“It’s good to see you both,” Sidra said, setting her knife aside. She smiled tenderly at Frae. “How can I help you?”

“I wanted to first ask how Torin is,” Mirin said, her eyes darting to the bedroom. “I heard the news he was wounded.”

“He’s healing and resting,” Sidra replied. “He was struck by two different blades.”

“Enchanted?”

Sidra nodded, hoping her fear wasn’t evident.

“Then it’s a good thing he has you, Sidra,” Mirin said kindly. “I know you can heal him swiftly.”

Sidra could have melted to the floor in that moment, feeling the suffocating weight of her defeat. But she was thankfully afforded a distraction. Mirin held out a folded plaid, a beautiful green shawl the shades of moss, bracken, and juniper. The colors of the earth, like all the growing plants in her neglected garden.

“For you,” Mirin said, sensing Sidra’s admiration and confusion.

“It’s beautiful, but I didn’t commission this,” said Sidra. She reached out and let her fingertips trace the softness of the wool. The moment she touched it, she knew the plaid was enchanted.

“Torin did,” the weaver said. “He came to me days ago, asking if I could make a shawl for you. And as you well know, it can take me a while to create an enchanted plaid, but I wanted to get this one ready for you as soon as I could.”

“Oh.” Sidra didn’t know why that surprised her, but the revelation warmed her spirit like a flame. “I . . . thank you, Mirin. It’s lovely.” She accepted the plaid, holding it close to her chest. The realization that Mirin had expedited this order humbled Sidra, and she said, “Let me provide you with a tonic, to help you recover.”

The weaver nodded, and Sidra rushed to fetch a bottle of Mirin’s favored brew.

“Frae has something for you as well,” Mirin said after accepting Sidra’s tonic. She gently nudged her daughter forward.

Sidra crouched so she could be level with Frae’s gaze. The lass was regarding her shyly until she extended a covered dish.

“I made a pie for you and the captain,” Frae said. “I hope you both like it.”

“I love pie!” Sidra said. “And so does Torin. I bet he will eat the whole thing when he wakes from his nap.”

Frae beamed, and Sidra stood to set the pie and the plaid down on the table. She wanted to give something to Frae in return, and she chose a stem of dried primrose.

“For you,” Sidra said, tucking the flower into Frae’s hair.

Protect her. The prayer rose naturally, surprising Sidra. She wondered if the spirits would hear her plea, and she inwardly added, Watch over this little one.