Chapter 28 What We Stopped Asking #3
Silence filled the space again, accompanied only by the sea, the wind, and the distant cry of a gull, and yet something about the question refused to leave because it was different from every question Soren had asked himself since the bond began.
It was not how to control it, how to survive it, or how to get rid of it, but rather why it existed at all, and the thought settled somewhere deep and uncomfortable.
Leander studied him for a moment, and then, unexpectedly, his expression softened as he said, "You're looking for Eira."
Soren's eyes lifted as he replied, "Of course I am."
"No," Leander said, shaking his head, "you're looking for the version of events that allows you to fix everything."
The words landed harder than they should have as he added, "Those aren't the same thing."
The wind moved between them, and for a long moment neither man spoke before Leander looked out across the sea once more and said, "And if I'm right..."
His voice was quieter now as he finished, "...the answers you're looking for won't be found in Silverwake."
Soren frowned and asked, "Then where?"
Leander's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as he answered, "In whatever everyone stopped questioning hundreds of years ago."
The wind strengthened as far below the sea struck the cliffs hard enough to send white spray into the air, and for several moments Soren said nothing before finally asking, "And what exactly do you expect me to do?"
Leander looked at him and replied, "About what?"
Soren let out a laugh that carried very little amusement as he answered, "About any of it," sweeping his hand outward to encompass the mark, the law, the North, the horizon, the sea—everything.
"You tell me I'm carrying too much," he continued, his voice sharpening, "you tell me I don't have answers, and you tell me there are questions nobody bothered asking."
A bitter smile appeared on his face before vanishing just as quickly as he asked, "Wonderful, but what would you like me to do with that?"
Leander remained silent, and that silence irritated him even more, prompting Soren to take a step forward and say, "You want honesty?"
The wind tore at his cloak as his gaze locked onto Leander's and he went on, "Fine, I don't care why the mark exists; I care whether it threatens my people, and I don't care who created it, I care what it does."
The sea crashed below as he added, "I don't have the luxury of spending months digging through forgotten records while Ironfang waits."
Leander watched him, still calm and still listening, which somehow made it worse, and Soren's jaw tightened as he said, "You keep talking about questions, but questions don't keep people alive."
For the first time since the conversation began, something flickered across Leander's face—not disagreement, but understanding of the worst kind, because it meant he knew exactly why Soren believed that.
The silence stretched until Leander finally nodded and said, "You're right," an answer that stopped Soren and made him frown as Leander continued, "Questions don't keep people alive, but neither does ignorance."
The sea rolled endlessly below them as the wind moved between them, and for a moment neither man spoke before Leander's gaze shifted toward the horizon and he said, "I think that's what frightens you."
Soren's expression hardened as he asked, "What?"
Leander didn't look at him as he replied, "You know how to fight enemies, you know how to survive winters, and you know how to make impossible decisions, but this is something you cannot solve through force, sacrifice, or endurance."
Soren looked away as Leander finally turned toward him and added, "And that terrifies you."
A long, heavy silence followed as Soren felt the familiar instinct rise immediately—denial, anger, dismissal, anything but agreement—yet none of the responses came, because the worst part was not that Leander might be wrong, but that he might not be.
The wind swept across the cliffs while neither man spoke until, quietly, Leander said, "The North cannot afford to lose you," and the words returned not as a warning or a political statement, but as something older and more personal.
Leander's eyes held his as he added, "And despite your best efforts, I'd rather not lose my friend either," with a faint shadow of a smile appearing on his face.
For a moment neither man spoke as the wind moved between them and the sea continued its endless assault against the cliffs below.
Soren looked away first, not because he had an answer, but because he didn't, and that, perhaps, was the most irritating part of all.
Leander had spent the better part of an hour dismantling certainties and replacing them with questions Soren neither wanted nor needed, or at least that was what he told himself.
A distant sound carried across the headland, faint at first and almost lost beneath the wind.
Leander turned before Soren did, his eyes narrowing toward the southern path.
A rider approached, fast—too fast—and the easy stillness vanished immediately.
The horse was lathered with sweat despite the cold air, and the rider wasn't slowing nearly enough.
Something tightened low in Soren's stomach, because nobody rode like that to deliver good news.
A moment later the horse reached the tower, and the messenger barely waited for it to stop moving before dropping to the ground.
"My lord."
The words were directed toward Leander, and the man's face was pale—not frightened, but alarmed, a subtle yet important difference that Leander noticed immediately.
"What happened?"
The messenger glanced once toward Soren, then held out a sealed letter.
"The rider came from Ironfang."
Every muscle in Soren's body tightened.
Leander accepted the letter but did not open it, instead studying the seal as his expression changed instantly.
The seal belonged to Kael, not the council or a steward, which meant whoever had sent it considered speed more important than protocol.
Leander handed the letter to Soren without a word.
Soren broke the seal.
The message was short, very short.
He read it once, then again, and his expression gave away nothing, which alone was enough to make Leander uneasy.
"What is it?"
For several seconds Soren did not answer as the wind pulled at the edge of the parchment.
Finally he looked up.
"Frostvein is moving."
Silence settled over the tower, and Leander's jaw tightened.
"How many?"
"They don't know yet."
Soren folded the letter.
"Scouts report banners gathering beyond White Pass."
The sea crashed below, and neither man spoke because they both understood exactly what that meant—not a raid, not a border dispute, not an accident, but preparation, deliberate and visible, the kind intended to be seen.
Leander exhaled slowly.
"When?"
Soren looked back at the letter.
"The first reports arrived three days ago."
Another silence followed before Leander said, "You should go."
Soren was already reaching for his gloves, already somewhere else in his mind, calculating routes, distances, supplies, council meetings, patrol strength, and a dozen other things.
Leander watched him for a moment, then said quietly, "Ironfang needs its Alpha."
Soren glanced toward him as the wind swept between them.
For a moment neither spoke, then Leander added, "Just don't forget everything the moment you get there."
A faint shadow of irritation crossed Soren's face, the closest thing either of them would ever get to a smile.
Then he looked toward the sea one final time, toward the horizon and the questions he still did not have answers to.
What was it created to do?
The thought surfaced uninvited and remained.
A moment later he turned toward the waiting horse and toward Ironfang.