She didn’t give him a chance to respond. His mother retreated to her room, leaving him alone and bewildered by the dying flames.

He woke with a start. The hearth had gone dark; the embers glowed with the memory of fire, hissing a small thread of smoke. For a moment, Jack didn’t know where he was until his eyes adjusted, taking in the familiarity of his mother’s cottage. Something had woken him. A strange dream, perhaps.

He leaned his head back against the chair, staring into the darkness. The night was silent, save for that strange noise again. A sound like a shutter being shifted and rattled. A sound drifting from his old bedchamber.

Jack stood. Gooseflesh rippled on his arms as he walked into his room. He listened as the shutters moved, as if someone was trying to open them and enter the chamber. The chamber that was now his little sister’s.

His blood began to pound as he approached the window. He stared at the shutters until they seemed to blend into the wall and shadows. Rushing across the room, he forgot about the discarded clothes he had left crumpled on the floor. They caught his feet like a snare, and he stumbled and fell forward against his desk with a clumsy bang.

At once, the shutters became silent until Jack flung them open, furious and terrified. He saw nothing, his gaze sweeping the moonlit yard. And then a ripple of shadow caught his eye, but by the time he shifted his focus, it was gone, melting into the darkness. Jack wondered if he was hallucinating, and he trembled, contemplating pursuit. But what sort of weapon could wound a spirit? Could steel cut the heart of the wind? Could it divide the ocean’s tide? Could it make the spirits cower and bend to mortals?

He was just about to slip out the window when a strong northern gust blasted against his face, howling into the room. He winced at the sharpness of its breath, even if there were no voices within it.

“Jack?”

He startled and turned to see Mirin standing on his threshold, a rushlight in her hand.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, looking to the open window beyond him.

The wind continued to hiss into the room, stirring the tapestry on the wall, overturning the books on the desk. Jack had no choice but to latch the shutters, which began to rattle again.

Perhaps he had only imagined the intruder. But the night had felt calm and still a moment ago.

Jack struggled to slow his breath, to blink away the wild gleam in his eyes. “I heard a noise at the window.”

Mirin’s gaze flickered to the shutters. A flash of silver caught the firelight at her hip, and Jack saw that she was wearing her enchanted dirk, sheathed at her waist.

“Did you see anything?” she asked in a wary tone.