Chapter 20 Small Choices #4
A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before he set his cup aside.
"Shall we?"
Eira followed him from the room.
The house was already awake, and far more awake than she thought any residence should be.
Servants crossed corridors carrying documents rather than trays, while messengers appeared and disappeared with alarming efficiency.
A man carrying three rolled maps nearly collided with them before changing direction at the last moment.
"Sorry, my lord."
Leander nodded, and the man continued running.
Eira watched him go.
"Does anyone walk in this house?"
"Occasionally."
"When?"
"When they're injured."
That sounded entirely plausible.
They climbed several flights of stairs, then another set, and then yet another, until Eira began to suspect the house had ambitions of becoming a mountain.
Eventually, Leander stopped before a heavy wooden door fitted with brass hinges and made of weathered oak. There were no guards, no locks, and nothing particularly dramatic about it.
He pushed it open, and Eira immediately forgot what she had been about to say.
The room occupied nearly the entire floor.
Morning light spilled through tall windows overlooking the harbor and illuminated tables covered with maps—not one map, but dozens of them.
Some stretched across entire walls, while others lay beneath polished glass. Several were weighted flat beneath strange brass instruments she had never seen before.
Shelves climbed from floor to ceiling and held charts, journals, ledgers, and books, while the scent of parchment and salt lingered in the air.
For several moments she simply stood there, completely speechless.
Leander seemed entirely satisfied with this outcome.
"What is all this?"
"The world."
The answer arrived so casually that she almost laughed, but then she realized he wasn't joking.
Slowly, she moved further into the room.
Her eyes traveled across coastlines, mountain ranges, trade routes, and notes written in dozens of different hands. She saw names she had never heard before, names that sounded nothing like Frostvein, nothing like Ironfang, and nothing like home.
A large map occupied the central table, and Eira approached it instinctively.
The North appeared near the upper corner of the map, reduced to little more than a corner and nothing else.
She stared.
For the first time in her life, Frostvein looked small. So did Ironfang, along with every border she had once imagined important.
Her finger hovered over a coastline stretching far beyond anything she recognized.
"What is this?"
"Southern kingdoms."
She frowned.
"They're that far away?"
"Further."
Her gaze lifted.
"There are more beyond them?"
Leander studied her expression.
For a moment she thought he might laugh, but instead he asked, "You thought the world ended there?"
"No."
After a brief pause, she added, "Perhaps a little."
That earned a brief laugh that was unexpected, warm, and gone almost immediately.
Eira found herself smiling despite herself.
The room suddenly felt larger than before, though perhaps it was she who felt smaller. She wasn't certain.
Leander moved toward another table displaying a collection of carved wooden ships positioned across painted seas.
Currents had been drawn in blue ink, trade routes in red, and storm paths in black.
"You track all of this?"
"We try."
"We?"
"The city."
Eira looked around at the shelves, the records, the charts, and the years of work preserved within them.
"This isn't a room."
"No."
His gaze followed hers.
"It's an argument."
She blinked.
"What?"
A faint smile appeared.
"The sailors disagree with the merchants."
"The merchants disagree with the navigators."
"The navigators disagree with the weather."
"The weather ignores everyone."
Despite herself, Eira laughed.
Leander looked pleased by that, perhaps even dangerously pleased.
"The point," he continued, "is that no one sees the whole picture alone."
His hand rested lightly against the edge of the map.
"So we keep collecting pieces."
Silence settled between them, thoughtful rather than uncomfortable.
Eira looked down again at the world spread across the table, at places she had never imagined, people she would never meet, and lives unfolding beyond mountains, beyond kingdoms, and beyond the narrow boundaries she had once accepted without question.
For years Frostvein had taught her that order came from certainty, from rules, and from knowing one's place.
Standing here, she suddenly wondered whether certainty and ignorance were sometimes the same thing.
As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, Leander spoke quietly.
"Rulers become dangerous when they believe their valley is the whole world."
Eira's eyes lifted.
The words settled heavily between them. They were not aimed at anyone in particular, and yet somehow seemed aimed at everyone.
Vargan. The White Law. Perhaps even Ironfang. Perhaps even herself.
For a long moment neither spoke.
The harbor bells rang faintly below while fog drifted beyond the windows, and somewhere beyond the sea, beyond the maps, and beyond everything she had ever known, the world continued waiting.