“The truth is . . . my hands are stained, Sidra. I’ve craved violence, and I’ve drunk willingly from its cup. I’ve beaten the men who trespass over the clan line, beaten them until they cower and yield. And those who don’t? I’ve ended their lives without a moment of hesitation. I’ve slit their throats and pierced their hearts. I’ve stolen their voices and dropped their bodies into the sea, as if the water could wash away my deeds.”

Sidra was silent as she listened, but her heart was pounding.

“So when you speak of peace,” he said, “when Adaira speaks of peace, I’m unable to see it. It’s a sentiment that is unattainable in my mind, given all the things I’ve done to the Breccans in order to keep the east safe. And if the trade does happen the way my cousin hopes, I will have to encounter people marked by my actions. Do you think they’ll be glad to see me, Sid? Do you think they’ll want to trade with the man who killed their son or beat their brother?”

Torin was staring at his hands, as if he could see the blood on them. Sidra watched him with a knot in her throat. She thought he might be struggling to express his guilt, and while the healer within her wanted to smooth his brow and give him words to ease his pain, she sensed this was a festering wound in him that needed to be opened.

“I know you’ve killed men, Torin,” she said, drawing his eyes to hers. “I’ve seen the blood that stains your plaid, the blood beneath your nails. I’ve seen the haunted gleam in your eye, even though it is fleeting. I know that you are the captain of the guard, that you must protect us from the west, and that sometimes that requires you to kill. But there is more to you than violence. And I don’t want to see you become a man who kills without reason. A man who lets revenge turn his heart into a cold, bitter vessel.”

Now she was the one to take him by surprise. For a moment, he merely gazed up at her. “How would you stop it then? A heart turning to stone?”

“There is another way to protect our clan. A way that veers away from vengeance and enmity. But you must strive to find it, and you must lead the others by example.” She paused, turning her own palms upwards. “Our hands can steal, or they can give. They can harm, or they can comfort. They can wound and kill, or they can heal and save. Which will you choose for your hands, Torin?”

He answered, through his teeth, “This is the way it has always been done. The way I have been taught.”