Page 197 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Kora rose slowly.

Her legs felt distant.

Her palm slid along the table as she crossed the room.

“Is everything all right?” Terrice asked, a slight tremor beneath the concern.

Kora hesitated, hand hovering above the latch.

Terrice had been kind. Reliable. If anyone within these walls could be trusted, it would be her. And perhaps she would be safer with company.

Her hand tightened on the latch. She opened the door a fraction.

Two men surged through the gap. A palm crushed over her mouth, smothering the cry before it formed. Air left her lungs in a sharp rush as she was driven backward across the threshold by a firm grip.

Terrice staggered back, nearly losing her footing. Shame carved itself across her face. “I am so sorry, Your Grace,” she sobbed. “They threatened my father. My family. They said they would ruin us. Or worse.” She lunged toward Kora, as if repentance could undo what she had done, but a third man caught her and hurled her against the wall.

Kora’s pulse slammed against the iron hold around her as she was dragged down the corridor. Her slippers scraped uselessly against the marble. Her screams were muffled by the hand clamped over her mouth, crushing her jaw.

No doors opened.

No witnesses crossed their path.

Chapter 89

Duncan

“Any word from Ardennesse? From Brannoc? The Council?” Duncan asked without lifting his eyes from the parchment before him. Ink had barely dried before he reached for the next.

“None. As yet,” Isander replied from the adjacent desk, where he transcribed Duncan’s dictated letters. “The riders left only yesterday. Even with favorable roads and the fastest horses, we are not likely to hear from them before tomorrow.”

Duncan finished his signature and set the page aside. “It troubles me that we do not know how near the army is, nor how long we truly have before it arrives.” Troubled was too mild a word for the depth of his concern.

“We should have answers when Merrick returns,” Isander hoped, nudging a final stack toward him. “These complete the wave. Once signed, I’ll dispatch the next messengers.”

“Thank you,” Duncan said, reaching for the top letter.

“And you have seven appointments tomorrow,” Isander added, consulting a ledger.

A breath escaped Duncan, more fatigue than frustration. He had already met with half the lesser nobles in Vaelstrom. Minor banners. Modest levies. Promises that sounded sturdier aloud than they would likely prove on a battlefield. Still, he assembled what he could, aware he was stacking stones against a rising tide—and persistently aware that Emberglade stood directly in the path of whatever marched east.

The study door flew open.

Merrick entered without grace, without stealth, without preamble. His cloak hung crooked, as though he had abandoned the clasp halfway through fastening it.

Duncan and Isander stared, caught unawares for once not by his sudden presence, but by the manner of it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Merrick said, though the usual bite of sarcasm failed to land. His face was stripped of its easy mask. “You asked me to use the door”—he gestured at it with sharp exaggeration—“I used the door.”

“Yes,” Isander said slowly, turning in his chair. “It’s precisely that you used the door that concerns us. This is… not your customary method.”

Duncan stood abruptly, cold instinct arriving before reason. “Do you have news?”

Merrick’s jaw flexed. “Quite a lot of it,” he said. “None of it favorable.”

Isander rose as well, steady but braced. “I’m beginning to dread your entrances.”

“I am in no mood for jests,” Merrick said firmly, lifting a hand in warning. He looked at Duncan squarely. “Your wife has been taken.”