Sidra paused. She didn’t realize how badly she was trembling or how cold she was until she felt his warmth and his strength. She frowned, struggling to understand why Graeme was staring at her with such stricken eyes until she glanced down, remembering the blood that stained her chemise. It had dried to a dark hue, crinkling the wool, but it was red as the blood in her veins.

“I’m not wounded,” she whispered. “This . . . this isn’t my blood. I struck the spirit with a dirk, and it bled.”

Sidra met Graeme’s gaze. She thought of the story she had read to Maisie, the night before. A story about Orenna having to prick her finger in order to bloom. How her blood ran thick and gold.

“The spirits . . .” Sidra began, but her voice faded.

Graeme read her thoughts, granting her a somber nod. “Don’t bleed as mortals do.”

Sidra stared at the bloodstains again. She felt as if the world had just cracked beneath her feet.

It wasn’t a spirit stealing the girls.

It was a man.

“Sidra,” Graeme rasped, still holding her arm, “we need to call for Torin.”

Sidra’s heart plummeted. The mere thought of telling Torin what had transpired . . . she felt like weeping. This was what he had married her for. This was woven into her vows to him. She had promised to raise, love, and protect his daughter.

She had failed him and failed Maisie. She had even failed Donella.

Sidra wavered for a moment, but the truth was beginning to eclipse the numbness of her thoughts. It hadn’t been a spirit who had taken Maisie, but a man, moving with impossible speed and stealth. She didn’t fully understand it, but she felt how precious time was.

“All right,” Sidra whispered. “I’ll call to him.”

Graeme was quiet, waiting. His hand fell away from her as she took a step deeper into the heather.

The sun had risen. A mist was creeping over the land. A bird continued to sing in the shadows.

Sidra fell to her knees.

Her voice broke as she spoke his name into the southern wind.

“Torin.”

Part Two
A Song for Earth

Chapter 10

Adaira stood in her bedchamber before the window, watching the sun rise. Her hair was still damp from the sea, and her fingers were pruned from treading the waves with Jack. She wore nothing but a robe, and she shivered beneath its softness, remembering the way the spirits had stared at her, as if they were hungry.

She turned away from her reflection in the glass and walked to where her bath waited by the hearth, disrobing along the way. She stepped into the water, which was lukewarm, but sometimes the cold didn’t bother her.

Sometimes she craved the icy embrace of winter.