to every surface.

“Sweet Hanura,” Kalaetzu breathed. He swore softly in his own tongue, awe and dread braided in his voice. “This could sustain months of war.”

Gavriel drew a slow breath, but it did not steady him.

The Niverna prison. Celestine. Both were only fortresses of walls and bars.

This. This was a chamber of horrific potential.

Of devastation not yet unleashed.