The gates of Ironholt creaked shut behind them with a groaning finality that sent a shiver down Elizabeth’s spine.
The city was colder than she remembered. Its towering stone walls, carved straight from the gray mountain itself, loomed above them like watching giants. Fires guttered in iron sconces, casting jagged shadows across the narrow streets.
Elizabeth rode at the head of her procession, Solbrand gleaming across her back, her head held high.
She could feel the eyes on her from windows, from doorways, from the ramparts. Some curious. Some fearful. And some full of naked hostility.
"Welcoming," Rowan muttered dryly at her side.
Elizabeth offered a wry smile. "They're sizing us up. Wondering if we’re conquerors or saviors."
"And what answer do we give them?"
Elizabeth’s eyes hard
