Chapter 17 The Crossroads
Eira
The following morning arrived beneath a pale sky streaked with thin clouds drifting inland from the western coast.
Eira was halfway through breakfast when Leander appeared without any announcement or servant hurrying ahead to herald his arrival. One moment he was absent, and the next he stood in the doorway with a mug in one hand and an expression suggesting he had already been awake for several hours.
"Good."
Eira blinked as Leander nodded toward her plate.
"You're eating."
The statement caught her entirely off guard.
"I'm sorry?"
"Travelers who stop eating are usually either ill or planning something foolish."
After taking a sip from his mug, he added, "You appear healthy enough."
Before she could decide whether that qualified as a greeting, Leander glanced toward the window and instructed her to bring her cloak. He then walked away as though the conversation had been perfectly normal.
Eira stared after him while, across the table, Finn looked entirely unsurprised.
"Does he always do that?"
"Yes."
"That's exhausting."
"Also yes."
Lyra nodded solemnly before adding, "Sometimes he disappears in the middle of conversations."
"That cannot possibly be true."
"It happened twice yesterday."
After a moment of consideration, Finn corrected her.
"Three times."
"See?"
Eira looked toward Maelin, whose smile made no attempt to hide itself.
"You'll get used to it."
That did not sound reassuring.
Twenty minutes later, Eira found herself crossing the courtyard beside a man who appeared entirely unconcerned by the fact that he had given no explanation whatsoever for where they were going.
Leander walked with the same easy confidence he seemed to bring to everything else, moving at a pace that was neither hurried nor slow, as though the world would wait patiently for him to reach his destination.
The morning air carried the sharp scent of frost and distant water, while thin sunlight reflected from patches of old snow and stable hands and servants moved about the estate, already busy with the day's work.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke, and the silence wasn't uncomfortable so much as intentional, as though Leander saw no reason to fill it with unnecessary conversation.
Eira eventually gave up waiting.
"I assume there's a destination."
"There usually is."
She stared at him as a corner of his mouth twitched.
"You're wondering whether I always answer questions like that."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
To her irritation, he sounded entirely certain.
Leander pushed open the gate leading toward the stables, and the smell reached them immediately: hay, leather, and horses. The familiar scents settled something inside her without her fully understanding why.
Several stable hands greeted Leander as they passed. He knew every one of them by name, and every one of them seemed perfectly willing to tease him.
One of the older men pointed toward a muddy patch near the entrance.
"Careful."
Leander glanced down.
"Why?"
"Because unlike the rest of us, you're important."
The stable hand received a look of profound disappointment.
"That was terrible."
"I've been saving it all morning."
"Clearly."
The man appeared delighted by the criticism.
Eira watched the exchange with growing disbelief because nobody treated powerful men this way, or at least nobody she had ever known.
They entered the main stable, where warmth immediately replaced the morning chill. Sunlight filtered through the wooden slats high above, illuminating drifting dust and rows of stalls.
Leander continued walking past one horse, then another, and then a third before eventually stopping.
Eira followed his gaze.
Her mare lifted her head from the hay, and the horse's ears immediately turned toward her in recognition and trust. The sight tugged unexpectedly at something deep within her chest.
For a moment neither she nor Leander spoke. The mare stepped forward, and Eira rested a hand against her neck.
"You made good time."
The comment came from beside her.
She glanced toward Leander and saw that his attention remained fixed on the horse.
"Most people wouldn't have."
Eira said nothing.
Leander studied the mare quietly and carefully rather than casually. His gaze moved across the animal's legs and shoulders, then to the tack hanging nearby, the worn leather, the repaired straps, and the subtle signs left behind by weeks on the road.
Only then did he ask:
"This is yours?"
Eira raised an eyebrow.
"You already know the answer."
"I do."
"Then why ask?"
For the first time, Leander looked directly at her.
"Because I'd rather hear your answer than mine."
The response irritated her slightly, mostly because she wasn't entirely sure what it meant.
"Yes."
Leander nodded and returned his attention to the horse.
"How many days?"
The question caught her off guard.
"What?"
"From Ironfang."
Eira hesitated.
"A little more than a week."
Leander was silent for a moment.
"Alone."
It wasn't a question but an observation.
Eira folded her arms.
"Mostly."
That finally earned a glance.
"Mostly?"
"There were wolves."
Leander considered this and then nodded.
"Of course there were."
The answer was so matter-of-fact that she almost laughed.
His gaze returned to the mare, and one hand rested briefly against the animal's shoulder with the ease of someone experienced rather than merely familiar, a man who clearly understood horses.
"A sensible choice."
The mare accepted the attention without complaint.
"Not the fastest horse in Ironfang."
"No."
"Not the strongest."
"No."
"Not the most impressive."
Eira narrowed her eyes.
"I'm beginning to sense an insult."
A smile appeared on his face, small and brief before disappearing almost immediately.
"Not at all."
His hand dropped away from the mare.
"Just a survivor."
The words settled between them, and something about the way he said them made Eira suspect he was no longer speaking about the horse.
For a while, neither of them spoke as the mare returned to her hay, apparently satisfied that Eira had not vanished overnight.
Leander watched the horse for a moment before asking,
"What did you miss most?"
Eira frowned, caught off guard by a question that seemed to arrive from nowhere.
"During the journey?"
"No."
His gaze remained fixed on the horse.
"During your life."
She stared at him.
"That's an absurdly large question."
"Most useful questions are."
The answer came to her immediately, which was irritating enough to make her fold her arms more tightly across her chest.
"You ask strange things."
"I've been told that."
"I can see why."
That earned the faintest hint of amusement from him.
Leander simply waited, neither pushing nor filling the silence, but allowing it to stretch naturally, like a fisherman waiting for a line to tighten.
Eventually Eira looked away toward the stable doors and the pale winter morning beyond them.
"I don't know."
The answer felt incomplete, and that was probably why she continued.
"I never really thought about it."
"Then think about it now."
There was no pressure in his voice, no command, only a suggestion, which somehow made it far more difficult to dismiss.
Eira remained quiet for a long time, long enough that someone else might have assumed the conversation had ended.
Leander did not.
Finally, she said,
"Choice."
The word surprised her almost as much as it seemed to surprise him, though perhaps it had not surprised him at all.
"You had choices."
"No."
A small smile touched her lips.
"I had options."
He glanced toward her.
"There's a difference."
That immediately caught her attention.
"What difference?"
Leander leaned one shoulder against the stall.
"The illusion that you're choosing something is not the same as actually choosing it."
For the first time, his voice carried something heavier beneath it—not emotion, but experience.
"You can be offered ten roads."
His gaze drifted toward the stable doors.
"If nine of them lead off a cliff, you were only ever given one."
The words lingered between them.
Eira found herself unexpectedly still because she understood exactly what he meant, and because nobody had ever described her life so accurately in a single sentence, not even herself.
Leander studied her for a moment before unexpectedly changing the subject.
"Can you ride?"
She blinked in confusion.
"What?"
"You spent over a week crossing half the west."
His expression remained perfectly serious.
"I assume you've learned by now."
For the first time since entering the stable, Eira laughed, and the sound was real, brief, and entirely unplanned before disappearing almost as quickly as it had come.
Leander noticed it, of course he did, and for reasons she couldn't explain, that seemed to satisfy him more than any answer she had given.
For a moment, neither of them spoke as the stable grew quieter around them, with distant sounds of work beginning across the estate filtering through the walls while only the soft rustle of hay and the occasional movement of horses remained inside.
Leander glanced once more toward the mare before pushing away from the stall.
"Come."
This time Eira did not bother asking where they were going.
They left the stable together and followed a narrow path leading away from the main courtyard. Frost still coated the grass in pale silver, sparkling beneath the weak winter sunlight.
For a while, they walked in silence.
Then Leander spoke.
"How long do you intend to stay here?"
The question caught her off guard.
Eira frowned.
"Here?"
"At Aldric's house."
She considered the answer.
"I haven't decided."
Leander nodded once, neither approving nor disapproving, simply acknowledging the answer.
"And if your father sends men?"
Eira looked at him.
"He might."
"He might."
"And if Soren comes himself?"
The question landed harder, and Eira felt it immediately.
Leander noticed, as he always did, yet he waited.
"I don't know."
"That's two questions you've answered the same way."
Something about the observation irritated her.
"What exactly are you looking for?"
Leander's gaze remained fixed on the path ahead.