Chapter 16 The Man from the West
Eira
By midday, the snow had finally stopped, and weak winter sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the long room, illuminating drifting dust and the countless objects gathered there over generations.
Unlike the halls of Frostvein or the fortress chambers of Ironfang, the room felt lived in rather than ceremonial.
Maps covered one wall, some faded with age and others marked with fresh ink and recently charted routes, while shelves held strange objects collected from distant places: carved figures of dark wood, polished shells larger than Eira's hand, navigation instruments whose purpose she could only guess, and glass bottles filled with dried herbs that perfumed the room with sharp, earthy scents of juniper, sagewood, salt, and the faint resinous aroma of treated timber.
Everything reminded her that this house belonged to people who looked outward rather than inward, and although the sea was nowhere in sight, it somehow felt present all the same.
Lyra sat opposite her at the long table, attempting to teach her a card game whose rules appeared remarkably flexible whenever the girl found herself losing.
"You just invented that."
"I absolutely did not."
"You changed the rules."
"I improved them."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is if you're winning."
Eira narrowed her eyes before replying.
"Convenient."
"Thank you."
Across the table, Finn failed to hide his sigh as he sat surrounded by papers and ledgers, copying figures into a larger book with the expression of someone enduring a deeply unfair punishment.
"You aren't helping."
"I gave up helping years ago."
Lyra looked offended.
"I am perfectly reasonable."
"That's what worries everyone."
The exchange earned a brief laugh from Eira, and across the room Maelin looked up from the collection of correspondence spread across her lap, seeming relieved to hear it for a moment before the expression disappeared almost immediately.
Eira noticed the change because she had been noticing similar things all day: forgotten thoughts, distracted glances, and conversations that ended too quickly whenever she entered a room.
Something had changed, and although no one had said so aloud, no one needed to.
A knock interrupted the room, drawing everyone's attention toward the door as it opened and one of the household stewards stepped inside with snow still clinging to his boots.
His gaze found Aldric immediately.
"My lord."
Something in his voice altered the atmosphere at once, replacing ease not with alarm but with expectation.
The household steward inclined his head before delivering his message.
"Lord Leander's riders crossed the eastern bridge an hour ago."
Silence settled over the room, carrying not surprise but acceptance, as though everyone present had spent the day waiting for those exact words.
Everyone except Eira.
Lyra groaned dramatically.
"Oh no."
Finn closed his eyes.
"You don't even know what happened."
"I know enough."
"You never know enough."
"I know more than you."
"Impossible."
Aldric rubbed a hand across his jaw, and although the gesture was small, Eira had already learned that it meant he was thinking.
Maelin quietly set her papers aside, and for the first time all day neither of them attempted to hide their tension.
The steward withdrew, the door closed behind him, and the silence lingered.
Eira looked from one face to another.
"What am I missing?"
No one answered immediately.
Outside, a gust of wind rattled the windows while, somewhere deeper within the house, a door slammed. Although life continued around them, the room felt different now—smaller, tighter, as though everyone had been waiting for the arrival of a storm.
Finally Aldric exhaled.
"Leander is coming."
The statement appeared to explain everything to everyone except her.
Eira folded her arms.
"Should I know who that is?"
A smile finally appeared on Aldric's face.
"Probably not."
"Helpful."
"Usually."
Maelin rolled her eyes, but Aldric ignored her.
"Leander is the Alpha of Silverwake."
Eira frowned slightly.
Silverwake.
The name was familiar. She knew it as the great western port beyond the mountains, a city of ships, trade, and sea routes stretching farther than Frostvein's influence had ever reached.
Her tutors had mentioned it often enough, though politics beyond the eastern territories had never interested her father unless they threatened his borders.
"Our neighbor," Maelin added.
"Our ally," Aldric corrected.
"On most days."
Eira looked between them.
"That still doesn't explain why everyone suddenly looks concerned."
Eira looked between them before speaking again.
"And everyone suddenly looks as though winter itself is riding toward the house."
This time Aldric laughed, and the sound was genuine.
"That's because whenever Leander arrives without warning, it usually means one of two things."
"What things?"
He rose from his chair and, for a moment, looked toward the maps covering the wall, then toward the window, and finally back to Eira.
"Either everything is about to become much easier."
A brief pause followed before Maelin finished the thought.
"Or much more complicated."
For reasons she could not explain, Eira suspected that neither answer would leave her life unchanged.
The house changed after that, though not dramatically or in any way an outsider might immediately notice. Yet once Eira became aware of it, she found herself seeing the signs everywhere.
The long room gradually emptied as people returned to their various duties. Finn gathered his ledgers and disappeared upstairs, while Aldric left soon afterward, summoned by matters that had suddenly become more urgent than they had been an hour earlier.
Only Lyra seemed entirely unaffected, although that lasted for approximately seven minutes before even she sensed that something was happening.
"What do you think he wants?"
Eira looked up.
"Who?"
"Leander."
The answer came as though no other explanation could possibly be necessary.
Lyra leaned forward.
"Maybe he's coming because someone stole something."
Finn, who had returned briefly after forgetting a ledger, sighed.
"No."
"Maybe he's coming because there's a war."
"No."
"Maybe—"
"No."
Lyra narrowed her eyes.
"You don't know either."
"I know enough."
"You always say that."
"Because it's usually true."
Their argument continued long after Eira stopped listening, as her attention had drifted elsewhere, toward the movement within the house.
Servants crossed the corridors more frequently than before, additional lanterns appeared in the courtyard below, and several guest rooms that had stood unused during her stay were suddenly opened and aired. Twice she saw stable hands hurrying toward the outer yard.
Nobody appeared alarmed or frightened; instead, the atmosphere felt strangely different, filled with a sense of expectation. The entire household seemed to be listening for something and waiting for its arrival.
By late afternoon, the winter light had begun to fade. The sky beyond the windows softened into pale shades of silver and blue while the first evening lanterns flickered to life throughout the estate.
Eira eventually found Maelin near one of the upper galleries overlooking the western side of the house.
Her sister stood beside an open window, one hand resting unconsciously against the curve of her stomach as she watched the courtyard below.
For a while neither of them spoke, and then Eira moved to stand beside her.
The cold air carried the scent of snow and distant water. Somewhere far beyond the rolling hills, beyond the forests and trade roads, lay the sea, and she could almost imagine she smelled it.
"Should I be worried?"
The question left her before she could reconsider it.
Maelin smiled faintly, not because the question amused her, but because she had expected it.
"That depends on what you're afraid of."
Eira leaned against the stone railing.
"I don't know yet."
The answer felt more honest than she intended.
For several moments Maelin watched the fading horizon before speaking quietly.
"Leander prefers seeing things for himself."
Eira glanced toward her.
"And?"
"And he rarely makes a decision before he does."
The statement felt less like an answer and more like a warning, or perhaps a reassurance; Eira wasn't entirely sure which.
"What kind of man is he?"
Maelin considered the question long enough that Eira began to suspect she might not answer at all.
Finally she said,
"The kind that listens longer than most people can tolerate."
That was not what Eira had expected.
"You make him sound harmless."
A soft laugh escaped her sister.
"No," she replied immediately. "Not harmless."
For reasons she couldn't explain, that response unsettled her more than anything else she had heard all day.
Below them, another lantern flared to life as the estate continued its quiet preparations, waiting for what was to come. And for the first time since arriving, Eira found herself wishing she knew what awaited her at the end of that road.
After leaving Maelin, Eira found herself with nowhere she particularly wanted to be.
The house had become too restless, not because it was loud or chaotic, but because it seemed strangely aware of something approaching.
Every corridor carried the same invisible tension.
Conversations lowered when she approached, servants moved with greater purpose, and doors opened and closed more frequently than before.
By evening, she had retreated to one of the quieter corners of the estate, hoping distance would make her thoughts easier to untangle.
It did not.
Leander Silverwake.
She knew almost nothing about him beyond the fragments Maelin had offered.
He was powerful enough that an entire household adjusted itself in anticipation of his arrival, yet that alone told her very little.
Power wore many faces, and Eira had spent most of her life learning how dangerous it could become in the wrong hands.
Perhaps Maelin trusted him.
Perhaps Aldric trusted him as well.