Page 38 of Severe Husband Warning

The decision had always been hers to make. I refused to cage her beneath the excuse of protection simply because our marriage changed where she slept.

That conviction remains unchanged.

It also fails entirely to quiet the unease following Vhoros's report.

Malakor has lost face before the court because of our marriage. Whoever is responsible for the disappearances within the human quarter has managed to avoid notice long enough to grow bold. Neither possibility lends itself to carelessness, even if Calla herself would resent having every step shadowed by soldiers.

“I assume she offered some indication of where she intended to go.”

“Only that she wished to visit the human districts,” Vhoros replies. “I believe she intended to see her father.”

That, at least, eases some of my worries.

“If she returns before the council convenes, have supper prepared in the west garden.”

A faint smile touches Vhoros’s mouth.

“I will inform the kitchens, my lord.”

Once he departs, I linger for several moments, my gaze resting upon the abandoned blueprints without truly seeing them. I know little about the ordinary routines Calla left behind when she came to the spire, yet I find myself wondering whether she'd gone to see her father, whether she had spent the afternoon wandering the market streets she knows better than I ever could…and whether she had remembered to stop long enough to eat.

When I finally concede that no further work will be accomplished this afternoon, the strategy hall has long since emptied.

The steward waiting outside my study straightens as I approach.

“My lord,” he says with a respectful bow, “Lady Stromgarde asked if she might wait for you.”

“She is inside?” The question leaves me hastily.

A quiet anticipation stirs before I can suppress it, carrying with it the simple expectation of seeing her again after only a few hours apart.

The steward nods. “I believed she would prefer the privacy.”

“So would I.”

I open the door to Calla standing near the windows overlooking the city. She turns at the sound of my footsteps. She offers me a small smile in greeting, but it falters around the edges, unable to disguise the worry clouding her expression.

The sight is enough to extinguish my own.

Whatever brought her here has little to do with the pleasant supper I had imagined only moments ago.

I close the door behind me and cross the room without speaking.

She reaches into the folds of her shawl and carefully unwraps a small wooden weaving shuttle before placing it on my desk.

“I found this beneath Old Man Theron’s loom,” she says softly. “He's the one who first told me about the families disappearing.”

Her gaze drops briefly to the shuttle.

“He’s gone now, too.”

As I reach for it, an iridescent strand caught near the needle catches the light. Recognition arrives the moment I lift it closer.

“Storm-moth silk,” I whisper.

Calla studies my face carefully. “What is it?”

I turn the shuttle in my hands, taking care not to disturb the thread.