Page 155 of Salt Between the Wolves

The statement hung in the air without accusation or judgment. It was simply a fact.

Soren waited.

Edrik continued.

"He should have left under Ironfang protection."

Silence followed as several council members shifted uncomfortably. No one disagreed because no one could.

Soren felt irritation stir beneath his skin.

"The man served Vargan."

"He did."

"He carried demands."

"He did."

"He came to provoke."

Edrik's expression remained unchanged.

"Then we should have sent him home."

The answer came without hesitation, fear, or apology.

For a moment, Soren considered ending the discussion there. Instead, he looked toward the mountains visible through the narrow windows because, somewhere beneath the irritation, he knew Edrik was right, and that realization made the conversation unbearable.

Another council member spoke.

"What matters now is Frostvein's response."

That, at least, was a problem everyone understood.

The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately as attention sharpened. Practical matters always came more easily than uncomfortable truths.

"We return the body."

"We return the body and an explanation."

"We strengthen the border."

"Vargan will strengthen his regardless."

"He may already have."

The discussion gathered momentum as Soren listened, made decisions, and issued orders. Everything felt normal, except it wasn't. Every time the room fell quiet, he could feel the unspoken truth lingering beneath the surface—the thing no one wanted to say, the thing everyone had witnessed, the thing waiting behind every glance.

Something is wrong.

The thought followed him like a shadow.

A knock interrupted the discussion, and one of the guards entered with snow still clinging to his cloak. The man crossed the room quickly before stopping beside the table.

"My lord."

Soren looked up as the guard held out a folded piece of parchment.