Page 25 of Salt Between the Wolves

“Nothing has changed.”

The lie tasted bitter the moment he spoke it.

Eira went still, and he watched understanding settle across her face—not the understanding he wished she would reach, but the one his words inevitably created. Whatever fragile opening had begun to form between them seemed to close again, not with anger or confrontation, but with a quiet finality that felt far worse. A sharp argument could have been answered. Disappointment offered no such opportunity.

“I see.”

There was no accusation in her voice and no visible anger, only a calm acceptance that made him feel unexpectedly ashamed. She nodded once, as though acknowledging something she should have understood long ago, and the gesture carried more distance than any harsh words could have managed.

Around them, the yard continued its ordinary rhythm. One of the stablehands called for another length of rope while farther down the line a horse stamped impatiently against the frozen ground. Riders moved between wagons and stalls, voices drifted through the cold air, and preparations continued exactly as they had before.

Yet all of it felt strangely distant.

Soren found himself wanting to explain, and the impulse arrived with enough force to surprise him. He wanted to tell her that everything had changed, that he had spent most of the night thinking about her, and that maintaining the distance he had once considered necessary was becoming harder with every passing day. He wanted her to understand that indifference had never been the problem. If anything, the truth was far more dangerous than that.

But the words remained unspoken.

The truth carried consequences he wasn't prepared to face, and in that moment the lie seemed easier to bear, even if it hurt them both.

Eira stepped back first.

“Then I should finish preparing.”

The formality in her voice settled between them like cold iron.

Soren inclined his head in acknowledgment, offering the sort of restrained gesture that might have passed between acquaintances rather than two people standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understood. For the briefest moment, disappointment flickered across her face before disappearing entirely, hidden behind the composure she had learned to wear so well.

Then she turned and walked back toward the horses.

This time, she didn't look back.

Soren remained where he was long after she had gone. The yard continued moving around him as riders checked equipment, supplies were loaded, and voices drifted across the snow-covered grounds. Nothing had changed in any visible way. The patrol would still depart tomorrow, the preparations would continue, and the fortress would carry on with its usual routines.

Yet watching her walk away left behind a hollow ache that felt disturbingly close to loss.

Only after she disappeared into the stables did he finally force himself to move. As he left the yard, he tried to convince himself that his thoughts were occupied by the patrol ahead, by the route, the risks, and the responsibilities waiting for him.

The effort failed.

What lingered instead was Eira's expression, the quiet disappointment in her voice, and the uncomfortable certainty that he had hurt her deliberately because admitting the truth felt far more dangerous than denying it.

The decision came later that evening.

Not immediately after leaving the yard, and not while Eira’s expression still lingered too vividly in his mind.

Instead, Soren buried himself in work.

There was council correspondence to review, supply requests to approve, and a dispute between two hunting groups over territory assignments. The familiar weight of responsibility settled around him once more, steady and predictable, and by the time darkness gathered beyond the windows, he had almost convinced himself that the restlessness from earlier had faded.

Almost.

A knock interrupted the quiet.

“Enter.”

Kael stepped inside.

“There’s one final matter regarding tomorrow’s patrol.”