Page 39 of Severe Husband Warning

“Storm-moth silk is one of the finest natural insulators ever discovered. House Stromgarde uses it within our most advanced lightning-works because it can withstand currents that would destroy almost any other material.” I look up at her. “It is extraordinarily valuable.”

Alarm slowly replaces the cautious hope she’d been holding onto.

“Old Man Theron could never have afforded something like that.”

“No.” The answer weighs heavier than a single word should.

She draws a slow, even breath.

“When I first came here, I told you families had been disappearing.” Her fingers tighten around the edge of her shawl. “There have been more since then. I found his house emptied as though he’d never lived there. Everything was gone except this.”

My gaze settles once more upon the shimmering thread.

When Calla first spoke of the disappearances, I had assumed the explanations were the same ones that have followed every difficult season throughout history. People abandoned homes when debts became impossible to repay or sought better fortunes elsewhere, and fear had a way of transforming ordinary absence into whispered conspiracy.

A strand of this material has no business finding its way into the shuttle of a human weaver. Whether it was used, transported, or merely passed through his hands, it points toward someone with influence, resources, and access to materials carefully controlled by the Crown.

A quiet shame works its way through me.

Calla had come before me carrying the names of neighbors she had known her entire life, trusting that I would understand why their disappearances frightened her. I had listened carefully enough, yet I had filtered every word through the responsibilities of governance until the people themselves had blurred into another report requiring evaluation.

I lower the shuttle onto the desk with deliberate care.

“You were right to bring this to me,” I tell her and her eyes lift to meet mine. “I should have listened more closely.”

She studies me, surprise slowly yielding to quiet relief before she gives a small nod.

This time, I think she knows I truly heard her.

19

CALLA

I’d spent the walk back from the human quarter searching for the right words.

Now I watch Rothgar study the weaving shuttle resting between us, his fingers lightly curled around the polished wood as understanding slowly dawns on him. A faint crease forms between his brows, and the apprehension I’ve carried since leaving Theron's cottage finally begins to ease.

“You were right to bring this to me,” he says quietly, meeting my eyes. “I should have listened more closely.”

The apology is offered with the same steady honesty as everything else he says, and I believe him.

I give the smallest nod, afraid that if I try to speak, emotion will find its way into my voice. My eyes fall to the iridescent strand of storm-moth silk caught against the shuttle.

He follows my gaze.

“Only three places in Galmoleth are permitted to process storm-moth silk,” he says as I drift closer to the desk. “The royal foundries, House Stromgarde…” His fingers brush lightly over the shimmering strand. “...and House Malakor.”

A heaviness sinks into my chest as Old Man Theron’s empty cottage rises once more in my thoughts along with abandoned looms left waiting for hands that would never return.

“You believe Lord Malakor is involved?” My voice wavers slightly around his name, and I hate that the cold, slick touch of the sky-eels is the first thing that comes to mind.

“I believe coincidence has become increasingly difficult to defend.” He sets the shuttle aside before crossing toward a cabinet built into the far wall. “I want to show you something.”

When he returns, he carries a long leather tube secured with silver clasps. He unfastens them and carefully rolls its contents across the obsidian desk until an intricate schematic stretches between us, far more detailed than any map I’ve ever seen.

Silver lines crisscross black parchment, connecting every district through narrow conduits woven beneath streets and bridges. Tiny symbols fill the margins in a language of engineering I barely understand.

The city lies open before me, its hidden currents finally revealed.