Page 50 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Duncan slumped back, allowing himself to appear completely spent. “He truly did make it seem so effortless.”

“Did he? Or did he simply know how to make you feel secure while he did difficult things?”

“The latter, I suppose,” Duncan conceded.

“Then do the same,” Osric said. “Let your people feel secure while you face what must be faced. Leave the illusion of ease to the ballads.”

He let the hush settle for a moment before continuing, “Kryovarre will test us this summer, and Valdir will test you. You will not prevail because you are exceptional, though you are. You will prevail because you are not alone. The hands that stood with your father stand with you still. Allow us to support what you cannot hold yourself.”

Duncan nodded, words failing him.

Silence opened between them, but not the kind that isolates. Together, they watched the sun descend beyond the valley, dimming the light over Lemierre.

“The new duchess seems to be a fine young lady,” Osric observed, breaking the quiet.

“Koraleise…” Duncan began, then found the words slipping away again. He had expected to manage polite tolerance of his wife before the Council. Instead, her presence had filled spaces in the room he had not known were empty.

“She’s been good company,” he finished the thought slowly.

“Perceptive, as well,” Osric added, encouragement plain in his tone. “You did right to let her join us today. She’s far from home. People settle more easily when they feel welcome.”

“I think even Nelayne liked her.” The corner of Duncan’s mouth tipped upward before he caught himself and smoothed it back into place.

“That alone is a marvel fit for a moon day.” Osric cast him a pointed look. “Have you made an effort to know her?”

“Somewhat.”

Osric’s look suggested otherwise.

Duncan dragged a defeated hand down his face. “Perhaps less than I should.”

“Why?”

“Out of… caution,” Duncan offered, lifting a shoulder and letting it fall. “She is young. And I—”

“Careful,” Osric interrupted. “She is a person, not an obligation. And cold, left long enough, becomes a permanent frost. Resentment grows quietly. Once it does, it isn’t easily undone.”

Duncan pressed his lips together. “I hadn’t considered it that way.”

“The tours will help,” Osric said. “And Goldfire, shared instead of endured.”

Duncan drew a slow breath. The idea pressed against the discipline he’d built to hold himself upright these past months, but he knew Osric was right. “I will try to do more.”

“That’s all anyone can ask,” Osric said, satisfied.

“Do you think my father would have liked her?”

“Yes,” Osric said without delay. He lifted his brown eyes to the garden, then beyond toward the derWhitte cemetery, where Duncan’s father’s grave was still fresh and his mother’s was worn by a decade of seasons. “Your parents’ marriage was no love match either. I can’t tell you whether it ever became love. But it was built on regard. On shared purpose. I hope you and the young duchess may find something like that.”

Duncan reached to clasp Osric’s hand. “Thank you, Ossy, for being more family than friend to this House. I doubt I’d have kept my sanity this past year without you. You and Isander.”

“We managed together,” Osric replied, leaving no space for argument. “All of us.”

Duncan smiled, conceding the point. Then he straightened. “I must write to Wolmer, report on Norrelia. Should I tell him we suspect Kryovarre may know of Oorlon’s wishes?” The thought of the young man in Pietre’s place returned, guilt tugging at him again.

Osric shook his head. “Say only what we know for certain. Nothing more.”

Duncan nodded and moved toward his father’s old desk in the corner.