“And sometimes we must look inward and change ourselves,” she said. “If you have killed men without cause, if you have struck them out of vengeance just because they live on a different side of the isle, then you must search within and ask yourself why you have done these things, and what is the cost for them, and how you can make reparations for them. The trade would be a good place to start.”

Torin stood. He paced the room, breathing heavily. Sidra thought he might flee, but he stopped and looked at her again.

“And if I don’t agree with your thoughts? If I can’t change to become what you hope for? Is losing you one of the costs for my sins?”

“I have been with you all this time,” she said, a soft answer that eased his rigid posture. “The good as well as the bad. Once, we were acquaintances sharing a vow. But you have become more to me than mere words spoken on a midsummer night. And I have never been one to love conditionally.”

“And yet you ask me to change?” he asked, fist over his heart.

Sidra wondered if he had even heard what she had just said to him. She had never spoken such words aloud before—that she had come to love him in a deep, quiet way. Completely, with all of his scars and mistakes and glory.

She realized she and Torin stood on two different mountains, with a deep valley between them. They saw the world from opposing sides, and she didn’t know if they would be able to find a middle ground. Their differences could be enough to break their vows, despite her feelings for him.

“You haven’t heard the things I’ve heard,” he said, as if he also sensed the divide. “You haven’t gone hungry after a raid, or watched your storehouse go lean, losing all of your winter provisions. You haven’t had to draw a sword and fight them, Sidra.”

“I haven’t,” Sidra agreed. “But I’ve had to heal wounds caused by the raids. I’ve given to those who have suffered losses, and I have been with them through their pain. And so I must say this, Torin . . . what has brought on these feelings within you? It doesn’t sound as if I am asking you to change, but that your own blood and bones are aching for it.”

His face went pale. He stared at her with a clenched jaw, and she sensed the divide between them grow.

“Bring the tonics to the barracks when they’re ready,” he said in a cold voice.

Sidra watched as he turned and departed. He was running from the things she had said to him, and she stood for a moment longer before sinking into a chair.

She had never felt more defeated.

Chapter 17