Page 159 of Of Iron and Moonlight

An army Njall had helped create.

Njall’s hands closed into fists. Guilt, which had followed him for weeks, opened into something darker. Dread flooded his bones. Fury consumed him. What have I done?

“It is worse to witness than to hear whispered of,” Kalaetzu murmured.

“What is it for?” Elara asked, fingers trembling.

Fear burned through Njall: what if Lorrain already marched in that tide? What if they were too late? He forced the thought down before it could reach his face. Elara had suffered enough by his hand already. There was no need to burden her with speculation.

“The army is meant for the Duke of Kryovarre,” Gavriel said flatly, sinking to his knees as if already defeated. “Oorlon is helping him overthrow Emperor Wolmer.”

Elara covered her mouth. “He will drag the Empire into the same misery Kryovarre lives in.” Her voice thinned. “What future is left for any of us if that comes to pass?”

A violent gust snapped their cloaks, driving snow into frantic spirals around them.

That was the only answer given.

Part Three

Irene Edwards

Chapter 74

Isander

“Alewyn sits on a small river branching from the Ardenna,” Rensaya murmured, tracing the blue vein across the map. Midday light filtered through the canvas, making the parchment glow as though it breathed beneath her fingertips. “There are a few viable approaches. The first…” She tapped upstream. “Divert the river here. Cut it off, and they lose clean drinking water.”

“Aye,” Brannoc grunted, thick arms braced on the table. “They can ration food for weeks, but water?” He gave a hard huff. “By the third day they would be begging us to drag them out.”

“That would cause death before surrender,” Osric said, shoulders setting. “You cut off a river’s blessing, you curse everything around it.”

Brannoc threw up his hands. “We have to end this siege somehow. Three weeks out here waiting is three weeks too many.”

“You are only upset because you wagered we would have all of Ardennesse by now,” Isander ribbed, folding his arms with a thin smile.

“It looked certain,” Brannoc muttered, rising to pace beside the table. “One city left. Simple as breathing. Then Valdir’s soldiers barricade themselves inside like stubborn goats with shields.”

“If you had not insisted on feeding everyone in Ardennesse,” Merrick drawled from a crate in the corner, one boot swinging, “they would not be so well supplied to outlast a siege.”

Brannoc wheeled on him. “You listen here—”

“The joys of benevolence,” Cairon cut in with a booming laugh. “You feed them well, and they endure well. That’s the trouble with generosity.”

“A lesson in incentives,” Merrick added mildly.

Brannoc growled. “Remind me never to help anyone again.” He dropped back into his seat, glaring at the map as if it had personally betrayed him. “We should divert the river,” he declared. “Drown their hopes or parch their throats. Either way, we go home sooner.”

“No,” Duncan said.

Everyone straightened. Merrick’s boot stilled.

“Valdir’s soldiers are not the only ones inside that city,” Duncan continued. “Lemierri families are in there. Farmers. Craftsmen. Our people. I will not condemn them to death.”

Brannoc’s shoulders dropped. “Then I see no path forward.”

“Not entirely,” Rensaya said. “We could divert the river into the city instead.” She tapped a bend in the waterway. “Build a channel starting here. Flood the lower streets. Not enough to drown them,” she gave Brannoc a pointed look, “but enough to weaken the foundation.”

Nelsyn leaned forward. “Lord Halfin of Alewyn has been petitioning for funds to repair the western wall. If the softened ground becomes as weak as Rensaya predicts…” His voice shifted toward reluctant interest. “The wall may indeed collapse. Especially with the help of a ram.”