Page 43 of Of Iron and Moonlight

At last, too, the sky was right again, after so much northern violet. Where moonlight governed Norrelia, here the sun ruled. It washed the valley in gold, gilding slate rooftops and forge chimneys, drifting through silky threads of smoke lifting lazily into the blue.

“Oh,” came a soft sound from the carriage beside him. Then again, quieter, because the first had not been enough to hold what she felt, “Oh.”

Isander smiled. Over the long weeks of travel, he had grown used to the new duchess, and he had decided, without quite intending to, that he liked her. The miles had passed easily between them, their conversations wandering from the ridiculous to the tender. When fatigue blurred the day’s edges, humor tipped into absurdity and they laughed until their sides ached.

Watching her now, he found himself thinking of what it meant to leave one duchy behind for another. His thoughts turned to his mother, arriving in Emberglade from Kryovarre on this same road, with him not yet two summers old and another child beneath her heart. She had shaped a life here from unfortunate circumstance, finding joy despite all she had lost. He hoped that Koraleise might one day find Lemierre as remarkable as he did.

His attention shifted to Duncan, riding ahead, alone as he preferred, when matters of the duchy were plainly troubling him. Though Isander suspected this distance was not only habit but intention. Whatever strain had begun between the duke and his new wife in Norrelia had not faded on the journey east. It had traveled with them, revealing itself in the spaces between words, between glances. And, most prominently, in what neither of them said.

Isander pressed his knees into his horse’s flanks and urged it forward. “Your Grace,” he teased, drawing level with Duncan, hoping to lighten the mood. “We raced the road, and the road lost.”

Duncan looked at him sideways. “It could only be because you found some way to cheat.”

“Only by choosing the better horse,” Isander replied, flashing a grin.

A faint sound escaped Duncan. Half breath, half reluctant amusement.

“We traveled the Empire with your father, yet I never thought I’d see fae lands with my own eyes,” Isander reflected after a moment.

Duncan shook his head once. “If anyone had told my father that a human delegation would walk Norrelia within our lifetime, he’d have called them mad.”

“Mad enough to rival Oorlon,” Isander agreed. “I half expected him to send his wolves the moment we turned our backs.” He glanced over his shoulder. Partially in jest. Partially in reflex. “I’m surprised we crossed in and out with so little trouble.”

“I don’t think it was goodwill,” Duncan said quietly. “For whatever reason, Oorlon wants his demand carried intact. Iron matters to him enough that he was willing to play the gracious host.”

Isander frowned. “Iron poses no threat to fae beyond their borders. Why press for this now?”

“I have my suspicions,” Duncan replied. “But I won’t speculate aloud, or relay anything to Wolmer, until I’ve spoken with the Council.”

Isander nodded. After a few strides, he spoke again, this time with more care. “I feel for the young man.”

Duncan’s shoulders tensed.

“If Wolmer refuses,” Isander continued, “what becomes of him?” He still couldn’t quite believe that the Baron Pietre they’d met was no lord at all.

Duncan drew a breath, then let it out slowly. “I do not know.”

“You suspect Wolmer will refuse,” Isander said, not asking.

A single nod. Then, after a pause, “I should have done more.”

Isander turned fully toward him. “What more was there to do?” he asked, gentle but firm. “Short of staging a rescue that would have sent human and fae into open war over wounded pride, there was nothing else to be done.”

Duncan said nothing, eyes fixed on a distant sweep of hills.

“You did more than most would dare,” Isander went on. “By not exposing him, you left him alive. And until we hear directly from Wolmer, the matter isn’t settled.”

Duncan turned back to him, meeting his eyes. “A narrow hope.”

“Still a hope,” Isander replied. “Sometimes that’s enough to keep a man standing.”

Duncan inclined his head once and sat a little straighter in the saddle.

They crested the hill, and the world opened below them. The Ember River cut a bright course through the valley, and the city of Emberglade spread outward from it in ordered ripples. Bustling streets threaded between workshops and markets, banners snapping overhead, wares catching the sun in flashes. And there, across the bridge, Emberglade Castle stood nestled against the far hill: grey stone veined with dark ivy, towers planted sturdy against the wind.

“A month late, but we made it,” Isander said, grinning wide. “What is the first thing you’ll do once we’re inside the gates?”

Duncan tipped his head back toward the sky and laughed, disbelieving. “Meet with the Council.”