Page 218 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“Do not even suggest it,” Duncan cut in, the strain in his voice barely contained.

Everyone looked up as Griff burst through the tent entrance.

“Your Grace!” the boy gasped. “Ardor has arrived… with an army!”

“Blessed moons,” Eamon breathed, throwing his hands upward in relief.

Duncan nodded, squared himself, and faced the Council. “Osric, Garric, Eamon. With me to the field. Cairon, Merrick, Rensaya. Continue working out how to compromise the oraivane supply. But no one approaches the fae directly. That is an order. Do you understand?”

As the others filed out with grim expressions, Kora took Duncan’s hand in hers, then looked into his grey eyes. They were filled with such piercing anguish that seeing it hurt more than her own grief. She rose onto her toes and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. He leaned into it like a man cherishing the last of comfort within reach.

“How can I help?” she whispered, pulling away.

Duncan studied her, as if drinking in the sight of her before she disappeared. “Yaoaya is here with your brother and the Marrowgate levy,” he said at last. “Jeachim believes she might know something that could help us.” His voice softened. “Will you find out?”

Kora nodded, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Duncan released a slow breath, then reluctantly slipped his hand from hers. He looked back at her once before grabbing his armor and disappearing into the winter air.

Chapter 98

Koraleise

Rensaya paused every few steps to lower herself toward the earth, sometimes closing her eyes, sometimes pressing an ear to the ground. Kora crouched a few paces behind her, brushing snow aside and checking the bases of rocks for good measure. Nothing. Only brittle reed, icy mud, and the sluggish movement of the river nearby.

“Waste of time,” Yaoaya declared. She stood apart, wrapped in her usual flowing layers. Her hands tightened inside her flowing sleeves, uneasy in a way that had little to do with winter. “Vaelthorn grows only in Norrelia.”

“What about ashvael?” Kora asked, hopeful. “Perhaps we use it to distract the fae from afar while we destroy the oraivane supply another way.”

“I have been looking,” Rensaya said, straightening with a sigh. “Ashvael simply does not grow in winter. It hardly grows in Ardor to begin with.”

Kora glanced over the barren stretch. “Are we certain this is the best place to look?”

“Yes,” Rensaya replied, weary but confident. “Riverbeds. Damp soil. If ashvael grew anywhere near Gryon, it would be here.” Frustration tightened her features. “I can sense a faint trace of it far below. But that does not help us much.”

Kora let out a quiet breath, shoulders sinking. “Then we have no means of compromising the wagons without drawing the attention of the fae.” She brushed the snow from her skirts and climbed the bank, angling toward Gryon. “We’ll think of something else.”

Yaoaya made a small sound, as though trying to speak and swallow the words at once.

Kora stopped and looked back at her.

“Better to disorient with ashvael root vapor,” Yaoaya murmured.

Kora let out a shaky breath. “We cannot find a single sprout. Not a shred of root.”

Yaoaya shifted, her expression edging toward resolve, though still caught between silence and speech. “He conspires with High King of Norrelia?” she asked quietly.

The question surprised Kora. “Do you mean the Duke of Kryovarre?” she asked. “Yes, Valdir and Oorlon have been working together for years on the oraivane concoction. Developing it. Testing it. Building this army around its effects.”

Yaoaya let out a disgusted grunt. Her whole frame seemed to recoil. “Oorlon is scum,” she said with finality. Something in her tone, in the way her grey eyes hardened toward the north, felt too raw to be mere politics. Too personal.

Kora blinked in surprise.

Rensaya’s brow lifted.

Yaoaya hesitated. The kind of pause that marks the edge of a decision. Then she reached up with trembling fingers and untied the headwrap she had worn every day of Kora’s life. It slid free slowly, almost reverently. Hair fell loose in grey waves, threaded with traces of old copper that caught the last of the fading light.

Beneath it, ears tapered to elegant points.