Page 73 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“I am unharmed,” he said quietly. “Isander was quick. Kept the worst from happening.”

Ernst waved away the concern with one broad hand. “Greatly overstated. There was never any real danger. You would think Lemierre was made of glass, the way everyone jumped.”

Genefra leaned back and finally deigned to acknowledge her husband. “You say that, Your Grace, but the last time you handled a bow, you slid from your horse and blamed the arrow for it.” She tore off another piece of bread, pleased with herself.

Ernst rolled his eyes, though the twitch at his mouth suggested experience had taught him silence was the better part of survival where his wife was concerned.

“Did you hear,” Genefra veered, taking command with cheerful abandon, “that Lord Banholt of Ardan Keep has bedded his steward’s wife? Under his own roof, no less.”

Ernst snorted, spearing a slice of fish. “Banholt has never known restraint. He borrows silver as he borrows women. Someone ought to hang him by the ankles until he pays what he owes.” He paused meaningfully. “He should be grateful he owes nothing to Firrigan. The Moonwarden would have him strung by the neck.”

Genefra brandished a crust like a scepter. “If we strung up every noble who owed coin, you would dine alone.” She took an unabashed bite. “Even Firrigan knows better than to empty half the court. He would choose a punishment with more longevity.”

“At the very least, when men stray, it costs little beyond dignity and coin.” Seraphine’s mouth curved faintly as she lifted her cup. Her gaze traveled the room until it settled on Duncan. “Women’s indiscretions tend to exact a higher toll.”

Duncan’s eyes met Seraphine’s for no more than a blink, but it was enough to pull Kora fully from her waking nightmare of imagining an arrow too near Duncan’s heart.

Genefra nodded, scandalized and delighted in equal measure. “A woman with a bastard… unthinkable! But do you know what is far more interesting?” She leaned forward. “When spare sons keep whole households hidden away.”

Her voice dropped, though it still carried to every corner of the hall. “I heard only last month that Lord Rodnik’s fourth son keeps a family tucked into the hills. Everyone pretends ignorance, of course, but the whispers cannot be drowned. Imagine it. A whole brood.” Her brows lifted, rich with implication. “They would all hang if Wolmer heard.”

Ernst chewed thoughtfully. “That one I believe. It is more common than people admit. Kryovarre’s court is tangled in the same trouble. There are rumors one of old Duke derVeselkal’s spare sons kept a hidden line as well. Some say they survived when Valdir’s brother claimed the duchy.” He looked at Duncan, unapologetically. “Apologies, Lemierre. I know your father was fair friends with the derVeselkal heir. Sivgard, was it?”

Kora leaned in, perturbed by the turn. She glanced at Duncan and saw his jaw tighten—slightly, but enough to not be accidental. He covered it with a slow sip of wine.

Genefra scoffed. “If any such derVeselkal blood had survived, they would have surfaced by now. Bastards never resist the pull of a crown once the legitimate line dies and the way is cleared.” She took a bite. “I remember Sivgard. Has it been thirty years already? He, Alaric, and Wolmer were frustratingly inseparable. Before all the murders, of course.”

Kora felt her stomach twist. This kind of gossip, and the ease with which the Duskmere party traded in it, made it clear Vaelstrom’s court was dangerous terrain to navigate.

“Speaking of crowns,” Genefra said, turning to Kora with bright interest, either blind to her unease or unconcerned by it, “how was Norrelia’s court, Duchess?”

Kora straightened and worked to keep her tone pleasant. “Interesting,” she said. It felt distant now, as though their journey had occurred years ago. She searched her memory. “We were fortunate enough to witness a festival honoring their goddess.”

“Such strange thinking, do you not agree?” Genefra mused. “Worshipping a single figure instead of the Three who govern the heavens. Our Moonwarden insists it borders on blasphemy—that to place even a divine female above the moons invites ruin.” She sipped her wine. “And yet the fae prosper. So who is to say where the truth lies?”

Something akin to a grimace passed through Duncan’s eyes. “Men build meaning around the moons because they want assurance that someone watches.” A pause edged with irony. “The fae have only chosen a different story that suits them better.”

Genefra arched a brow, clearly intrigued. “I have heard whispers—and mind you, this is not for repeating—a noble in Ardor has turned from the moons entirely. Nor does he venerate a goddess or sister. He keeps to the Dark Brother, in secret.” Her eyes glittered with mischief. “They say his priests drink black sap in their rites. Imagine it. Kneeling not to light, but shadow.”

“Old heresies,” Ernst said, mildly irritated. “The Spectrum has condemned the Dark Brother for generations. Any noble fool enough to follow that path risks more than reputation.”

Duncan lifted his eyes from his cup. “Light or shadow, it makes little difference. The danger is not what men kneel to, but what they justify in its name.”

“I agree,” Genefra declared with satisfaction. “Besides, faith, to my mind, is no different from fashion. People follow whatever makes them feel powerful: moons, sisters, a goddess, a Dark Brother. None of it may be truth, but all of it dresses the same hunger.”

“Or it is all truth,” Kora said dryly. “Then it matters very much which path one chooses.”

Genefra threw back her head and laughed. “How delightfully dangerous you sound, my dear.” Then, already moving on, “Speaking of veneration, we all know Wolmer dotes on Issabet. But I,” she pressed a hand to her chest, “know gossip insists she cannot abide him.” She turned eagerly to her sister. “Sera, you are dear friends with the empress.” She winked fervently. “Any truth to it?”

“Truth?” Seraphine murmured, almost to herself. “Marriage among nobles is a display, not a bond. Whether a woman smiles depends entirely on who is watching.”

“Well, I am watching,” Genefra boomed, bracelets clattering as laughter burst from her. “If secrets were worth silver, I could fund an empire on scandal alone.”

Her laughter rolled through the hall once more, candles trembling as the remaining tension drifted upward and vanished into the rafters. Even Ernst allowed himself a smile.

Long after the guests retired and the castle quieted, Kora found she could not sleep. Her thoughts circled the near mishap of the hunt, returning again and again to how close Duncan had come to harm. The terror of it lingered beneath her skin, restless and insistent.

What she needed, she decided, was something ordinary. Something that would bring her back to herself. Amid the din of Duskmere’s visit, she had missed Duncan’s company and the simple comfort of sitting together without witnesses.