Page 95 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You have a lot of muscles for a lord.” Part observation. Part accusation.

Gavriel laughed quietly. “Enough about me. Njall said you followed him in Kryovarre?”

She nodded. “My friend, Lorrain, vanished one morning.” She drew her cloak tighter, as though the memory brought a chill with it. “I almost managed it… then Njall caught me.”

Curiosity edged into humor. “You meant to face a fae patrol with nothing but your bare hands?”

“I would have found a way,” she said, determination and stubborn pride colliding in her tone.

He believed her. “It’s fortunate Njall found you. Another might not have… been merciful.”

Her expression softened. “He is not what I expected a fae to be like,” she admitted.

“That’s Njall.” Gavriel nodded absently. “So you truly ran into the woods for her?”

“Lorrain is the closest thing to a sister I have. She made every day brighter. Stayed beside me through the worst.” Her voice wavered as she turned a silver ring on her pinky. “I’ve always felt, my entire life, like a second choice. She was the only person who ever chose me first.”

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance. Elara flinched, then forced herself still.

“That’s both remarkably brave,” Gavriel observed, “and profoundly foolish.”

Elara lifted one shoulder. “Lorrain would do the same for me.”

He inclined his head, partly in respect, partly to give himself a moment to think.

“What color were her eyes?”

She blinked. “Grey. With a strong ring of violet. Our village called her Amethyst of the North because of it.” She studied him, openly intrigued. “Why?”

“Violet,” Gavriel echoed, then leaned back against the stone, the weight of knowledge suddenly too heavy to ignore. “She likely carries dormant Norrelian magic.”

Then, carefully, he told her everything he knew.

Elara shot to her feet and began pacing the narrow room. “That must be the island I saw. The place where they took Lorrain.”

“Celestine Isle?”

“Yes.” Her hands curled at her sides. “Before Njall brought me here, the captives who came with me were taken there first. They walked off the ship like they had already surrendered to fate.”

“Ah,” Gavriel murmured. “Norrelian compulsion.”

“How would you know if it’s being used on you?” she asked, brow creased.

Gavriel sighed heavily, his mind straying where he would rather it not. “It feels like frost gathering at the edges of your thoughts,” he said slowly. “It blurs the line between what belongs to you and what does not. You sense something wrong, but you can’t find where to resist it. Until the thoughts feel as if they were always your own.”

Elara stopped pacing. “I don’t think Njall has ever done that to me.”

Gavriel shook his head. “He wouldn’t. Can’t. His magic is limited to lesser workings. Anything more demanding would drain him too quickly.” He gave a faint smile. “But even if it weren’t… he believes compulsion crosses a line.”

A softness crossed her face, though she didn’t seem aware of it, before resolve returned in earnest. “You must tell me everything,” she said, urgency rising. “All of it. I am going back to that island to save Lorrain. I am, mind you. I need knowledge as much as courage.” She threw up her hands, frustrated. “Njall refuses to answer half my questions. He just stares at me like I’m asking how to unmake the moons.”

Gavriel gave a quiet laugh, weary but genuine.

So the night stretched on while the lantern burned low. He told her of Selenar Castle, its hidden passages and forgotten stairwells, which wings were warded against humans, and the nature of fae magic: how Norrelian storms clashed with Aurumierran flame, and Tsuchitsan healers could poison as deftly as they cured. He spoke of Oorlon. Of the wolves that answered only his call. The perils of lingering too near the throne.

Elara listened without interruption, absorbing every word.

Watching her, Gavriel felt oddly adrift.