Page 60 of Salt Between the Wolves

Mara began gathering the combs from the table. A few months earlier, she would have lingered for a while afterward, complaining about work, sharing gossip, or asking questions simply for the sake of conversation. Now she seemed eager to leave, and although Eira felt she should not care, the realization stung more than she wanted to admit.

Lowering her gaze, she spoke before she could reconsider.

"How is your mother?"

Mara paused, though only for a moment.

"Fine."

Nothing more followed.

The answer settled between them like a closed door, making it clear that no further conversation was welcome. Eira briefly considered trying again, searching for another question that might bridge the distance between them, but the impulse faded almost immediately.

Mara finished collecting the last of her things.

"I should go."

Eira nodded.

"Of course."

The older woman crossed the room toward the door and rested her hand on the latch. For a moment she stood there without moving. She did not turn around or look back, and yet something in her hesitation made Eira think she might finally say what had remained unspoken for weeks.

Instead, Mara simply said, "Don't stay locked in these rooms forever."

Her voice was quiet and not unkind, but it lacked the warmth those words would once have carried.

Then she left.

The door closed softly behind her, and Eira remained seated before the mirror.

The room seemed larger after Mara's departure, as though her absence had left behind more space than her presence ever occupied. For a long moment, Eira studied her reflection.

Nothing about her appearance had changed. She saw the same face, the same eyes, and the same carefully braided hair. Yet despite that, something felt undeniably different.

She no longer felt like a guest trying to become part of Ironfang, but neither did she feel like a prisoner. Instead, she felt like a shadow moving through someone else's life—present and visible, yet somehow separate from everything around her.

Outside, the sounds of the fortress continued without interruption.

Eira listened to them for a while before finally rising from her chair and crossing to the small chest hidden beneath the window.

Inside, beneath folded clothing and winter blankets, lay a map.

Eira unfolded the map only long enough to confirm what she already knew.

The western route remained the safest option, and although it was not the fastest, speed mattered less than avoiding the main roads. The mountains offered enough cover for a careful traveler, and if the weather continued to soften, several of the higher passes might become usable within the next few weeks.

She studied the route for a while longer before folding the map and returning it to the chest.

The familiar unease remained, not because the journey frightened her, but because every day spent planning it made the possibility feel more real.

Closing the lid, she rose and left her room.

The fortress carried on around her as it always had.

Workers crossed the courtyards carrying timber and tools, smoke drifted upward from chimneys, and somewhere below, children chased one another through melting patches of snow while an older woman shouted half-hearted instructions after them.

Life continued, and that somehow felt stranger than anything else.