“Freedom is rarely conveniently located.”
The laugh nearly got out. It caught in my throat and arrived as a small, undignified panic gurgle. “Naturally.”
Nothing in Morag’s face softened. “You’re going to be told to choose,” she said. “Ashenmere or Solberg. Dominic or Rhain. Agency or council. Duty or desire. Peace or war. Every version of the question will be shaped to benefit the person asking it.”
“And your version?”
“My version is simpler.”
Everything in the room came down to her. “What lets you sleep?”
The question wasn’t easy.
“Not what gives you leverage,” Morag said. “Not what keeps the council stable. Not what prevents Oslo from filing a formal grievance or Washington from pretending it didn’t lose an operative inside a clan compound. What lets you breathe? What lets you look in the mirror? What lets you wake without feeling a cage before your feet touch the floor?”
My throat closed. I disliked her. Very much.
“You make peace sound selfish,” I said.
“Not selfish,” Morag said. “Expensive.”
Silence stretched between us.
The bond stayed banked and watchful.
I thought of Dominic outside my door. Of Rhain in the dining hall, held in place by his own delegation. Of Davis in D.C., probably already writing a strategy memo that used my name three times and my personhood not at all.
I thought of Margot Lunde singing badly because she wanted to and a footnote where a woman should’ve been.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
Morag’s hand tightened on the cane. The gold ring on her index finger clicked once against the carved head, a small sound in the quiet room.
“She stopped sleeping,” Morag said. “Then she stopped eating. Then she stopped speaking unless spoken to. Both clans called it bondstrain. The physicians called it systemic collapse. The diplomats called it an unfortunate accelerant to an already unstable negotiation.”
Her jaw worked, then stilled. “I called it murder.”
“Did you say that then?” I asked.
Morag held my gaze. “No.”
She let the word settle, then continued, “I was young.”
“You were already centuries old.”
“I was young,” she repeated.
Dragon math.
“What would you have said?” I asked.
Morag glanced at the books, then back to me. “I would’ve told her to stop making everyone else’s fear into her duty.”
Morag rose. She walked to the door, paused with her hand on the handle, and turned back.
“Make the choice when it’s time,” Morag said. “But make it for peace. Yours. Not theirs.”
I stayed at the table, staring at the place where she had been.