Page 95 of Salt Between the Wolves

The warmth struck her first, not the fire or the lamps, but the warmth itself.

It wrapped around Eira the moment the door closed behind them, chasing away the cold that had settled into her bones somewhere in the mountains and never fully left.

For several seconds she simply stood there.

The corridor was narrow and quiet, lit by a handful of oil lamps whose soft light reflected from dark wooden walls polished smooth by generations of use. The air smelled faintly of burning cedar, fresh bread, and something simmering somewhere deeper within the house.

The entire place smelled lived in, and the realization felt strangely unfamiliar.

Maelin shrugged off her cloak and handed it to a waiting servant who had appeared so silently that Eira had not even noticed her approach.

The woman greeted Maelin warmly before her eyes shifted toward Eira.

Questions immediately followed, and Eira saw every one of them.

Who is she? Why is she here? Why is Lady Maelin sneaking her through the old wing after dark?

To the servant's credit, none of those questions reached her face.

She merely inclined her head.

"Prepare the blue room," Maelin said. "And ask the kitchen to send something up."

The servant nodded and disappeared.

Only after she was gone did Maelin release a breath.

"You see?"

Eira raised an eyebrow.

"See what?"

"I am already making terrible decisions."

The dry remark earned the first genuine smile Eira had offered in hours.

The room prepared for her occupied a quiet corner of the older wing.

Unlike the chambers she had occupied in Frostvein or Ironfang, it had clearly been designed for comfort rather than status. A fire crackled inside the hearth, thick rugs covered portions of the wooden floor, shelves lined one wall beside a narrow writing desk, and quilts had been piled generously across a bed large enough to seem excessive for a single guest.

For a moment Eira simply stared.

She had forgotten such rooms existed, forgotten that not every chamber needed to communicate power, and forgotten that some spaces existed solely to make people feel welcome.

"You can stare at it all night," Maelin said from the doorway, "or you can wash before you collapse."

Eira glanced toward her.

"You make a compelling argument."

"Years of practice."

The bath arrived shortly afterward, along with hot water, clean linen, and fresh clothes borrowed from Maelin's own wardrobe.

The simple luxury of it felt almost embarrassing.

For several minutes Eira sat motionless inside the steaming water, watching dirt, dust, and traces of dried blood disappear beneath the surface.