Page 127 of Salt Between the Wolves

Long after the house had fallen quiet and the last footsteps faded from the corridors, she remained awake beneath the heavy blankets, staring into the darkness above her.

The room was warm, the bed was comfortable, and outside the wind brushed softly against the walls before disappearing into the night. Everything around her was peaceful, but her thoughts were not.

Leander's name returned again and again, not because of anything he had done, but because of what he had not done.

He had not questioned her, judged her, demanded explanations, or looked at her as though she were a problem waiting to be solved.

The realization should not have felt remarkable, yet it did.

For most of her life, people had approached her carrying expectations. Vargan had known exactly who she was supposed to become, and so had the White Law, the council, and even Ironfang.

Daughter, bride, political alliance, future, responsibility—every title arrived before she did, and every role stepped into a room before her name.

Turning onto her side, Eira found herself recalling Leander's words.

I'd rather hear it from you.

It had been a simple statement, nothing more, yet it lingered because beneath it lay a question no one had ever truly asked.

Who are you?

Not who were you meant to be, not who should you become, and not who belongs to whom, but simply who you are.

Eira closed her eyes, but no answer came, and the silence surprised her.

Somewhere along the years, she had become very good at understanding what others expected of her, while becoming far less skilled at understanding herself.

The thought stayed with her for a while before, almost unconsciously, her awareness brushed against the bond.

The familiar connection remained exactly where it had always been—present, quiet, and alive.

She sensed it before she fully realized what she was doing, as naturally as a hand seeking a familiar object in darkness.

For a moment she simply rested there, listening.

The bond offered no words or images, only certainty.

Soren was awake.

The knowledge arrived without explanation. Perhaps he stood somewhere within Ironfang, perhaps he sat before a fire, perhaps he was working, or perhaps he was doing nothing at all.

The bond revealed no details and offered only the simple fact that sleep had not claimed him either.

Eira remained still.

Once, she might have reached further, searching for emotion, reassurance, or understanding.

Tonight she did none of those things, not because she was angry or wished to punish him, but because she was simply tired.

She was tired of carrying questions that had no answers and tired of trying to understand things neither of them seemed capable of explaining.

Slowly, she allowed her awareness to retreat.

The connection remained, but she stepped back from it the way one steps away from a doorway without closing it.

For a long time she lay listening to the wind beyond the walls, and eventually her thoughts began to quiet.

The questions remained, tomorrow remained, and Leander remained, yet for the first time in many weeks none of those things demanded an answer before morning.