Page 189 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“Of course,” she said as she retreated to her chair. “If he came here, or if I disappeared, it would invite too many questions. Everyone is on edge. No one wants to draw attention.”

Merrick leaned against a side table, arms folding loosely. “Has anyone drawn your suspicion more than usual lately?”

“No more than usual,” she said dryly. “Which speaks volumes. Why do you ask?”

“Duncan received word that Kryovarre has an ally inside these walls.” Merrick’s expression sobered. “The duke himself is not here. But whoever supports him likely is. Duncan told me to warn you. Be cautious with everyone.”

Her stomach dropped. “Do you think this ally is the one who killed the empress?”

“We aren’t dismissing the possibility.” Merrick shook his head. “Kryovarre is capable of anything. I would not be surprised if he orchestrated every piece of this.”

“Who could it be?” Kora wondered aloud.

Merrick shared the names Duncan and Isander suspected, each possibility threaded with motive and ambition. She, in turn, told him everything she had observed since the palace was sealed: the unnatural quiet that followed, the emperor’s fury, the shifting alliances she sensed.

Merrick pushed away from the table. “I should go,” he said. “But I’ll return. Mornings before breakfast or evenings before dinner. Guard rotations are easiest to slip through then.”

Kora rose. “I’ll be here.”

He stepped toward the window, already half-shadow.

“Merrick,” she called softly. “Wait.”

He turned.

“Will you tell him…” Her breath thinned. “Tell him I miss him too. Every moment.”

Merrick’s expression eased. He nodded, drew up his hood, then disappeared through the window as quietly as he had entered.

Kora began to pace, circling the hearth as though it might steady the whirl of her thoughts or quiet the restless surge inside her, stirred by Merrick’s revelations. Until now she had felt like an observer trapped inside a drama that concerned her deeply but never directly. But he had given her something tangible. Names. Motives. Patterns.

She stopped suddenly.

She would attend Genefra’s dinner after all—to watch, to listen, to step deliberately into the path of whispers and see who flinched. It was a risk, but sitting idle felt worse.

As she neared the final turning, a low murmur drifted from the adjoining gallery, unexpected in the suffocating hush of the palace. They must have assumed the corridors empty.

Kora became suddenly aware of how alone she was, the memory of her encounter with Damlor in Norrelia tugging at her nerves. She slowed and slipped into a shadowed alcove.

“Lemierre ought to have been in the palace,” snapped the first voice, deep and unmistakably Ernst derStrom’s. “You assured me he’d arrived.”

“I could not control the timing. But it matters not. The distraction is working.”

Firrigan. Kora’s breath caught.

“Do you not see how Lemierre riding free complicates matters?” Ernst muttered.

Firrigan exhaled, impatient. “With Issabet gone, Wolmer has forgotten about his legislation. Court business has all but ceased. And with Lemierre absent, no one dares challenge him about keeping the palace doors barred. All we require is time.”

“And the pieces fall where they must,” Duskmere murmured, his tone cold.

Kora swallowed against rising panic.

Duncan. They had meant him inside the palace when the gates sealed. If he had arrived any earlier, he would be walking these corridors now with a mark set squarely upon him. Perhaps framed for the murder and quietly eliminated. Removed to leave Lemierre leaderless and vulnerable. She understood then, even Genefra’s teasing about an heir had not been idle.

Their voices began to drift further away. Kora slipped from the alcove and moved toward the Duskmere apartments, though dinner, in truth, no longer interested her.

She rounded the final corner and collided with a tall figure.