“We’re well,” Sidra replied, but she felt the true meaning of Una’s question. “She’s with Graeme for now. I’m thankful that he’s able to watch her while I’m away on visits.”

“Good,” Una said, joining her at the edge of the forge.

“And how are your two children?” Sidra reached into her basket to find the tonic she had made for Una’s vitality. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“Growing up too fast,” Una replied with a smile. “But they’re content. When they’re not at school they’re either here with me or spending time with Ailsa at the stables, keen to learn all of my wife’s horse secrets.”

Sidra nodded, wholly understanding the caution, even though Una and Ailsa’s son and daughter were adolescents now. Old enough to heed the strict rules parents were suddenly doling out with the disappearances.

As she set the tonic jar on Una’s outstretched palm, the blacksmith surprised her by saying, “Do you ever wonder if we are unknowing participants in a spirit’s game? If they move us like pawns on a board and glean pleasure from provoking our heartaches?”

Sidra hesitated. She looked deep within herself and knew the answer was yes. She had thought as much. But her devout nature had instantly stamped out those dangerous wonderings; she worried that the earth would sense that disbelief in her when she worked the kail yard, when she crushed the herbs to make healing salves.

“It’s a troubling thought,” Sidra said. “To think they gain pleasure from tormenting us.”

“Sometimes, when I watch the fire burn in the forge,” Una continued, “I imagine what it would be like to be immortal, to hold no fear of death. To dance and burn for an endless era. And I think how dull such an existence would be. That one would do anything to feel the sharp edge of life again.”

“Yes,” Sidra whispered. She was too paranoid to say anything more, and the blacksmith sensed it.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Una said. “Thank you for the tonic. I’ve been commissioned to make an enchanted blade tomorrow, so this will help me bear the effects.”

Sidra bid Una farewell and continued on her route. The day unfurled just as she had expected until a cold burst of northern wind blew through the city. She paused, watching it twine with smoke, overturn baskets in the market, rattle shutters and doors.

Sidra’s black hair tangled across her face as she stood in the center of the street.

And that was when she heard the faint whisper, like a rush of wings.

The wind brought news.