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But at the moment, Agnar is not thinking of the miller’s daughter. He glares at the Southerner as I did earlier. Though why I should feel compelled to defend the man, I do not know. And yet I find myself saying, “He is Curia Commander to King Galfrid.”

We know little of southern politics here—our trade with them is sparser than our dealings with the islands to the north—but we know the history of Meria. Of its structures, of its past. We know what led Murwood End to isolate itself by more than just geography.

And although there’s no love lost for the king, there’s no denying “commander” is a coveted title. This lord’s position changes everything. Agnar, a warrior himself, visibly changes at the news, straightening and losing some of his aggression.

“First commander, or second?” he asks, cocking his head. “Or are you the Knight Commander?”

All signal greatness. A king’s second is a skilled knight, indeed, and the Knight’s Commander leads the king’s men into battle. But the first commander is regarded as the one person in the kingdom most capable of keeping the king, and his people, safe.

“First commander.”

The way he says it sends a chill down my back. When Lord d’Abella looks at me, I know for certain he exposes my weakness as a Garra.

A love healer who’s never desired a man so deeply that naught else mattered. My grandmother always insisted I’d feel that way myself someday, and I finally do.

For the wrong man.

“Your men are within the Sailor’s Inn?” Agnar asks.

“Aye.”

“I’ve just left there. They said you are looking for Master Aldwine?”

Lord d’Abella glances at me.

Agnar’s words have shaken me to my core, but I don’t let it show.

“Go on,” I say, finding it easy to sound annoyed. “Agnar is a man. Certainly you are at liberty to tell him what you could not tell me.” Then I spin on my heel and walk away.

The commander calls for me to return, but I make my way along the docks, watching as a ship glides toward shore. Walking by villagers who bid a good day to me, and I them, I slip unseen between two stone buildings. One of them, I realize, is the inn where Lord d’Abella’s men reside, and I pull up my hood as a barrier against watchful eyes as I watch the ship grow larger.

Is it Kipp’s boat?

I pray it is not.

Stay away. They’ve come for you again.

As the ship veers closer, I see it is not his, which means my friend is still safely out to sea. But he will return soon.

And there can be only one reason the king’s men are here for him.