The next day, there was another rigid dress. This one was pale blue, with white lilies embroidered around the throat and wrists. And Mira’s hair was up again. Nothing in her bedchamber suggested to her that the day would be strange, but as she stepped out into the corridor, she could feel the tension.

People were rushing about, their shouts echoing through the halls. She followed the commotion downstairs and out into the courtyard to find horses being readied. Sir Loric was walking with haste, speaking to the broken-nosed man and someone else—someone Mira didn’t recognize. The new man was breathless, heaving air in and out of his lungs, his high, bald forehead drenched in sweat. A servant ran to him with water, and he poured the whole cup down his throat in three gross glugs.

“My lady,” Loric said when he noticed her. He was more energized than she’d seen him before, his movements swift and without hesitation. “The Northmen have landed again in the east. I must go back with my father to organize our response. Then, when the fighting is done, I will return.”

He handed her something—a small silver handkerchief—and kissed her a second time. That time, it was a firmer kiss (one that took a little strength from her legs), and it took place in front of her father and brothers.

In the overwhelm, Mira’s mind didn’t know where to be. For some reason, it was the horses that held her focus. The animals were itchy. Their sleek black shoulders twitched and rolled in irritation. Their hooves scraped at the damp stones beneath their feet, and their tails flicked invisible flies in the air. Horses always knew when something was afoot. They were more clever than most people in that way. Mira could smell their fear; she wanted to brush their necks and ease them with sweet whispers. But of course, she didn’t have the time to act on this urge. Lord Terrowin and the younger boy marched out of the castle, Loric hopped on his steed, and they were gone.

Mira had heard tales of battles, great victories, and warriors all her life. It was another thing entirely, to watch someone she knew—the man she’d been promised to—ride off to war. It was strange to experience the things she heard about in stories and even stranger to find that she did not like them.

She stood in the courtyard in a daze, not yet accustomed to the idea of Loric being her husband, let alone the idea that a husband could be—would be, at least some of the time—gone. It was the sight of Rowan that pulled her out of it. Did he see Loric kiss me? He was standing too close to have missed it.

His eyes were on his boots, and Mira wondered if the kiss bothered him. It never occurred to her that Rowan might also think of the things that she did. Of the two of them together.

Finally, he looked up at her, his thick, straight brows revealing none of his thoughts. His skin was flushed and tanned from years beside the smithy’s fire, making his green eyes all the paler by comparison. “He’ll be back, my lady. From what I hear, he is a great warrior.”

Even covered in the soot and sweat of his work, he was beautiful.

For one intense moment, Rowan held her gaze. “My lady.” He cleared his throat, bowed his head and walked back to the blacksmith’s workshop.

It was then that Mira noticed many other people watching her as well: Gaewen the blacksmith, Almun the stable master, Thilko the master-of-arms. All of them looked at her expectantly. She didn’t know what they were waiting for, perhaps a display of woe? Some hint that her heart was broken by Loric’s sudden absence? Or did they think her vile and dirty for kissing a man? It could be kindness, Mira thought. Concern for my safety and happiness.

Everyone watching had known Mira since she was born. No, she realized, finally. It’s pity they feel.

She didn’t need to manage their looks for long because the sky began to spit pathetic beads of frigid water at them, not a full-on rain, just enough dampness to irritate the skin. There was work to be done and things to be kept dry, and everyone’s eyes moved to the tasks at their hands. Mira thought first to seek out Dayne but discovered he was with her father, in the study, with the door firmly closed. She pressed her ear against the wood for a moment, hoping to figure out how long they’d be in there, but she heard nothing.

Not knowing what else to do, Mira visited the gallery once again. Maybe since she was marrying Loric and moving away to his castle, it was fine that she was spoiling herself so much. One day soon, she wouldn’t be able to sit and muse to herself in her favourite room. She brought her harp and distracted herself with a particularly difficult tune she’d never been able to master. The rain picked up as she played, and the air in the gallery gained a sodden, earthy flavour.

At some point, Dayne discovered her hiding place and came in to offer her a slice of pear bread. She looked through the narrow window to the rainy outside, judging by the light that she’d missed the midday meal. Her father must have told her mother to leave her alone, as no one had come looking for her or called for her when she didn’t show up.

“Are you feeling well?” Dayne said, taking a seat beside her.

“Better than yesterday.” Mira wasn’t sure if she was lying.

They looked at each other for many moments, and finally, Mira stopped wondering what her life would feel like without Dayne and began to consider how he would manage without her. He, too, would be alone in the world soon, and it was hurting him to think of it, of them being far apart, each having to wear a veil always. He’d be speaking with his false-lord voice for the rest of his days until that’s all there was left, his true voice dissolved by time. Mira could see his sadness slowly twisting into rage moment by moment.

“I will visit,” he said. “As often as I can.”

Mira wanted to cry. The design of the world was cruel; why did the gods choose for girls to have families, only to rip them away?

Someone else entered the gallery—their father, the grey streaks in his beard made silver by the candlelight.

He crossed his arms as though he was angry with her, but he was smiling, and Mira knew it was only a jest. “There you are.”

Dayne stood and left the room, refusing to look at their father as he passed, his posture sullenly screaming of hatred for the man. Their father pressed his lips together. Mira knew the look. I’ll deal with him later—that’s what her father was thinking.

When their eyes met, her father’s expression softened, and he approached, taking a seat beside her. With his eyes on the painting, he spoke. “Dayne’s angry with me. He thinks you’re too young for all of this.”

Mira didn’t know what to say.

“The truth is, I’ve kept you here with us for as long as I could. When Dayne’s Lord of Arcliff, he’ll be happy to have the support of the Terrowins and their forces. I’ve been getting offers for you since you were ten; no one ever seemed… good enough. But Loric… his father is one of the best men I’ve ever met. I know you’ll be safe there. Happy even. I know you like the sea.”

Is he apologizing? For marrying me off? Mira took his calloused hand and spoke more words that may have been lies. “Father, all is well. Loric seems… good and true. I’m happy that it’s him.”

Her father’s ash-coloured eyes found hers. He was trying just as hard as Mira was to figure out if she was telling the truth. “Why do you seem so sad then?”

Mira frowned. “I’m nervous, I’ll admit. I want a good marriage, a happy one. I’m sad to leave home. And… to watch what seems like a good man go off to battle.”

“You were always the most clever of my children.” Her father’s eyes twinkled before his voice grew stern. “Don’t repeat that.”

He’s sad I’m leaving as well, Mira realized.

Her father hugged her, holding on longer and tighter than he had since she was little. His beard felt like brushwood against her cheek; his leathery smell of ink and parchment and hunting dogs swaddled her. She didn’t want it to end, but of course, it did.

“I was thinking you might like to take the painting with you when you go,” he said, wiping at one of his eyes with a big thumb knuckle. “A little piece of home… if you wanted.”

Was he crying? Mira couldn’t tell. “I’d like that very much.”

“And uh, I know you and your mother—” He sighed. “She’d never say it, but if you don’t spend some time with her before you go, you’ll break her heart.”

Mira nodded. She’d do what her father asked, only she wished it did not have to be her responsibility. Why couldn’t her mother come to her and offer up love freely, without any effort on Mira’s part? As ideal as the notion was, Mira was old enough to know that this was not how her mother worked.

She stayed in the gallery until well after dark, enjoying the part of the conversation where her father said that Lord Terrowin lived near the sea. She set about designing a perfect castle in her mind’s eye, so close to the water’s edge that the waves would slop into it on windy days. She envisioned being able to hear the rushing tide from her chamber and Loric saying that she could wander along the shore whenever she felt like it, alone or with his company if she wanted it.

She’d begun to doze off when a loud howl made her fully alert. She shot upwards just in time to hear a second howl. A long, reverberating, hollow sound that turned her bones to iron. One howl welcomed guests, but two howls signified unwanted visitors.

Mira dashed to the window. It was too dark to see anything outside, but she could hear. A man cried out in the distance, he was in pain, but he also sounded as if he were getting sick. She urged her eyes to focus in the darkness but could sense nothing beyond shadows and fog and the glow of lit braziers at the far end of the courtyard. Her father’s men were shouting at one another, and dark shapes that moved like men spread out along the wall and atop the gate. Mira could only see this because some of the shadows were holding torches.

The shadows were not moving rightly, and one of the torches was thrown back into the courtyard.

Wait.

The man who was holding the torch had fallen… or was he pushed? Mira’s body understood the danger far before her mind did. Her legs moved her backwards without any instruction from her head, and her back was pressed into the gallery wall before she grasped what was happening.

The castle above the arched cliffs was under attack.