Page 184 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“No!” Elara surged forward so wildly she nearly pulled Njall off balance. “Run, Lorrain! We can still—please—please—”

Lorrain lifted her hand and laid her palm against the bars, a touch meant only for Elara. Her eyes cleared fully for one brief, impossible instant. The violet receded. The fever vanished. There was the girl from Jarovina, reaching for her friend. “You came for me,” she murmured. “Let me save you now.”

Elara’s hands shot out toward the gate, shaking so hard they seemed no longer part of her.

“Don’t,” Njall said, helpless.

“She is my heart,” Elara choked, thrashing harder in his hold. “You don’t get to choose.”

Njall did not let go as they watched Lorrain turn to face the guards. Her shoulders were straight. Proud. Her hand slipped into a pocket. Certain. She drew out a vial. Glass caught the violet torchlight in a pale flash.

“No!” Elara screamed, digging her nails deep into Njall’s skin. “Lorrain! Don’t—”

Lorrain hurled the vial into the heart of the warehouse.

Celestine Isle held its breath.

Njall heard glass shatter.

The world in front of them ignited. Crates detonated in violent succession, each blast feeding the next. Fire rolled through stacked rows faster than a thought, devouring everything it touched. The air became pressure and roar as heat punched outward in a brutal wave that felt as though the island itself had split open.

Njall threw himself over Elara, folding his body around hers as the shockwave slammed into them. Splintered wood and shards of metal rained down. The impact drove breath from his lungs, and the skin along his arms blistered before sealing again in the same heartbeat.

Kalaetzu and Gavriel were hurled flat just ahead, skidding across the dock as the structure groaned. Beams cracked. Chains snapped loose from their anchors. Walls folded inward, and the warehouse collapsed into itself with a crash that swallowed every other sound.

When the ground finally stilled, the remnants of the gate stood between them and ruin. Nothing remained but a storm of smoke spiraling upward into the dark—and a violet ribbon, drifting slowly through the heated air before being swallowed by ash.

Elara broke.

Her body convulsed under Njall’s with the force of her sobs. She struck his chest with both fists, again and again, every blow fueled by pain too vast for her small frame to hold. “You should have saved her,” she gasped. “You could have saved her! Both of us!”

Njall took every blow without flinching, accepting every ounce of her rage without protest. He held her only so she would not tear herself apart, even as each cry scraped him raw, carving something deep into him until the world beyond her grief ceased to matter.

Kalaetzu appeared and gently pried Njall’s arms away. He gathered Elara into his own slight frame. She sagged against him, her cries turning hoarse, but no less devastating.

“We cannot stay,” Gavriel called, already unfastening the rope of a small skiff as Kalaetzu guided Elara toward it. “Once the panic settles, they will rally their search.”

Njall forced himself back to the present and helped Gavriel push them offshore. As their boat slipped into the darkness and ever-present fog of Lunnholm Bay, he shifted the wind slightly to thicken the mist around them. They heard guards flood the dock in a scatter of armor and shouts. They heard arrows hiss uselessly into the blur. They heard their own heartbeats in their ears. And the flames of Celestine Isle dimmed until they were little more than distant sparks.

Kalaetzu slumped near the stern, drained into silence. Gavriel rowed with a clenched jaw and vacant expression. Elara curled at the bow, shaking. Her hands gripped the rail as though the wood were anchoring her to the world she had just seen torn apart.

Njall watched each fragile breath she took hitch and break as he worked his oars. Grateful. Because to him, every broken breath meant she was still alive. That alone was reason enough not to question his choice.

Perhaps Elara might call it a mistake. The goddesses knew he had made plenty in his life. But unlike the others, this was one he would carry without regret for the rest of his days.

For he would choose Elara. Before everyone on Oraith and whatever lay beyond, Njall knew—with the certainty of the sun rising each day—that he would always choose Elara.

Chapter 84

Elara

Gavriel collapsed with a muted groan as soon as they reached land and found a shallow ditch to hide in. Kalaetzu lowered himself beside him, limbs folding with boneless resignation. Neither eased into sleep. Sleep claimed them outright.

Njall remained apart, a dark silhouette against frost-bitten rock and scrub. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them, staring at the ground as though it might offer judgment or absolution. By his expression, it offered neither.

Elara chose a place a few paces away and curled onto her side with her back to them all. Bitter cold threaded through her damp clothes and into the chasm grief had carved inside her. She tried to keep her eyes open. Each time she closed them, the moment returned with merciless clarity: Lorrain’s clear eyes, the lift of her hand, the arc of glass.

Let me save you now.