Page 146 of Salt Between the Wolves

Behind him, the fire continued to burn. Above him, the mountains remained silent, and somewhere far beyond either of them, Eira was moving farther away with every passing day.

The council chamber had never felt particularly welcoming, though it was never intended to be. The room had been built for decisions rather than comfort, carved directly into the mountain with walls of dark stone and a ceiling supported by massive timber beams blackened by decades of smoke.

Soren had spent most of his life within those walls, yet today he wanted nothing more than to leave them behind.

The journey back from the southern villages still clung to him; snow remained on his cloak, exhaustion sat heavily beneath his skin, and he had slept perhaps three hours in two days. Worse still, he had found nothing once again.

By the time he entered the chamber, the others were already waiting. Several members of the council stood near the long stone table, while others occupied the benches lining the walls. No one appeared particularly pleased, and that alone was enough to irritate him.

Then he noticed the man standing near the far end of the room.

The white wolf clasp fastened at the man's shoulder left little room for doubt. He was a messenger from Frostvein.

Soren stopped walking.

One of the council members cleared his throat and said, "The envoy arrived this morning."

Of course he had.

The envoy bowed politely, neither too deeply nor too casually, but exactly as protocol demanded.

"My lord."

Soren did not return the greeting.

"What does Vargan want?"

The envoy remained perfectly composed.

"I carry an official request from Lord Vargan Frostvein."

A sealed letter was placed upon the table, though no one made any attempt to touch it.

The envoy continued.

"Lord Vargan requests formal confirmation regarding Lady Eira's whereabouts and well-being."

Silence settled over the room, heavy enough that everyone noticed it even if no one acknowledged it aloud. The envoy seemed to notice it as well, which was unfortunate.

"Naturally," he continued, "Lord Vargan has become increasingly concerned."

Soren almost laughed.

The word tasted bitter.

Yet he remained silent, and the envoy mistook that silence for permission to continue.

"Frostvein merely seeks reassurance that Lady Eira remains under Ironfang protection and has suffered no harm."

Several council members exchanged glances, but no one spoke because everyone understood the problem. There could be no reassurance and no proof, because there was no Eira.

The envoy folded his hands behind his back.

"If Lady Eira remains within Ironfang territory, a formal appearance before witnesses would resolve the matter immediately."

The room seemed to grow even quieter as Soren felt something tighten beneath his ribs. It was the same familiar pressure that had followed him for weeks.

The envoy continued speaking in the same steady, reasonable, professional tone. Every word was carefully chosen, and every sentence felt like another turn of the knife.