Chapter 16 The Man from the West #2
Neither of those things eased the unease settling deeper in her chest.
She had come here to think, to put distance between herself and the choices waiting for her in the north.
If Leander recognized what she represented, that fragile peace could disappear overnight.
Questions would follow. Decisions would follow.
And whether she wanted it or not, other people could find themselves caught in the consequences.
Not only Maelin. Aldric. Their children.
Everyone who had opened their home to her without demanding anything in return.
The thought lingered long enough to become conviction.
Leaving before Leander arrived would be simpler. Cleaner. It would spare them the risk of becoming entangled in problems that had never belonged to them.
By the time darkness settled over the estate, Eira had almost convinced herself it was the sensible choice.
She moved quietly through the sleeping house.
The pack slung over her shoulder held little beyond spare clothing, a knife, and the handful of possessions she still considered her own. Most of the estate lay dark and silent as she crossed the courtyard and made her way toward the stables.
She had nearly reached them when a familiar voice stopped her.
"I wondered if you might try this."
Eira closed her eyes briefly.
When she turned, Maelin stood beneath a lantern at the edge of the courtyard, wrapped in a dark cloak against the cold. She looked neither surprised nor angry, as though she had been expecting this outcome from the moment Leander's visit had been announced.
"I didn't want to wake anyone," Eira said.
"I know."
The simple answer irritated her more than it should have.
She adjusted the strap of her pack.
"Leander is coming."
"Yes."
"I don't know him."
"No."
Eira hesitated before continuing.
"And if my being here creates problems for you?"
Maelin regarded her quietly.
"For whom?"
"For all of you."
The answer came more sharply than she intended.
"For you. For Aldric. For the children."
Something softened in her sister's expression.
"Eira, do you truly believe Aldric would allow anyone to threaten his family without a fight?"
Despite herself, Eira felt the corner of her mouth twitch.
"No."
"I don't either."
The faint smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
"That isn't the point."
"No," Maelin agreed. "It isn't."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Maelin stepped closer.
"You've spent so many years anticipating consequences that you've forgotten not all of them arrive."
Eira looked away.
The words landed uncomfortably close to the truth.
"If Leander proves untrustworthy, we'll deal with that when the time comes," Maelin continued. "But right now you're preparing to leave because of something that hasn't happened and may never happen."
"And if it does?"
"Then we'll face it."
There was no bravado in her voice.
No attempt to reassure her with promises.
Only certainty.
The kind that came from someone who had already considered the possibility and accepted it.
Eira lowered her gaze to the pack hanging from her shoulder.
Leaving had seemed obvious when she was alone.
Standing here, it felt less like caution and more like flight.
As though she had already decided what everyone else would choose before giving them the chance to choose it themselves.
Maelin waited without pressing further.
Eventually Eira released a slow breath and slipped the pack from her shoulder.
A faint smile appeared on her sister's face, though she wisely said nothing about the decision.
Together they turned back toward the house.
For the first time since hearing Leander's name, Eira allowed herself to consider that staying might not be a mistake, but a choice.
Leander was coming, and somehow his arrival had already entered the house before he had.
Unable to tolerate the walls any longer, Eira pulled on her cloak and stepped outside.
The cold greeted her immediately, though it was not the brutal mountain cold of Ironfang but something different and sharper.
The wind carried moisture with it, and beneath the familiar scents of snow and pine lingered something else: salt, faint and distant.
The smell followed her as she crossed the courtyard and climbed the stone path leading toward the western overlook above the river valley.
As she walked, the estate gradually disappeared behind her and the sounds of the house faded until only the wind remained.
By the time she reached the overlook, dusk had settled over the land.
Lanterns glowed below like scattered stars, while the river wound through the valley in a dark silver ribbon before disappearing into forests that stretched toward the western horizon. Somewhere beyond those forests lay the coast, and beyond the coast stretched the sea.
Eira rested her hands against the wooden railing and stared into the growing darkness.
For the first time in weeks, she did not know what came next.
The realization should have frightened her, yet instead it left her strangely calm.
There was no father waiting to decide her future, no council to answer to, no journey she needed to survive, and no destination she had to reach before winter closed the roads.
There was only uncertainty, and for the first time in her life that uncertainty belonged entirely to her.
The thought lingered until movement caught her eye far below along the western road.
At first she thought it was a trick of the fading light, but then she saw it again.
A small group of riders emerged from the trees and moved steadily along the river road toward the estate.
Eira straightened instinctively, and her gaze settled upon the rider at the front.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, the obvious choice for a leader and the kind of man people noticed first. He was exactly the sort of figure she had spent most of her life being taught to look for: an alpha, a leader, the center of attention.
The group continued forward, drawing closer as lantern light flickered against dark cloaks and horse tack.
She studied them carefully, trying to guess which one was Leander and trying to understand why an entire household seemed to be holding its breath for one man's arrival.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and Eira glanced over her shoulder.
Finn stood several paces away with his hands buried inside his coat.
For a moment neither of them spoke before he followed her gaze toward the road.
"They made good time."
Eira looked back toward the riders.
"The one in front?"
Finn frowned.
"What?"
"Leander."
A brief silence followed, and then, to her surprise, Finn laughed.
"No."
Eira blinked.
"No?"
He pointed toward the middle of the group, indicating a rider she had barely noticed.
The man was dressed no differently from the others. He wore no elaborate cloak, displayed no obvious signs of rank, and made no effort whatsoever to stand apart from the people surrounding him. If anything, he appeared less imposing than the rider she had initially chosen.
"That's him."
Eira stared.
The rider sat comfortably in the saddle and spoke to one of the others as they approached the estate.
At first glance there was nothing remarkable about him, nothing that demanded attention or openly announced power.
And yet, once Finn pointed him out, her eyes kept returning to him as though some instinct recognized something her mind had not yet understood.
The riders crossed the bridge, passed through the outer gates, and continued toward the main courtyard.
Then, unexpectedly, the man Finn had indicated lifted his head.
The distance between them was considerable, far too great for details and far too great for certainty, yet for a single moment Eira had the unsettling impression that he was looking directly at her rather than toward the overlook or the house.
The feeling vanished almost immediately as the riders continued onward.
The moment should have ended there, but for some reason it did not.
As darkness settled fully across the valley, Eira found herself unable to shake the strange impression that Lord Leander already knew exactly who she was.
By the time Eira returned to the house, the riders had already arrived.
The courtyard she had crossed only minutes earlier had transformed completely.
Lanterns burned along the walls and beneath the covered walkways, while stable hands moved between horses carrying saddles and tack, and servants disappeared through side entrances balancing bundles, travel chests, and armfuls of winter cloaks.
The visitors had brought the cold in with them, and she could still feel it lingering in the air.
As she stepped inside, the warmth of the house closed around her once more.
Voices drifted from somewhere ahead, followed by laughter that sounded neither forced nor polite, but familiar enough to make her slow her pace.
The sound seemed to come from the long room, and although she briefly considered turning away, curiosity won out in the end.
By the time she reached the doorway, she could already hear Aldric speaking.
"...and then you ignored the message for three days."
"I was busy."
"You were fishing."
"I was busy fishing."
The answer was followed by several groans.
Eira paused at the entrance.
The room beyond looked much as it had earlier that day, though now it felt fuller and far more alive.
Several unfamiliar men occupied chairs near the fire, their travel cloaks draped over nearby benches while mugs and half-finished meals had already begun appearing on the table.
At the center of it all sat the man she had seen on the road.
Leander.
He looked younger than she had expected, though not truly young, and certainly not old; perhaps he was only a few years older than Soren.
His dark coat bore traces of melted snow, and one sleeve carried the faint stain of mud from the journey, yet nothing about him appeared particularly impressive.
He wore no jewelry, no ceremonial clothing, and displayed none of the obvious symbols of rank or authority that powerful men often favored.