Chapter 16 The Man from the West #4
A few people laughed, the tension eased, and the conversation moved elsewhere.
Even so, Eira found herself thinking about the question long after it had passed.
It wasn't what had been asked that lingered in her mind but why, because for the first time since leaving Ironfang she had heard Soren's name spoken without judgment, expectation, or the weight of history attached to it.
He had been spoken of simply as a person.
That realization stayed with her through the remainder of the meal.
Eventually the evening began to wind down as the children disappeared first and several of Leander's riders excused themselves soon afterward. The room gradually emptied while chairs scraped against the wooden floors and lantern light flickered across the maps covering the walls.
Eira had just risen from her seat when a voice stopped her.
"Eira."
She turned and saw Leander standing near the end of the table.
For the first time all evening, his attention rested fully on her, and the room around them seemed suddenly quieter—not empty, merely distant.
For a moment neither of them spoke before he finally said:
"Walk with me tomorrow."
Eira blinked, caught off guard by the request.
"Why?"
A corner of his mouth lifted.
"Everyone else has spent the last twenty-four hours telling me who you are."
His gaze remained steady.
"I'd rather hear it from you."
Before she could think of a response, he inclined his head and turned away, making it clear that the conversation was, apparently, over.
Eira remained where she was for several seconds after he left, and for reasons she couldn't quite explain, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow.
Sleep did not come easily that night, though it was not because of fear or uncertainty, especially since Eira had long since become accustomed to uncertainty during her travels.
Long after the house had fallen quiet and the last footsteps faded from the corridors, she remained awake beneath the heavy blankets, staring into the darkness above her.
The room was warm, the bed was comfortable, and outside the wind brushed softly against the walls before disappearing into the night. Everything around her was peaceful, but her thoughts were not.
Leander's name returned again and again, not because of anything he had done, but because of what he had not done.
He had not questioned her, judged her, demanded explanations, or looked at her as though she were a problem waiting to be solved.
The realization should not have felt remarkable, yet it did.
For most of her life, people had approached her carrying expectations. Vargan had known exactly who she was supposed to become, and so had the White Law, the council, and even Ironfang.
Daughter, bride, political alliance, future, responsibility—every title arrived before she did, and every role stepped into a room before her name.
Turning onto her side, Eira found herself recalling Leander's words.
I'd rather hear it from you.
It had been a simple statement, nothing more, yet it lingered because beneath it lay a question no one had ever truly asked.
Who are you?
Not who were you meant to be, not who should you become, and not who belongs to whom, but simply who you are.
Eira closed her eyes, but no answer came, and the silence surprised her.
Somewhere along the years, she had become very good at understanding what others expected of her, while becoming far less skilled at understanding herself.
The thought stayed with her for a while before, almost unconsciously, her awareness brushed against the bond.
The familiar connection remained exactly where it had always been—present, quiet, and alive.
She sensed it before she fully realized what she was doing, as naturally as a hand seeking a familiar object in darkness.
For a moment she simply rested there, listening.
The bond offered no words or images, only certainty.
Soren was awake.
The knowledge arrived without explanation. Perhaps he stood somewhere within Ironfang, perhaps he sat before a fire, perhaps he was working, or perhaps he was doing nothing at all.
The bond revealed no details and offered only the simple fact that sleep had not claimed him either.
Eira remained still.
Once, she might have reached further, searching for emotion, reassurance, or understanding.
Tonight she did none of those things, not because she was angry or wished to punish him, but because she was simply tired.
She was tired of carrying questions that had no answers and tired of trying to understand things neither of them seemed capable of explaining.
Slowly, she allowed her awareness to retreat.
The connection remained, but she stepped back from it the way one steps away from a doorway without closing it.
For a long time she lay listening to the wind beyond the walls, and eventually her thoughts began to quiet.
The questions remained, tomorrow remained, and Leander remained, yet for the first time in many weeks none of those things demanded an answer before morning.
Sometime before dawn finally arrived, sleep found her at last.