Isolde
The dining hall was loud with the sound of bowls clattering and men talking. The soldiers ate in groups, laughing, their voices filling the room like rolling thunder.
Isolde moved between the tables, placing bowls of stew in front of them. Elowen worked beside her, pouring water into cups, her hands quick but steady.
That was when she heard it.
“They caught a spy,” one of the men said. His voice was low, but Isolde caught every word.
“A spy?” Another soldier leaned in. “Where from?”
“Don’t know. But he’s dead now.”
Isolde’s fingers tightened around the bowl in her hands.
Dead.
It had to be Caleb’s spy. Someone sent to talk to her, to pass a message. But now he was dead. What had he come to say?
She turned, moving toward the door, her heart pounding. If Caleb had sent someo
