Chapter 9 Maps
Eira
The snow had begun to soften around the edges of the fortress walls, although winter still held the mountains firmly in its grasp.
During the day, water occasionally trickled beneath sunlit roofs before freezing again after dusk.
The change was subtle enough to escape most people's notice, yet Eira found herself watching for it, just as she had lately found herself watching for many other things.
Mara stood behind her, gathering sections of hair between practiced fingers as she worked.
For a long time, neither woman spoke.
The silence itself was not unusual. There had always been mornings when conversation came slowly, when both of them were content to sit quietly while Mara braided her hair.
Yet those silences had once felt companionable rather than empty, filled with an easy familiarity that no longer seemed to exist.
Eira watched their reflections in the polished metal mirror resting against the wall. Mara's attention remained fixed on the braid, her gaze lowered to her work, and the simple fact that she never looked up struck Eira more sharply than she expected.
Only then did she realize that she could no longer remember the last time Mara had volunteered a story.
There had always been stories before—small, inconsequential things that somehow made the mornings feel warmer.
She would talk about arguments among the hunters, about someone falling through river ice, or about some foolish remark Riven had made during training.
The details themselves had rarely mattered.
What mattered was the telling, the effortless way Mara had filled the room with life.
Without those stories, the room felt strangely hollow.
Mara's fingers moved efficiently through Eira's hair, tightening the braid more firmly than necessary before loosening a section and beginning again. There was something restless in the motion, though whether it came from irritation or simple distraction, Eira could no longer tell.
Beyond the window, the fortress was already awake. Voices drifted upward from the lower courtyard, mingling with the distant clang of a hammer striking metal in a slow, steady rhythm. Neither woman commented on the sounds, and neither seemed inclined to fill the silence that stretched between them.
Eventually Mara secured the end of the braid and stepped back.
"There."
Eira lifted a hand to touch the finished braid.
"Thank you."
"Mm."
The response came automatically. It was not rude, but neither did it carry any warmth.
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.
For a few moments Eira stood beneath the gallery overlooking the main yard and watched the movement below.
A group of hunters passed carrying freshly repaired spears, and one of them noticed her. Their conversation continued for another sentence or two before gradually fading away, not abruptly and not enough to be obvious, yet Eira felt the shift all the same.
The hunter gave her a brief nod as they passed, a gesture that was polite, respectful, and carefully neutral.
The others followed his example.
By the time they disappeared around the corner, none of them had said anything wrong, and that was precisely the problem.
No one said anything wrong anymore.
Weeks earlier, someone would have made a joke, and Riven certainly would have been the first to do it. Someone would have asked where she had been hiding, while another would have complained about training, the weather, or the quality of breakfast.
Now conversations seemed to lose momentum whenever she approached, as though everyone was afraid of stepping onto uncertain ground.
Eira resumed walking.
Near the smithy, two women were speaking beside a stack of firewood. One of them greeted her immediately, her smile appearing so quickly that it felt rehearsed.
"Good morning, Eira."
"Good morning."
The woman continued smiling for a moment too long before turning back toward her companion.
Their conversation resumed, though it sounded different somehow—more cautious, as though Eira's presence lingered even after she had moved away.
She crossed the lower courtyard and headed toward the stables.
The route took her past the training grounds, and instinct made her glance toward them.
The familiar circle of packed earth lay crowded with warriors moving through drills beneath the watchful eyes of their instructors. Wooden weapons struck one another in steady rhythms while corrections and commands carried across the yard.
For a moment, the sight felt so familiar that she almost forgot herself.
Then she saw him.
Soren stood near the edge of the training circle speaking with Kael.
The distance between them was too great to hear the conversation, yet the bond reacted instantly, and the sensation arrived without warning. It brought neither warmth nor comfort, only a sharp ache beneath her ribs—the same ache that had followed her for weeks.
She looked away first, and the decision came easily now.
There had been a time when she would have lingered, watched, and hoped.
Now she simply continued walking.
Behind her, the sounds of training gradually faded into the background, while ahead the stables waited in the pale afternoon light, carrying the familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses.
Eira found herself breathing more easily as she approached them.
Lately, she preferred the company of animals because they never looked at her differently, never lowered their voices, and never hesitated before deciding whether she belonged.
The stables were quieter than the rest of the fortress, and perhaps that was why Eira found herself returning there more often.
The moment she stepped inside, the familiar scents of hay, leather, horseflesh, and old timber replaced the colder air outside. Several horses lifted their heads as she passed, ears turning toward her before settling again when they recognized who it was.
For a while, she simply walked the length of the stable. A chestnut mare pushed her nose toward Eira's shoulder in search of attention, while further down an older gelding shifted lazily in his stall and accepted a scratch behind the ears with obvious satisfaction.
The simple familiarity of it eased something inside her, though not enough to silence the unease entirely.
She eventually stopped before the stall she had begun visiting most often, and the mare inside lifted her head immediately.
She was not the most beautiful horse in the stable. Several others possessed finer coloring or more impressive bloodlines, and she was not the fastest either, since a younger stallion housed near the far end could outrun nearly every horse Ironfang owned.
What this mare offered was neither beauty nor distinction, but reliability.