The ghost smiled, but her demeanor was melancholy, even as the sunrise illuminated her. “I don’t see the sword in Maisie’s future, but something else.”

Sidra slowed her stirring. She inevitably thought of Torin, who was stubborn as an ox. On their wedding night, they had sat across from each other on their bed—fully clothed—and conversed for hours about Maisie and her future. How they would raise her together. He wanted his daughter to go to school on the isle. She would be taught everything: how to wield bow and arrow, how to read and write, how to whet a sword, how to count her numbers, how to knock a man to the ground, how to mill oats and barley, how to sing and dance and hunt. Not once had Torin mentioned Maisie learning Sidra’s craft of herbs and healing.

As if sensing her doubt, Donella said, “Maisie has already learned from watching you, Sidra. She enjoys tending the garden at your side. She likes to help you when you make your salves and tonics. She could become a great healer beneath your instruction.”

“I enjoy her company,” Sidra admitted. “But I’ll have to talk to Torin about it.” And she didn’t know when she would see him next.

What she did know was Torin’s dedication to the East Guard. He preferred the night shift, and he slept during the day in the dark, quiet bowels of the castle because he wanted to be in the barracks with the other guards. She understood his commitment, the thoughts that dictated his mind. Why should he, even though he was captain, be sleeping at home when his guards were sleeping in the barracks?

Occasionally, he ate his dinner with her and Maisie, which meant it was their breakfast. But even then, his love and attention were given to his daughter, and Sidra did everything he had married her for—to keep the croft and help him raise his child. Every now and then, before the moon had fully waxed and waned and when Maisie was visiting her grandfather on the croft next to theirs, Torin would come to her. Their couplings were always spontaneous and brief, as if Torin only had a few moments. But he was always gentle and attentive to her, and sometimes he lingered with her in the bed, tracing the wild tangles of her hair.

“I think you will see him again sooner than you think,” Donella said. “And he will not deny you anything, Sidra.”

Sidra was stunned by that idea, thinking the ghost was exaggerating. But then Sidra wondered, Well, when have I ever asked Torin for anything? And she realized that she rarely did.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll ask him. Soon.”