CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The letter reached Oakbend just after sunrise.
Maeve found Iris in the herb garden with both hands buried in damp soil, transplanting young sage into larger pots before the afternoon heat arrived.
Gardening demanded enough attention to quiet her thoughts without requiring her to silence them completely.
She had begun looking forward to mornings like this, when the world expected nothing from her except patience.
Maeve crossed the garden holding a sealed envelope between two fingers.
"I have a feeling this isn't from someone inviting us to a harvest supper."
Iris brushed the dirt from her hands before accepting it.
The wax seal belonged to Silver Ridge.
More specifically, to Lucien.
She stared at it for several seconds.
"You don't have to open it immediately," Maeve offered.
"I know."
"But you're going to."
"I know that too."
Maeve squeezed her shoulder before returning to the cottage, leaving Iris alone beneath the old oak tree.
She broke the seal carefully.
The handwriting was unmistakably his.
Iris,
This is not a request for you to come home.
If that's the only reason you believe I've written, stop reading now and throw this letter into the nearest fire.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
He knew her well enough to anticipate that thought.
She continued reading.
The records surrounding the fertility ritual were altered deliberately. We have proof.
Someone erased names.
Someone changed official documents.
Someone hid Elodie's existence long before either of us knew she was alive.
Every answer leads to another question, and every question reminds me of something I should have realized years ago.
You always noticed what everyone else overlooked.
You saw patterns before they became problems.
You understood people before they understood themselves.
I don't need the Luna.
I need Iris.
Because you are the only person I trust to help me discover what really happened.
If your answer is no, I will respect it.
If your answer is yes, meet me tomorrow afternoon at the old mill outside Oakbend.
No council.
No elders.
No audience.
Just us.
Lucien
Iris lowered the letter slowly.
The breeze stirred the herbs around her feet, carrying the scent of mint and rosemary through the garden.
She read the final paragraph again.
Not because she doubted the words.
Because she had waited years to hear them.
I need Iris.
Not the Luna.
Not his wife.
Her.
Maeve appeared in the doorway with two steaming cups of tea.
"I recognize that expression."
"You do?"
"It usually means life has become complicated again."
Iris handed her the letter.
Maeve read quietly before folding it with surprising care.
"He chose those words carefully."
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
Iris looked toward the hills beyond Oakbend.
"I don't know."
Maeve raised one eyebrow.
"That's unusual for you."
"It isn't the investigation I'm uncertain about."
"No."
"It never is."
The older woman smiled knowingly.
"It's the man asking."
Iris gave a tired laugh.
"Exactly."
Maeve returned the letter.
"You've already forgiven him for many things."
"I haven't."
"No?"
"I've understood him."
She looked down at the folded parchment.
"Those aren't the same."
The following afternoon arrived more quickly than she expected.
The old mill stood beside a narrow stream about halfway between Oakbend and Silver Ridge. It had been abandoned for years after the waterwheel finally gave way during spring floods. Wildflowers now grew between the weathered stones, and ivy climbed one side of the empty building.
Lucien was already there.
He stood beside the stream with a leather satchel resting against one boot, hands tucked behind his back as though he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them.
When he heard her footsteps, he turned.
For a moment neither moved.
The distance between them wasn't great.
It still felt significant.
"Thank you for coming."
"I almost didn't."
"I wouldn't have blamed you."
She stopped several feet away.
"You wrote that this wasn't about asking me to come home."
"It isn't."
"I needed to hear that first."
"I know."
He looked as though he wanted to step closer.
He didn't.
Instead, he lifted the satchel onto the old millstone and removed several weathered ledgers.
"I brought copies."
Iris blinked.
"You made copies?"
"I wasn't letting the council archives out of my sight."
"And yet you trusted me with them."
"I do."
The answer came so naturally that neither of them spoke for a heartbeat.
Lucien unfolded one of the copied pages across the stone.
Corwin's notes filled the margins in neat handwriting, highlighting inconsistencies between healer records, council reports, and correspondence from Blackwater Ridge.
Iris leaned over the documents.
Within minutes she stopped reading.
Lucien noticed.
"What is it?"
"You've organized these by date."
"Yes."
"I wouldn't."
He looked genuinely curious.
"How would you arrange them?"
"By person."
She glanced up.
"People lie differently than calendars do."
Lucien stared at her for a moment before quietly laughing.
"I've missed the way your mind works."
She ignored the comment, reaching for another page.
"Who delivered this report?"
"Elder Garrick."
"And this one?"
"Also Garrick."
She continued sorting the copies into new piles.
"This letter mentions a committee meeting."
She tapped another document.
"This record says the same committee approved a different decision on the same day."
Lucien frowned.
"I noticed the dates."
"You didn't notice the signatures."
He looked closer.
Three names appeared identical.
The fourth changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"The handwriting."
"It doesn't match."
Lucien leaned nearer until their shoulders almost touched.
Neither seemed aware of it.
"He signed one document himself," Iris continued softly. "The other was signed for him."
"Meaning?"
"Either he wasn't present..."
She met Lucien's eyes.
"...or someone wanted everyone to believe he was."
Silence settled over the mill.
Not uncomfortable.
Focused.
Lucien looked at her with unmistakable admiration.
"You found that in five minutes."
"No."
She smiled faintly.
"I found it in thirty seconds."
His laugh escaped before he could stop it.
"There she is."
She looked puzzled.
"Who?"
"The woman who used to beat me at strategy games and then pretend she won by accident."
"I never pretended."
"True."
"You were simply predictable."
"I resent that."
"You should."
For the first time in weeks, the conversation felt easy.
Not because the pain between them had disappeared.
Because neither expected the other to fix it today.
They were simply working together.
The realization arrived quietly.
Lucien gathered the papers into neat stacks again.
"I don't want you involved because you're Luna."
"I know."
"I don't even want you involved because you're my wife."
The words caught in the air.
He corrected himself carefully.
"I want you involved because you're the person I'd trust with the truth even if we had never married."
Iris looked at him for a long moment.
There was no performance in his expression.
No attempt to charm her.
Only honesty.
Finally she folded the last document and placed it neatly atop the others.
"I'll help."
Relief flickered across his face before he quickly hid it.
"But."
He nodded.
"I expected there would be one."
"This doesn't change anything between us."
"It isn't meant to."
"We work together."
"Agreed."
"We investigate."
"Yes."
"When we're finished..."
She hesitated only briefly.
"...we go back to our separate lives until we're ready to have the conversation we've both been avoiding."
Lucien accepted every condition without argument.
"All right."
She extended her hand.
Not as a wife.
As a partner.
He looked at it for a second before taking it gently.
Neither held on longer than necessary.
Neither pretended the touch meant nothing.
But neither mistook it for reconciliation.
Some promises had to be rebuilt slowly.
This was simply the first stone laid where the bridge had once stood.