He needed something to hold the plaid together.

He shuffled into the spare room, where his oaken chest sat against the wall. He searched through his raiment before finding a spare brooch, a golden ring of bracken with a long pin. When he returned to the kitchen, clammy and light-headed, he noticed Sidra had stopped working. Her face was flushed, her eyes staring vacantly at the table.

She looked lost, and then surprised when Torin took her arm, turning her body to face him.

“You should be in bed!” she scolded again, but she sounded like she was about to cry.

Torin began to fold the plaid, in the same way he liked to fold his own. He brought it behind her, then across her chest before cinching it in place at her right shoulder.

Yes, he thought. It was perfect on her.

He stepped back to regard Mirin’s handiwork. Sidra glanced down at it, and she still appeared confused until Torin laid his palm over her chest, where the plaid now granted her protection. He could feel the enchantment within the pattern, holding firm, like steel. He touched the place she had been kicked, where her bruises were slow to heal, as if her heart had shattered beneath her skin and bones.

She understood now.

She gasped and glanced up at him. Again, he wished that he could speak to her. Their last conversation still rattled in his mind, and he didn’t like the distance that had come between them.

Let my secret guard your heart, he thought.

“Thank you,” Sidra whispered, as if she had heard him.

It renewed his hope, and he sat at the table before his knees gave out. His gaze snagged on a pie whose center had been eaten away in a perfect circle, the spoon still in the dish. He pointed to the gaping hole, brow arched.

Sidra smiled. “The middle is the best part.”

No, the crust is. He shook his head, reaching for the spoon to eat the crisp places she had left behind.

He was halfway done when there came a bark, followed by a knock on the open door. Torin turned to see Adaira, and his heart lifted.

“Sit, Yirr,” Sidra said to the dog, and he obeyed, hushing.

Adaira carefully passed the collie and approached Torin, a slight smile on her haggard face.

“Look at you, sitting at the table and eating pie,” she teased. “One would never think you’d been wounded last night.”

She sounded lighthearted, but Torin knew how worried she truly was. He didn’t want to give her any reason to doubt his capability as captain. He drew out the chair next to him, and Adaira sat, her eyes going instantly to the demolished pie.

“You could have saved me a piece,” she said.