Page 97 of Salt Between the Wolves

The door closed softly behind her.

For a long moment Eira remained where she was before crossing the room, extinguishing the lamps one by one, and climbing beneath the blankets.

The mattress yielded immediately beneath her weight, while the quilts trapped warmth around her the moment she pulled them close. For several minutes Eira simply lay there, listening to the unfamiliar quiet of the room and trying to convince herself that she did not need to be anywhere else.

She had spent so many nights sleeping in unfamiliar places that comfort itself felt unfamiliar now. The room remained peaceful except for the occasional crackle from the dying fire and the distant sounds of the estate settling into sleep, and gradually she became aware of something she had not felt in weeks: the absence of urgency.

No one expected anything from her tonight. No one was waiting for an answer, demanding a decision, or watching to see what she would do next. The realization felt strange enough to be almost unsettling, because for the first time since leaving Ironfang—and perhaps even before that—she had nowhere she needed to be tomorrow.

The road was behind her now, along with the mountains, the storm, and the endless uncertainty that had accompanied every step westward. Even Ironfang seemed impossibly distant, existing somewhere beyond forests and snow-covered peaks that no longer belonged to her immediate world.

The thought arrived unexpectedly.

Ironfang.

Eira's gaze drifted toward the darkness above her as she became aware of the bond once more. She did not reach for it deliberately so much as allow herself to notice it. The connection had become so familiar over the past months that she often forgot it existed until it reacted to something, whether anger, fear, pain, or desire.

For so long it had responded constantly, echoing emotions she could neither control nor escape. Tonight, however, it felt different. The bond remained present, as steady and undeniable as ever, yet it rested in a strange stillness that reminded her of a thread stretching across mountains and forests into a darkness she could no longer see.

She listened to it for a while, expecting some distant echo of tension or unrest, but none came. There was only distance—vast, immeasurable distance separating two people who remained connected despite everything that had happened between them.

Closing her eyes, she found herself wondering where Soren was at that moment. Somewhere beyond the mountains he was living another ordinary day, breathing the same cold air and sleeping beneath the same winter sky. The thought should have hurt more than it did. Instead, it left behind a softer ache, worn smooth by exhaustion and time.

For a brief moment she wondered whether he had noticed her absence, whether the silence she had left behind in Ironfang had reached him yet. The question lingered only briefly before she allowed it to drift away. Whatever answer existed lay far beyond her reach tonight, and for once she lacked the energy to chase it.

Outside, the wind brushed softly against the windows while the house settled around her. Somewhere down the corridor a floorboard creaked, and farther away a child laughed in their sleep before falling silent again. The sounds were small, ordinary things, yet together they formed a kind of peace that felt almost foreign.

Eira listened until her thoughts began to blur at the edges. By the time sleep finally reached her, it arrived quietly, slipping past memory before memory had the chance to follow.

Eira woke slowly.

For several disorienting seconds she remained motionless beneath the blankets, caught between sleep and waking as she tried to understand what had disturbed her.

There had been no nightmare, no sudden rush of fear, and no sharp pull through the bond, so the realization came only gradually as she listened to the sounds drifting through the house.

Someone was laughing, and the sound carried faintly through the corridors alongside hurried footsteps and the unmistakable voice of a child attempting—and failing—to be quiet.

Another voice followed, clearly belonging to an adult whose patient and firm instructions were being entirely ignored.

Eira blinked.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, washing the room in pale gold and silver. The fire in the hearth had burned low during the night, though enough warmth lingered beneath the heavy quilts that she felt no desire to leave the bed immediately.

For a moment she simply lay there and listened while the house slowly revealed itself around her.

Footsteps moved through distant corridors, doors opened and closed, and somewhere below dishes clinked together before another burst of laughter rang out, sounding suspiciously victorious.

The noise should have been irritating, yet instead it felt strangely comforting.

The sounds carried none of the tension she had grown accustomed to over the past months, because no one was arguing strategy, preparing for patrols, or discussing borders, alliances, and war.

It was simply a family beginning its day.

The thought settled unexpectedly inside her as she considered the difference.

This was a family rather than a court, a fortress, or a pack gathered around politics and duty, and somehow that distinction felt important.

Eira closed her eyes again, allowing herself one final moment beneath the blankets.