Chapter 20 Small Choices #3
By the time measurements were taken and fabric samples selected, she was almost enjoying herself.
Almost.
The realization felt deeply suspicious.
Eventually the women gathered their things, the boxes disappeared, and the room slowly returned to normal.
As they prepared to leave, the youngest servant lingered near the door.
The girl hesitated before smiling.
“Lord Leander asked us not to overwhelm you.”
Eira looked up.
“He did?”
The servant nodded.
“Yes.”
A pause followed.
“He said you’ve had enough changes for one season.”
Something unexpectedly warm settled in Eira’s chest.
Not because of the clothes, the room, but it was the simple fact that he had noticed.
The servant smiled again before disappearing into the corridor. The door closed behind her. Silence returned.
Eira looked toward the fabrics still spread across the table: dark blue, green, and sea glass. Not white. For the first time in her life, someone had asked what she wanted to wear, and for the first time in her life, the answer had mattered.
Eventually she rose and crossed into the adjoining bathing room.
Steam already drifted from the copper tub waiting near the hearth.
Someone had anticipated her arrival, a thought that no longer surprised her as much as it probably should have.
Fresh towels had been folded nearby. A clean robe waited upon a chair. Everything had been arranged and prepared, as though no one had considered the possibility that she might refuse comfort simply because she was unfamiliar with it.
For a long moment she stood motionless. Then she stepped into the water. The heat stole the breath from her lungs, though not unpleasantly. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
The silence felt different here.
It was not the silence of mountains or snow. The sea was always present, even through stone walls. Its distant roar served as a constant reminder that something vast waited beyond the cliffs.
When she finally emerged, dusk had begun settling across the harbor. The sky beyond the windows glowed with fading shades of silver and blue.
A simple dress had been left upon the bed. It was made of dark blue wool that felt soft, practical, and warm. There was nothing elaborate or ceremonial about it, no embroidery declaring status and no symbols proclaiming loyalty. It was simply clothing.
The thought lingered as she dressed. It was strange how something so ordinary could feel unfamiliar.
The fabric settled comfortably against her skin. The sleeves allowed movement, and the skirt was designed for walking rather than display. And, to her astonishment, it had pockets. Actual pockets. Eira immediately understood why people seemed so passionate about them.
A smile tugged briefly at the corner of her mouth. The woman with the measuring tape had been entirely right.
By the time she finished braiding her hair, darkness had settled beyond the windows.
Lights glittered across the harbor below. Hundreds of them marked ships, homes, taverns, and warehouses, revealing an entire city preparing for night.
A quiet knock sounded at the door.
“Lady Eira?”
The servant’s voice drifted through the wood.
“Dinner will be served shortly.”
For a moment Eira remained where she was.
Looking out across the sea, down at the city, and at the unfamiliar woman reflected faintly in the glass.
Then she turned toward the door. Toward the waiting evening. And toward whatever version of Leander she had yet to discover beyond the one he allowed the world to see.
The dining room overlooked the western side of the estate, and even at night the sea remained visible through the tall windows, stretching into the darkness with an endless, living presence.
Eira paused briefly before entering, listening to the voices drifting from within. Although there were only three or four people at most, the atmosphere felt more like a lively gathering than a formal dinner, bearing little resemblance to either Frostvein or Ironfang.
When she stepped inside, the conversation paused only for a moment, not because she had entered, but because the others were acknowledging a newcomer before naturally returning to their discussion.
To Eira's surprise, the table was already occupied.
Leander sat near the center, and beside him was a broad-shouldered man in his forties whose weathered skin and beard touched with silver immediately marked him, in Eira's eyes, as a sailor.
Across from him sat a younger woman surrounded by ledgers and notes that she clearly had no intention of putting away during dinner.
At the far end of the table sat an older gentleman who, judging by the stack of correspondence beside his plate, appeared to have arrived prepared for battle, though paperwork seemed to be winning.
Leander looked up first, and the briefest hint of approval crossed his face when he noticed she had changed clothes. It was neither admiration nor surprise, but rather the quiet satisfaction of someone pleased that another person looked comfortable.
"Good."
The word escaped before he seemed to think about it.
Eira raised an eyebrow.
"Good?"
"You came."
The younger woman laughed immediately, while the sailor let out a groan.
"Oh, we're starting with that?"
Leander sighed.
"We are not."
"We absolutely are."
The woman closed her ledger and shook her head.
"That was terrible."
Eira looked between them and saw that while Leander appeared resigned, everyone else looked delighted, creating an alarming combination.
The older gentleman spoke next.
"Do not be deceived."
"By what?"
"That expression."
He pointed directly at Leander.
"It convinces outsiders he possesses dignity."
The sailor nodded with exaggerated solemnity.
"A dangerous misconception."
For the first time since entering, Eira genuinely struggled not to smile. Unfortunately, Leander noticed.
"You're all very brave."
"No," the younger woman replied as she reached for her wine. "We simply know where you keep the important documents."
The sailor lifted his cup.
"And we know who signs them when you're away."
The room erupted into laughter, while Leander pinched the bridge of his nose.
Eira stared in surprise. No one appeared remotely concerned about provoking him, and no one seemed afraid of him. The realization felt increasingly familiar, reminding her of the housekeeper, the merchants, the fisherman, and now these people as well.
It wasn't that they lacked respect for him; rather, they simply weren't frightened of him, and that distinction seemed to grow larger every time she encountered it.
As dinner was served, the conversation shifted naturally between ships arriving from southern ports, delayed cargo, winter storms, and a variety of matters that Eira only partially understood.
Throughout it all, however, she noticed something else.
People interrupted Leander, corrected him, and disagreed with him frequently, and he not only tolerated it but seemed to expect it.
At one point, the younger woman openly informed him that his proposed shipping schedule was unrealistic, and the sailor immediately agreed with her.
Leander argued his case, lost the debate, and accepted the outcome without any visible injury to his pride.
The entire exchange felt surreal.
Eventually the discussion turned toward a trade route somewhere beyond the western sea, and Eira listened quietly as the conversation unfolded.
For several minutes she simply followed along, hearing about different ports, different nations, and entirely different worlds—places whose names she had never heard before.
The map of her life had always been small, consisting of Frostvein, Ironfang, the surrounding valleys, and perhaps a few neighboring territories. Listening to them now felt like discovering an entirely new continent hidden beyond the edge of an old one.
The younger woman noticed her expression.
"You've never seen the navigation room, have you?"
Eira shook her head.
The woman immediately turned to Leander.
"Oh, you haven't shown her."
"I've been home six hours."
"Excuses."
"Reasonable excuses."
The sailor laughed.
"They never work on her."
"I've noticed."
The woman pointed a fork at him.
"You'll show her tomorrow."
Leander took a sip of wine before replying.
"Apparently I will."
The matter seemed settled, not by him but by everyone else, and to Eira's astonishment no one appeared concerned by that fact.
For the first time that evening, she found herself wondering not who Leander was, but what kind of place could possibly have produced him.
The following morning arrived wrapped in fog.
From her window, Eira could barely see the harbor below, where ships appeared and vanished like ghosts drifting through pale silver mist while their bells carried faintly across the water.
She had just finished breakfast when someone knocked. The sound was familiar now and far less startling than it would have been a week ago.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Leander stepped inside carrying two steaming cups.
Eira immediately narrowed her eyes.
"You brought provisions."
"A precaution."
He offered her one of the cups.
"Against what?"
"Questions."
She accepted it anyway.
The drink smelled rich and bitter, and whatever it was, Silverwake seemed determined to serve it constantly.
Leander glanced toward the window.
"The city disappears when it does this."
"The fog?"
"It likes to remind us who's in charge."
"The sea?"
"The sea is always in charge."
Eira suspected he believed that completely, and the thought made her strangely curious.
Leander took a sip from his cup.
"You were volunteered yesterday."
"I noticed."
"My condolences."
"Thank you."
"Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do."
"How tragic."
"Very."