Page 229 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Except for the distant roll of the sea against the cliffs.

“Your Grace,” Hylsa murmured, dipping into a curtsy at the threshold. She helped Kora remove her cloak, then folded the heavy fabric over her arm.

“Thank you,” Kora said gently, offering a small smile that seemed to ease some of Hylsa’s nervousness. “Where can I find the dowager viscountess?”

“In the receiving room,” Hylsa replied, extending an arm, “waiting for you.”

Kora took a deep breath, reaching into the depths of her courage, and followed.

Lorenthea rose slowly. Her posture was impeccable as ever, every line arranged with the practiced elegance of a woman who had spent her life mastering appearances. Yet there was reluctance in it. When she curtseyed, the gesture held more obligation than reverence.

“Your Grace.”

“Lady Lorenthea,” Kora replied, folding her hands neatly before her. She ensured her tone carried not only formality, but the clarity of newfound truth.

Lorenthea’s eyes widened briefly. “So, you know.”

Kora nodded. After the Battle of Gryon, after Duncan’s near death, they had revealed every last truth to one another, vowing to hold nothing back again. “Father told my husband before we were wed. So that you could not hold it against the marriage.”

Lorenthea drew in a slow breath and gestured toward the sofa opposite her. “I wouldn’t have,” she said. “So long as you were believed to be legitimate, it served my interests well enough to have a daughter wed to a duke.”

Kora settled into the offered seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Who…” Her voice came quieter, more fragile. “Who is my mother?”

“I do not know,” Lorenthea replied instantly, frost edging her tone. “Albrecht traveled often. Once he left for more than a year and returned with you and Yaoaya in tow. He said your mother passed during childbirth but refused to say more.” Her eyes flickered briefly to the window, as if remembering the day. “I’m afraid the truth has died with him.”

Kora had suspected as much, but a subtle sadness settled where she had held hope.

“It was fortunate you were born in early spring after a particularly harsh winter. I had been ill for most of it and seen by few. Easy enough to pass the illness as pregnancy.”

“I thought it was my fault,” Kora said quietly. “That you didn’t love me because I was odd or somehow lacking.”

“How would you have felt in my place?” Lorenthea asked sharply. Not cruel, but raw with truths long swallowed. “Forced into a marriage. With a man who barely looked at me after I gave him two children then roamed the continent doing moons-know-what.” She straightened, frowning. “Then one day he returns with proof of an affair, and for the sake of your own name you must swallow your pride and accept it.”

She paused, studying Kora with an intensity that seemed to span years. “And that child grows into someone beautiful beyond reason. Someone who draws attention without trying. Elyse never stood a chance against that. Neither did I.”

“I eclipsed Elyse?” Kora murmured, disbelief softening her voice. “She was always the bright light in the room. I felt as though I spent my life in her shadow.”

“Elyse made herself larger to fight for the space you consumed. To counter the effect you had simply by walking into a room.” A pause. “The duke chose you after all.”

A tear slid down Kora’s cheek before she could stop it. “I see.”

“She’s married now.” Lorenthea’s tone shifted back toward something brisk. “To the Earl of Salberry. Your rank, and the standing your marriage brought us, helped more than you know.” She smiled, a mother’s smile. “They’re expecting a child already.”

Kora’s hand drifted unconsciously to her own stomach, where no child yet grew. “How wonderful,” she said. “My congratulations to you and to her.”

A seagull cried somewhere beyond the cliffs.

Lorenthea drew a slow breath and regarded Kora carefully. “I raised you the best I could, Koraleise. But you must understand. You were never mine.”

Kora nodded once, the answer as final as it was empty. “Thank you,” she said. “Even with the coldness that marked my childhood, I know you could have treated me far worse. You could have cast me out entirely.”

Lorenthea inclined her head. Not quite a bow, not quite remorse. Simply an acknowledgment between two women who had finally laid their truths between them.

Though Kora knew that truth was jagged and incomplete, it was enough to free her. There was no longer any need to force herself to belong where she never would, to feel like everyone else when she was different. Whatever her blood was that had allowed her to unleash the earth in Gryon, whoever her mother had been, it was a part of her. She would no longer deny it. She would accept herself fully as she was and turn all of it toward the life she now had. Toward Lemierre. Toward the family she found. Toward Duncan.

“I leave for Emberglade tomorrow,” Kora said, rising. “I will take Yaoaya with me.”

“Take her,” Lorenthea replied with a sharp, weary exhale. “She is nothing but another reminder of Albrecht’s betrayal. I do not know why she has lingered here so long.”