“It wasn’t my intention to worry you,” she said. “I came to the vale to visit my grandmother’s grave, and I wanted to see home for a spell. I would have returned long before dusk.”

Torin held her gaze, and she could see a trace of apprehension in him. He wanted to speak; she sensed his frustration as he opened his mouth, only to sigh. But he noticed the dirt beneath her nails. The weed poking its flowery head from her skirt pocket.

He gently laid his palm over her chest, and she knew he wanted her to open herself to him.

She glanced down at the grass, hesitant.

“I don’t know where to begin, Torin,” she said. It was odd, how she kept waiting for him to say something. She met his gaze, tears in her eyes. “I’ve always been devout. I’m sure you’ve realized that about me by now. Faith was woven deeply into my life, but it cracked when Maisie was taken. When the stranger beat me down into the heather, as if my life meant nothing.”

Torin’s hand moved to take her own. He was so warm, as if a fire were lit within him.

“Nearly every night when I tried to sleep,” she continued, “I would tell myself, You should have fought harder. You should have been stronger. You’ve failed Maisie and Torin. You’ve failed as a mother, as a wife, and now as a healer, and what is left for you? I believed those words. They planted so much doubt and pain in me . . . I didn’t know how to uproot them.”

Torin drew a sharp breath. Sidra dared to study his face and saw his anguish. He looked the same as he had the morning when he’d first seen her, battered and blood-stained. Like a blade had been plunged into him.

“I know now those words are lies,” she said, but her voice broke. “I also know there is nothing weak about grieving, or feeling sorrow, or being angry. But I always wanted to prove myself worthy of you, and losing Maisie has made me question everything about myself. Who I was, who I am. Who I want to become.”

She began to weep, unashamed of her tears or how she trembled. It felt like a cleansing, and she wanted it to flow, unhindered.

Torin embraced her. He pressed his face into her hair, and she could feel his chest shudder as he cried with her. Together, they wept for the child they had lost.

Eventually, Sidra leaned back so she could look at his face, flushed and red eyed.