Page 161 of Of Iron and Moonlight

The typical response to his presence.

Isander smiled, the last of his annoyance carried off with the wind, and reached for a shovel of his own. Then he paused as if struck.

Merrick.

He stood among a knot of Ashfell men, hair tied back, breath rising in pale clouds as he drove his shovel into the earth beside them. It was jarring and familiar at once: the way he had worn his hair as a boy, the set of his stance, the stubborn focus he carried through drills and lessons. There was no swagger in it. No taunting. No careless ease. Only unadorned effort. A brother laboring in the cold because the work needed doing.

Duncan’s words began to burrow in him, not all at once but in fragments. Perhaps he had been wrong to cling so fiercely to his anger. The past did not need to be restored to be released. Not every bridge required careful reconstruction. It was perhaps enough to take a step toward it. To admit the gap existed. To refuse to let it widen further.

Isander exhaled, breath dissolving into the darkening sky.

He was not ready to forgive. Not fully. Not yet.

But the idea no longer felt impossible.

Chapter 75

Isander

The channel deepened as night thickened around them. Hours blurred, and the cold slipped beneath every seam of cloak and armor. Isander kept digging. Only when Amerieth began her amber-gold reign overhead did he set his shovel aside to catch his breath.

Their progress had surpassed anything he had dared hope for, and the plan, as far as logistics allowed, was sound. Every sign pointed toward success. Yet something felt wrong.

It was not fear. Nor distrust of the men beside him. Just a quiet insistence in his core—instinct honed by years on battlefields—telling him something remained unaccounted for. Something capable of tearing through even the cleanest strategy.

“Ready!” Cairon called from where he had been stooping to measure the angle of a slope. Rensaya crouched several paces behind him, her palms drifting along the carved path, reading the land like a healer feeling for a pulse. “Everyone, retreat!”

Men peeled away stiffly, flexing numb hands and rolling sore shoulders.

A chosen crew hacked at the last strip of packed earth dividing river from the trench. The barrier darkened, sagged, then broke as water spilled over in a white-cold rush, plunging into the carved channel with sudden force. The trench shuddered under the torrent racing its length.

Isander pushed aside the warning tugging at him and crossed to where Duncan now stood with Cairon and Rensaya, watching the river claim its new course toward Alewyn.

“The soil here is dense,” Rensaya said, folding her arms against the chill. “We must wait half a day for it to absorb the water fully.”

Duncan nodded, looking around. Then, to Cairon, “Progress with the ram?”

“I’ve a design in mind.” Cairon scanned the western wall with a craftsman’s eye.

Isander studied the fortress with him. “We could send Garric closer to confirm the foundation has been compromised. See whether the supports have begun to shift.”

“That’s sound,” Duncan agreed. His attention shifted to Isander, intent but measured. “Merrick should go as well. He is… uniquely suited for such work.”

Silence.

“Will you speak to him?” Duncan asked gently, knowing exactly what he was asking.

Isander exhaled briskly. “Yes.” He pivoted and began searching before hesitation could take hold. Before memory dragged him back into grievance.

Merrick stood a short distance from the dispersing soldiers, rubbing dirt from his palms with a scrap of cloth. Even while being useful, Isander noted, he kept to the edge of things. Near enough to step in. Far enough to vanish without notice.

Isander slowed, eyes sliding past Merrick to Alewyn. A borrowed moment. Nothing more.

“Think you’ll intimidate the wall into crumbling?” Merrick ribbed.

Isander shot him a dry look, hope for reconciliation thinning quickly. “If walls collapsed from mischievous glares, you’d have been our primary weapon.”

“Careful.” A brief flash of teeth and a wink. “You sound almost complimentary.”