Page 203 of Of Iron and Moonlight

The name tore from his throat as he folded forward, shoulders shaking. And the sound that followed was not a cry, but dragged from deep within his chest in jagged breaths.

Kora knelt beside him, barely holding herself together as she glanced toward both ends of the corridor. “We can’t stay,” she said, one hand between his shoulders, the other gripping his arm. “We’ll come back for him, I swear it. But if you’re found here…”

He remained bent over, chest rising and falling too quickly.

A hinge creaked in the distance.

“Please,” Kora said, tightening her grip on his sleeve. “Duncan needs our help.”

Merrick’s shoulders stilled.

Another heartbeat passed.

Then, as though dragging himself out of a grave, he pushed himself upright.

Chapter 92

Gavriel

Gavriel watched the vaelthorn sprig burn between his fingers. Flame crept down in a thin orange seam, heat licking closer to his skin. He thought again of the forge and wondered whether surviving that narrow margin had made him too brittle. Or too dull. And for a moment, the sting felt almost comforting.

It felt right.

“Careful,” Njall hissed from the wagon’s ceiling hatch.

Gavriel blinked and let the moment fall away. He swept the faintly sour-sweet smoke through the open crates and over the uncorked vials of oraivane, guiding it into seams and cracks, then crushed the dying ember against the floorboards.

“Ready,” he said, glancing up.

Njall scanned the lightening terrain around the convoy, eyes searching for any sign of fae. After a pause, he gave a short nod. “Clear.” He reached down and hauled Gavriel up through the hatch by his sleeve, careful not to touch skin.

Weeks of trailing Oorlon’s army had dulled their fear. Sabotage had become routine, the single anchor holding them in place while everything else hung suspended in pieces.

Gavriel hit the ground and slid along the wagon’s side. Njall landed beside him without a sound. They kept low, pacing the compromised caravan for several paces until Njall marked a jagged outcrop ahead and disappeared behind it.

Before taking a step to follow, Gavriel glanced back at the marching line of humans, the unbroken rhythm. Their shoulders sagged, vacant stares fixed on nothing at all. He passed a hand before the nearest female’s amber eyes.

There was no reaction. No will of her own.

An ache he had been keeping at bay returned. With a sorrowful shake of his head, he trailed Njall to the rock, then into the sparse woods where Kalaetzu and Elara waited.

“All is well?” Kalaetzu asked.

“No surprises,” Gavriel replied.

Kalaetzu secured the last of his tools. Neatly. Economically. “On to the next batch?”

“The sun is rising,” Njall cautioned, glancing up. “It is safer to wait for sunset.”

“We can relocate regardless,” Elara countered firmly without looking at him.

She never looked at him.

The edge in her voice was subtle, and the strain between them did not overwhelm. But it was there—a thin layer of frost over what had once been easier warmth.

Njall’s mouth tightened, but he inclined his head. “We can,” he yielded. He always did.

They set off without further discussion, each lost to their own private thoughts, each step mechanical, like a habit stripped of feeling.