Page 300 of Salt Between the Wolves

The words were quiet, not defensive or angry, but simply honest.

"I know," Eira answered immediately.

That had never been the problem, because she had always known.

The tragedy was that he had been protecting her for so long that he had stopped noticing when protection became control.

For a long moment neither of them spoke, while the wind moved through White Pass, carrying the scent of snow and distant campfires between the two armies.

Vargan's gaze remained on her, and he seemed older than she remembered, not because the years had changed him, but because she was seeing him differently.

Eventually he exhaled slowly, as though setting something aside rather than resolving it.

"We could spend the rest of the day discussing the past," he said, and the words were neither dismissal nor criticism, only truth. "And neither of us would leave satisfied."

Eira said nothing, because he was right, and some wounds could be understood but not repaired.

Vargan glanced toward the valley, toward the waiting armies, and toward the problem that had brought them both here.

"When I heard you had crossed the pass, I thought you had come to convince me to withdraw."

A faint smile touched Eira's mouth as she replied, "You know me better than that."

"Do I?" he asked, and although the question lingered briefly before disappearing, his expression hardened slightly, not toward her but toward the situation and the reality they faced.

"The pass cannot remain like this."

"No," she agreed.

"Nine days becomes ten, then eleven, and eventually someone makes a mistake."

Eira nodded, because that much was obvious, and no army could remain balanced on the edge of a blade forever, since sooner or later someone would slip.

Vargan studied her for a moment before asking the question she had been expecting since the beginning.

"What did he tell you?"

The shift was immediate, and although he did not say Soren's name, not openly or directly, they both knew exactly who he meant.

Eira folded her arms and answered, "He told me you're waiting."

Something unreadable passed across Vargan's face as he asked, "And what do you think I'm waiting for?"

The answer arrived before she could stop it.

"Me."

Silence settled between them, and around them White Pass seemed to grow impossibly still.

Vargan neither confirmed nor denied it, which was answer enough.

"I wanted certainty," he said, and there was no shame in the admission, no hesitation, only honesty, the same honesty that had always made arguing with him so difficult.

"I know," Eira replied.

"And now?"

For the first time something changed in Vargan's gaze, and it was not authority or certainty but something rarer, something almost like vulnerability.