Page 5 of Salt Between the Wolves

Her.

The irritation she carried no longer felt sharp enough to burn. It had settled into something heavier instead, something quieter and far more difficult to shake loose.

She turned down one of the lower corridors almost absently, following the warmer air drifting upward from the inner levels of the fortress before realizing where it led.

The stables.

The scent reached her first—hay, leather, damp wood, the unmistakable warmth of animals sheltered against the cold. Somewhere deeper inside came the muted sound of hooves shifting against packed straw.

For the first time since leaving the council chamber, her breathing loosened slightly.

A voice drifted from farther in.

“Careful with that one unless you want your hand bitten off.”

The amusement in it arrived before the man himself did.

Riven emerged from behind one of the partition walls carrying a bucket tucked loosely against his hip, hair falling untidily across his forehead as he nudged the stable door shut with his shoulder. He slowed when he noticed her standing near the entrance, his expression changing—not dramatically, not with visible concern, but with the immediate awareness of someone who paid attention more than he spoke about it.

“You look like you need a better place to stand than that council room,” he said.

Eira almost asked how he knew where she had been.

Instead, she found herself answering, “Does it show that clearly?”

“Only if someone’s looking.”

The response came lightly, though not carelessly.

Riven set the bucket aside before jerking his head toward the far end of the stables. “Come on.”

She hesitated only briefly before following him deeper inside.

The warmth gathered gradually around them as they passed between the stalls, lantern light spilling softly across worn wood and drifting steam. Horses shifted at their approach, some lifting their heads curiously while others remained half asleep beneath thick winter coats.

Riven slowed beside the last enclosed stall near the back wall.

“You’re just in time,” he said quietly. “He figured out standing yesterday and now he thinks that means he owns the place.”

Eira stepped closer.

A young colt stood awkwardly near the center of the stall, all narrow legs and oversized curiosity, his coat still carrying the darker softness of early winter birth. One ear flicked toward them immediately before he stumbled half a step sideways in apparent outrage at his own balance.

Something inside her eased before she realized it had happened.

“He’s small,” she murmured.

“He’s supposed to be dead, actually.”

She looked at Riven.

“The storm last month came too early,” he explained, resting his forearms against the top of the stall gate. “Mother nearly lost him during foaling. Most people thought she would.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No.” A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Turns out stubborn things survive well around here.”

The colt stretched his nose cautiously toward Eira through the wooden slats.