Giddon was up, on his knees, holding her shoulders. He could not contain this information. “Did they hurt you? Are you okay?”

Bitterblue put a hand over his. “They didn’t hurt me,” she said, “beyond trying to scare and humiliate me and not giving me much food. I hardly saw them. Giddon,” she said, in that firm, clear voice that always cut through whatever whirl his mind was in. “Look at me. I’m fine.”

Giddon looked at her. Her eyes were clear and gray, her hair in disorder, but familiar, dear. She was far too thin. She was wearing dirty pajamas. The face she held upturned to his was tired, and so happy. He could see that she was fine, but he knew that she’d suffered.

“We were in that house,” he said, wonderingly. “You were there?”

“I was. It’s gone now. Lovisa burned it to the ground and rescued me.”

“Lovisa Cavenda?”

“She’s sleeping,” Bitterblue said, indicating one of the family’s small bedrooms. “On our way here, she sent a signal message to the Ledra Magistry accusing her parents of kidnapping me and killing one of her friends. I think it was a very, very hard thing to do.”

“Lovisa Cavenda burned her house down and rescued you?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yes. She even destroyed two airships.”

“When?”

“Sunday.”

“Sunday!” Giddon cried. “That’s the day we left.”

“I know,” said Bitterblue. “I came as fast as I could, but the storm slowed us down.”

“How did you know where to find us?”

Her hand reached up again and touched the side of his face, once. “I have a lot to tell you, Giddon.”

—

Over dinner, Bitterblue shared with them, quietly, the story of all that had happened to her.

It was painful to listen to her relate her suffering and not be able to hold her, comfort her. He didn’t know if she felt that way too or simply sensed his feelings, but she found his hand under the table and gripped it tightly while she talked. He could tell she was doing the same with Hava on her other side.

“All right,” he said finally, giving her hand back, not because he wanted to, but because, holding two hands, she couldn’t eat. “Have your dinner, Bitterblue.”

And so she did, quickly, eating a mountain of food with small, reverential sighs that made his heart ache with happiness. Then she took his hand again.

For a long time after dinner, Bitterblue, Hava, Giddon, and Nev’s family spoke and planned, low-voiced because Lovisa had not yet emerged from the bedroom.

“Does Lovisa know what’s going on in her family’s northern house?” asked Giddon. “Should we ask her what Mikka might’ve overheard?”