Page 276 of Salt Between the Wolves

"They are."

The certainty surprised even her, and Leander noticed it again.

"What makes you so sure?"

Eira looked out across the dark water, thinking of how neither man would move or retreat, how both believed they were protecting something, and how she knew them.

"I know them."

The words escaped before she could choose something less revealing, and Leander remained silent in what felt like a rare kindness.

Far below, a ship's bell sounded once through the darkness, then twice—a departure signal, someone leaving and someone arriving somewhere else. For a moment Eira envied the simplicity of it: you chose a direction, you sailed, and the sea either accepted the decision or punished it, while people were far more complicated.

"You know," Leander said quietly, "most people spend their lives believing distance will make difficult choices disappear."

Eira glanced toward him.

"And does it?"

"No."

The answer came immediately, not bitter or amused, but simply certain.

Leander looked toward the sea.

"It only delays them."

The words settled somewhere deeper than she wanted, and neither spoke again as the wind strengthened and clouds gathered over the water, a storm moving in.

Eira watched it approach from the horizon and felt a strange certainty take root inside her. The riders had not yet returned, no confirmation had arrived, and no decision had been made, and yet something was already ending—not the conflict or the waiting, but the illusion that Silverwake existed outside the consequences of the choices she had left behind.

The riders returned on the seventh day.

Eira learned of it before anyone came to find her, because the atmosphere changed first: servants moved faster, voices lowered, and doors opened and closed with unusual urgency.

By the time a messenger arrived at her rooms, she was already on her feet.

"Lord Leander requests your presence."

Nothing more was said, and nothing more was needed.

Eira followed him through the corridors without asking questions, knowing the answer waited ahead.

She found Leander in the map room, where three men stood nearby, travel-worn and exhausted, their cloaks still dusted with old snow. One had a bandage wrapped around his forearm, and all three looked as though they had ridden harder than was wise.

Leander glanced up as she entered and, without ceremony, gestured toward the riders.

"Tell her."

The oldest of the three straightened, and for a moment his eyes lingered on Eira's face in a way that spoke of recognition—not personal, but political, because everyone in the north knew what she looked like.

"We reached White Pass."

The room became very quiet.

"And?" Eira asked.

The rider hesitated, not because he lacked information, but because he was choosing where to begin.