Page 128 of The Last Rose of Ashwood

The scout straightened. “General?”

“Take inventory. Supplies for underground travel. Rope, lanterns, oil, climbing gear, medicine, dry food. Search the hall, the inn, the stores, and anywhere Roran might have kept emergency packs. Anything useful comes with us.”

Mara’s eyes flicked once toward Elira, then back to Seren. “And her?”

Seren looked at Elira again. The space between them felt too narrow, too charged, full of old magic and new anger and the kind of awareness that had no business surviving this much distrust. Elira’s face remained composed, but her eyes were not as empty as she wanted them to be. “She comes with me,” Seren said.

Elira’s mouth curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. “How comforting.”

“It isn’t meant to be.”

The smile disappeared from Seren’s face. She stepped closer until the distance between them became deliberate, close enough that Elira had to lift her chin to hold her gaze. The square seemed to narrow around them, empty windows burning with abandoned lantern light while snow drifted soundlessly through the dark.

“You want to keep your secrets, fine,” Seren said. Her voice remained low, but the restraint in it had become more dangerous than anger. “Keep them until they choke you. But from this moment forward, every answer you give me had better be useful, because if Roran, Wren, Elowen, or anyone in this village dies because you chose mystery over truth, whatever this is between us will not save you from me.”

For a moment, Elira did not move. Something passed through her expression too quickly to name, and then the familiar composure settled back into place, beautiful and cold and infuriatingly complete.

“And what,” she asked softly, “do you think this is between us?”

The question landed in the one place Seren had not armored. Her pulse struck hard beneath her ribs.

She leaned closer, not enough to touch, only enough that the answer belonged to Elira and no one else standing in the dead square around them. “Right now?”

Elira froze and Seren could see the faint rise of her breath, the glimmer of snow caught in the silver near her temple, the way her eyes searched Seren’s face as though the answer mattered despite every reason it should not.

“An obstacle.” Seren stepped away before the lie had time to become visible. “Move.”

This time, no one argued.

Mara nodded, though grief had sharpened her face and left her eyes bright with anger she was too disciplined to spend uselessly. “Yes, General.”

“Coren, bring the horses to the north road and check the outer paths again. If anyone returns—anyone—you call before you follow.”

The young scout swallowed, looking once toward the houses whose windows still glowed as though their owners might return at any moment.

“Yes, General.”

Night had begun gathering properly, filling the spaces between buildings and softening the edges of the square. Snow fell in thin, almost weightless flakes. Lanterns burned behind empty windows, and Briar Hollow seemed to watch them without possessing a single living eye.

“You said the rootway connects to the old system.”

Elira’s voice came quietly. “Yes.”

“And you believe the villagers could still be somewhere inside it.”

“I believe it is possible.”

Seren’s hand tightened inside her coat around Roran’s glove. “Then we follow.”

Elira stared at her for several seconds before something like disbelief entered her face. “You do not understand what you are saying.”

“No,” Seren said, “I understand exactly what I am saying.”

“You understand roads meant for soldiers. Supply lines. Marches. Battlefields.” Elira’s voice had begun to lose some of its practiced coldness. “You do not understand what lies beneath those roots.”

“Then teach me enough not to die immediately.”

“That may not be possible.”