Page 172 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Duncan hesitated. “We planned to stop in Emberglade first.”

Merrick’s dark brows lifted. “I suppose I owe Emberglade a visit too.”

Duncan glanced at Isander, looking for objection. The look he received was softer than any he had seen from him in years. “Very well,” he said, mounting.

“And don’t trouble yourself,” Merrick added, swinging onto a horse Duncan had not noticed was saddled, “I’ll keep my distance. No need for curious eyes to start stitching stories.”

Little was said as they rode through the sweeping hills and scattered forests of Lemierre, pausing only when the horses demanded rest. Duncan’s thoughts pulled relentlessly toward Kora—toward the month stolen from them, toward the feel of her in his arms. Each mile shortened the distance and deepened his longing.

Isander rode beside him, the strain of his wounds visible in the set of his shoulders, his brown eyes occasionally flicking toward Merrick, who rode a short distance behind, easy in the saddle. The tension between the brothers still hinted at old fractures, but over the journey, the stiffness in their silence eased into something closer to comfort. Duncan let himself hope this road might carry them, however slowly, toward a new beginning.

Two days later, as the sun hovered at the treeline, Emberglade rose into view, and something in Duncan finally loosened—the tightness that had held since the start of the Ardennesse War.

Merrick slipped away before they reached the gates.

Rhalen and Nelayne waited in the courtyard.

“Welcome home.” Rhalen pulled Duncan into a rough embrace before clapping Isander so heartily on the back he nearly staggered. “We’ve been watching the road since midday.”

Concern flashed in Nelayne’s eyes as she looked over Isander. “Everyone is well?”

“In good enough health,” Isander assured her.

“Praise the moons,” she breathed, brightening. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

The long table in the castle’s study had been set with bowls of rich venison stew, thick slices of bread still warm from Nahel’s ovens, and cheese laid neatly beside fig preserves. Hunger and nostalgia tugged at Duncan all at once.

“What have we missed while away?” he asked, savoring a spoonful.

Nelayne opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes widened.

“By the moons…” Rhalen whispered, one hand lifting to his chest.

Merrick stood in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. His posture looked casual, but the smile he wore was not. It wavered at the edges, caught between confidence and uncertainty, as if he had prepared himself for either welcome or dismissal.

“Ah,” Duncan said lightly. “I forgot to mention, we brought an old friend with us.”

“You certainly failed to write of this in your letters,” Nelayne said, brows lifting.

“We avoided putting the Ashfell Quiett in writing,” Duncan said. “If our letters had been intercepted, it would have raised more questions than we needed.” He paused, meeting Merrick’s eye. “But Merrick and his men were invaluable.”

Merrick shrugged, showing his palms. “I expect applause. Perhaps tears. At the very least, someone pass me Nahel’s bread.”

Rhalen let out a hearty laugh and pushed to his feet. “That’s the Merrick I remember.” He crossed the room and drew him into a firm embrace. “It’s good to see you home, son.”

“The pleasure is mine, Master Rhalen,” Merrick answered, with a softness that rarely surfaced. “Though standing here does remind me I never mastered mathematics.”

“Mastered?” Rhalen laughed. “Hopeless is closer to the truth. I nearly wore out three slates trying to make you understand fractions.”

Nelayne rose, brushing quickly at the corners of her eyes. “And yet you grew into a man who can outmaneuver the most scrupulous of merchants and talk circles around seasoned traders.”

Merrick’s grin shifted. “I still can’t add,” he said solemnly. “But give me a contract with ten loopholes, and I’ll find eleven. I like to think I’ve honored your teachings in spirit, if not in arithmetic.” He stepped forward and embraced Nelayne without flourish, without any of his usual wit. “I’ve missed you, Dame Layne.” The nickname they had bestowed upon her as boys slipped from his lips with unguarded affection.

“Moons preserve us,” Nelayne murmured, though she was smiling.

“I was not expecting this tonight,” Rhalen mused, “but I’ll not complain. Sit, Merrick. Eat with us.”

He did, lowering himself into a chair with a trace of hesitation that did not go unnoticed. For a moment he seemed almost boyish, measuring the space as if unsure it still belonged to him.