Chapter 17 The Crossroads #3
The door closed behind them, and silence settled between them for a moment before Eira finally spoke.
"You knew."
It wasn't a question, and Maelin didn't pretend otherwise.
"Yes."
The answer came immediately, without excuses or hesitation.
Eira looked away, and for reasons she couldn't entirely explain, the admission hurt more than she expected.
"You discussed it."
"Yes."
"With Aldric."
"Yes."
"And Leander."
After a brief pause, Maelin nodded again.
"Yes."
The honesty made it impossible to stay angry, which was unfortunate because anger would have been easier.
Eira folded her arms.
"He wants me to leave."
Maelin's expression softened immediately.
"No. He wants you safe."
The answer came so quickly that Eira blinked.
The corridor remained quiet around them while somewhere downstairs a door opened and closed. Life continued as it always did, indifferent to the conversations taking place within its walls.
Eira stared at the floorboards.
"I just found you."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
A longer silence followed, and when she finally looked up, she found tears shining in Maelin's eyes. They weren't falling, but their presence was impossible to miss.
"I know."
Somehow that made everything worse.
Maelin laughed softly and wiped at one eye. Pregnancy had clearly done little to improve her ability to hide her emotions.
"If I were only your sister," she said quietly, "I would ask you to stay."
Eira swallowed as the words landed exactly where they were meant to.
Maelin glanced toward the nursery door, toward the children beyond it, and toward the life she had built within these walls.
"But I'm a mother too."
Nothing else needed to be said because Eira understood. She had understood from the beginning.
The realization didn't make it hurt any less, but it did make it impossible to argue.
They stood together in silence for a long moment before Maelin finally reached for her hand. The gesture was simple, familiar, and unmistakably sisterly.
"I don't want you to go."
Eira squeezed her fingers gently.
"I know."
"But I think he's right."
There it was—the truth neither of them wanted and neither of them could deny.
For the first time since Leander's proposal, Eira allowed herself to consider the possibility that she might already know her answer.
The evening settled over the house gradually.
Lanterns were lit one by one as daylight faded beyond the windows, casting warm pools of gold across the long room while shadows gathered quietly in the corners.
Nothing about the evening felt unusual, and that was precisely what made it memorable.
No discussions of politics followed, and there was no mention of Frostvein, Ironfang, fathers, councils, alliances, or consequences.
For a few precious hours, the world beyond the estate seemed to retreat into the distance.
Lyra spent most of dinner attempting to convince everyone that her wooden wolf had been unfairly accused.
The details of the dispute became increasingly difficult to follow, and at one point the wolf appeared to be defending a mountain, while later it was apparently responsible for stealing a boat.
By dessert, Eira suspected that even Lyra no longer remembered the original crime.
Aldric listened to the entire explanation with remarkable seriousness, whereas Leander clearly did not.
"The wolf is clearly guilty."
Lyra gasped.
"You weren't even listening."
"I heard enough."
"That's not possible."
"It rarely is."
The discussion continued for another ten minutes before Finn eventually buried his face in his hands.
"I would like the record to show that I disagree with everyone."
"No one asked."
"I know."
The boy sounded genuinely offended, which only made Eira laugh again.
The sound surprised her, not because it happened, but because it came so easily.
Across the table, Maelin smiled, and it was not the careful smile she sometimes wore when watching Eira but a genuine one that looked relaxed, content, and almost as though seeing her there completed something.
The realization tightened unexpectedly in Eira's chest.
Later, after the meal had ended, the family drifted naturally toward the fire.
Lyra climbed onto the sofa beside her mother, Finn settled into a nearby chair with a book, and Aldric disappeared briefly before returning with another blanket, which he placed around Maelin's shoulders without interrupting the conversation taking place around them.
The gesture lasted only a moment and was so simple and unremarkable that no one else in the room appeared to notice it.
Eira noticed, however, because Aldric had not done it to make a point or because anyone was watching; he had simply realized that Maelin was cold and acted without hesitation.
The conversation continued, nobody thanked him, nobody commented, and the blanket remained around Maelin's shoulders as life moved forward.
Eira looked away.
Something about that small moment unsettled her more than she wanted to admit, not because it was extraordinary but because it wasn't.
It seemed ordinary here, as though care had been woven into the fabric of the household so completely that no one felt the need to acknowledge it, treating it neither as a duty nor an obligation but simply as a habit.
The fire crackled softly while Lyra eventually fell asleep against her mother's side.
Finn pretended not to notice, though Aldric carried her upstairs anyway.
Leander excused himself shortly afterward, claiming that paperwork awaited him, though nobody believed him, including Leander himself.
The room gradually emptied, the house settled, and quiet returned.
When Eira finally climbed the stairs to her room, the familiar ache in her chest remained, though it was not sadness, or at least not entirely; it was something far more difficult to name.
As she entered the room, her gaze fell upon the travel bag resting near the bed, the same bag that had carried her across forests, mountains, and frozen roads.
For a long moment she simply looked at it before crossing the room with slow, silent steps.
Her fingers brushed the worn leather, the buckle, and the familiar straps, yet she did not begin packing.
Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the bag in the darkness.
Outside, the wind moved softly against the windows, and somewhere deeper within the house a floorboard creaked, creating the quiet sounds of a home settling for the night.
For the first time since arriving, Eira allowed herself to imagine leaving, not because she wanted to but because staying was no longer the same thing.
As she sat there in the silence, staring at the bag she had not yet opened, she realized that part of her had already begun preparing for the journey west.