Page 317 of Salt Between the Wolves

Soren narrowed his eyes.

"No."

"You are behaving like a child."

"A child would have fewer responsibilities."

"That is unfortunately true."

A smile tugged at his mouth before he brushed a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear.

"What important business is worth abandoning a perfectly good morning?"

There had been a time when Eira would have struggled to answer that question, but now she didn't hesitate.

"The archives."

A look of immediate suspicion appeared on his face.

"The archives."

"Yes."

"The archives are winning against me."

"The archives arrived first."

"I regret teaching you negotiation."

"You never taught me negotiation."

"Exactly."

Eira laughed and pushed herself upright. Behind her, Soren made a sound that strongly suggested he disapproved of her leaving the bed, but she ignored him—mostly.

As she crossed the room toward the door, she could still feel his gaze following her, warm, familiar, and certain, not because he doubted she would return, but because he knew she would.

By the time Eira reached her own chambers, the fortress had fully awakened.

The corridors of Ironfang no longer fell silent when she passed, as they had months ago when people watched her carefully, uncertain whether she belonged. Now hunters nodded in greeting as they crossed her path, servants offered smiles instead of curious glances, and a pair of children raced through a side corridor before abruptly remembering they were supposed to be behaving, nearly colliding with each other in their haste to bow.

Eira hid a smile and continued walking.

When she entered her chambers, Mara was already waiting.

"You're late."

Eira blinked. "Good morning to you too."

Mara's expression remained perfectly serious. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

"Was I?"

"Yes."

Eira considered arguing, then decided against it, knowing Mara had become entirely too good at recognizing the difference between genuine excuses and invented ones.

"Fine," Eira admitted.