The sun hung low in the sky when we paused over a wooden bridge to eat a parcel of sugared nuts one of the merchants had practically shoved into Roark’s belt.

I popped a nut onto my tongue and spun around, so my back was against the rail of the bridge. “I never knew you were so beloved, Sentry Ashwood. It is you who slows our pace from all the greetings and well-wishes.”

He stared at the nuts, a bit of heat in his face. I’ll try to be crueler so I do not delay your market days in the future.

“See that you do.” I grinned and stole another nut from his palm. “Is Dravenmoor like this? Markets, trade, old women trying to pinch your ass when you pass by?”

Roark smiled, and a sort of grumble rose in the back of his throat—his laughter—a sound I could pick out of a boisterous hall by now. I was young when I was exiled, but I recall each Jul going into town, lining up with other children, and receiving a sweet stick if I had been well-behaved.

There was an ease to his features as he spoke of childhood, even with the proof of agony and pain carved into his flesh.

“Selena, a cook in Jarl Jakobson’s house, would take me out to the star plum trees when they bloomed. We’d spend half a day braiding flower crowns and eating berries, then she’d tell me I was the queen of the whole orchard.” I smiled with a touch of sadness, and looked down at the river below. “I think she did it to brighten my heart whenever noble folk spoke cruelly.”

Roark’s shoulder brushed mine when he leaned onto his elbows over the rail. Then you’ve known good people.

“Yes. Some of the servants took to looking after me and Kael more than others. Selena is always convinced water nyks or huldufólk are invading, but she is so gentle. Thorian is a groundskeeper and fisherman. He knew Kael would be forced to see his father disregard him over and over, but never spoke of Jarl Jakobson. Instead, he taught Kael to fish in rough seas, told him he was powerful and a good man.”

I paused, sparing a glance at Roark. His eyes were focused nowhere but on me. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m sure it seems rather simple, but when I could not show the truth of myself, it felt nice to be accepted for any piece of me, I suppose.”

Roark’s brows tugged together. He faced the river. His reply was slow, gentle. Whenever the Sentry responded—frantic, stiff and stern, or slow and calm—I imagined it like his voice might be. Brisk or soft. In this moment, I imagined it low and kind.

All pieces of you are not so bad.