Jack wanted to say that she wasn’t keeping him from anything. That he would like for her to stay and talk with him a while longer. To make up for all the years lost to them.

But he also sensed the worry in his mother. She was anxious, although she was too proud to admit it.

She slipped from the room, latching the door behind her. Jack stood frozen, studying the dirk.

He knew that he would never ask his mother again about the name of his father, but there was now another way for him to learn the truth.

It was resting in his hands, a blade created from steel and enchantment.

Chapter 20

Sidra woke to an empty bed. She lingered in the blankets for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dawn. She slid her hand to Torin’s side of the mattress and found it cold, as if he had been gone for a while.

Her heart was heavy as she rose. She was surprised to find a fire burning in the hearth, a cauldron of parritch cooking, and the tea kettle simmering. But there was no sign of Torin in the cottage, and Sidra frowned as she peeked out the front shutters. The yard was empty, save for the plants, dancing to the morning breeze.

She went to the back door and cracked it open.

He was there, kneeling in the garden. Sidra watched for a moment, startled as she realized Torin held a kitten in one hand while he weeded with the other. He was uprooting all the wild things she had let grow in her herbs and vegetables, setting them aside in a pile. She glanced down when she felt something claw at her stocking. The other cats had gathered on the stoop, where he had set out a bowl of milk for them.

She didn’t know what to think, but she was smiling when she looked at Torin again.

He hadn’t heard the door open, and he steadily continued to work, eventually setting the kitten down so he could gather up all the weeds. He stood and walked to the edge of the garden, where he tossed the weeds over the stone wall. Sidra was amused by that—she always took the weeds to a pile down the hill—and stepped out to greet him.

Torin saw her as he returned. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, as if he were embarrassed to be caught gardening.

“You’re up early,” Sidra remarked, hoping to hear his voice.

He only lifted his dirt-steaked hand, and she noticed the wound on his forearm was still weeping. Her mood instantly fell, and she beckoned him inside.