Page 107 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“With respect,” Nelsyn said, expression tightening, “I know my region. Take Herrenford, and they will reinforce Grayhollyn, making it near impossible to reclaim.”

The tent broke into overlapping voices, harsh and worn. Not rebellion, only fatigue given sound, men too long in battle to keep to courtesy. They scarcely noticed when a messenger boy slipped inside, his words swallowed by the rising debate.

“Just a moment, Griff,” Duncan said, lifting a hand to stall him.

“Your Grace,” Griff insisted, wiping sweat from his brow. “Duchess. She’s here.”

The words broke Duncan’s concentration. “What did you say?”

He turned to find Kora standing at the entrance. Mud streaked the hem of her cloak from the road. Her hair had come loose around her shoulders. Though weariness showed in her eyes, fierce purpose held her upright.

Relief hit him first, sharp enough to hurt. Panic followed, leaving him oddly terrified. “You should not be here,” he said, unable to hide the tremor.

“Lyra must be with Cairon,” Kora said evenly. “And I must be with her.”

“No,” Duncan said at once. “You must return to Emberglade immediately. It is dangerous for you here.”

“I will not,” she shot back, lifting her chin. Her green eyes flashed with determination. “You may command armies, Duncan, but you do not command me in this.”

Duncan dragged a hand over his face, catching on the dried blood still clinging to his skin from the morning. Fear for her safety and frustration at her defiance tangled too tightly to separate. Yet in the end, it was something else that undid him: that she had set aside formality and simply addressed him, for the first time, by his name.

“Very well,” he said finally. “But you will stay clear of the fighting. On this, I will not bend. Isander will see to your safety when I cannot. At all times.” Then he drew a breath that did little to steady him and forced his attention back to the table, though his thoughts remained tethered to Kora’s presence. “Where were we?”

Nelsyn cleared his throat, glancing at Kora uncertainly. “Lord Turrel and I are of one mind. Grayhollyn should be next. It carries more risk than Herrenford, but we cannot afford caution now. Trade has slowed. Grain shipments are strained. My people already suffer for it. Ardennesse cannot endure both a prolonged war and hunger.”

Duncan watched Kora cross the tent and take a seat beside Rensaya before answering. “Our supply lines still hold. We have surplus grain. Why not send aid?”

“We try,” Brannoc replied. “Most villages have barred their gates to both sides. They turn our wagons away. Call it pride. They’d rather starve than accept help.”

“Why?” Duncan asked, genuinely perplexed.

Brannoc exhaled. “If I knew, I’d have solved it already.”

“Because neither side has earned their trust.”

Everyone looked at Kora.

She rose and stepped to the table. “These towns have been treated as resources for generations,” she said, resting her hands on the wood. “Lemierre drains their iron. Kryovarre lashes them raw. And now you ask them to choose between two aggressors.”

Nelsyn frowned, though likely unsettled more by her speaking plainly than the bold accusation. “Then there may be little we can do.”

“We can give them a reason to trust us,” she countered.

Osric studied her. “How would you suggest?”

“Food is not enough.” Kora tilted her head slightly. “They need proof. Written terms. Lower levies before harvest. A measure of autonomy. Oversight of the mines by their own elders.”

Duncan looked at her, pride rising with the certainty that she was right.

“And from whom would they accept it?” Nelsyn asked, plainly unconvinced.

“Someone reliable,” Kora said softly. “Discreet.”

Silence answered, thick with doubt.

An idea came to Duncan. He did not like it, he knew it was a risk, and he understood that it would hurt. But war had taught him anything that might spare lives was worth the cost.

He turned to Isander. “Andy.”