“I don’t know who he is,” Sidra said, to Torin’s great shock. Nearly everyone knew who he was. He was the laird’s nephew, and an esteemed member of the East Guard . . . “He is a man, and his horse just ate all the carrots in my garden.”

Torin flushed. “Forgive me. But I seem to have dislocated my shoulder.”

“You seem to have?” Sidra echoed, and her eyes drifted to it. “Ah, yes. You have. Come in. My nan can help you.”

“Is that Torin Tamerlaine?” Senga asked, recognizing his voice as he followed Sidra into the cottage. The revered healer sat at the table, grinding herbs with her pestle and mortar. But she hadn’t been the one to reset his shoulder. It had been Sidra.

Torin keenly felt the touch of her hands through his sleeve as she brought his shoulder back into its socket. It caught him by surprise; he had been numb for so long now. He had been merely existing for the past eight months. And yet he noticed Sidra’s hands like they were sunlight, burning away the last of his fog.

“This is very unusual,” he said as Sidra knotted a sling about his arm. “Me being tossed from my horse, that is. I can’t remember the last time it happened. It rarely happens, you know. Or perhaps you wouldn’t know, since this is our first time meeting.” He was stammering, as if the words were thistledown in his mouth.

Sidra only smiled.

Her grandmother was listening to them, even though they sat on the other side of the chamber, beside the slow burning embers of the hearth. Senga had ceased crushing her herbs, and the house fell quiet. There was only the sound of birdsong, drifting in through the cracked shutters, and a calico cat purring on a folded plaid.

“Why have I never seen you before?” Torin whispered to Sidra.

She met his gaze. Her eyes were the color of wildflower honey. She had freckles on her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose. One was at the corner of her lips.

He felt as though he should know her. As though he would remember if he had seen her before. Her grandmother frequently visited the city, caring for his uncle and cousin. Shouldn’t Senga’s apprentice be with her?

“I confess,” Sidra began in a husky voice, “that I have seen you before, Torin Tamerlaine. Years ago, when Lady Lorna still lived and played for the clan on feast nights in the castle hall. But I believe you and I belonged to different circles at the time, didn’t we?”

He didn’t know what to say, because she was right. He wondered what else he had missed and overlooked in the past. “And what of now? Do you still come to the city these days, Sidra Campbell?”