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“You are not the only one with skills, Father.”

His tone implies a knowledge he alone possesses. Like Hilla when she first learned of it, Kipp seems eager to overuse my title now that he is aware.

“A good thing, as you will need them very soon.”

Hilla.

She reaches us, greets Kipp more warmly than me, and turns to speak to Salvi.

When I asked Kipp that day as we drank more wine than should be drunk in one sitting what had convinced him when so many others failed before us, it was Hilla he spoke of. Her sacrifice for Cettina had moved him.

He’d been thinking of Aedre’s safety as continued rumors of a battle between Galfrid and Hinton grew. Still, he remained in Murwood, angry with his father and unwilling to help him. But when Hilla told the story of how she’d remained married to aid her sister, something snapped inside him, or so Kipp explained. He could, and should, sacrifice the stubbornness that held him back from what he knew he had to do.

Apparently Kipp had been more opposed to giving his father something he desired than he was to ruling a kingdom. That, he admitted later, was daunting but not as much so as allowing Galfrid into his life.

Somehow, Aedre had known Hilla’s influence would be needed. I long ago stopped questioning the Garra’s ways. Having helped to protect them for many years, my appreciation for their beliefs, their powers, only continues to grow.

“We will meet again in d’Almerita, Father Aiken,” Kipp says now. I shake the hand of the future king of Meria. Some may think my sentiments are premature. Hinton has promised coin, land and influence to enough men to make him a serious threat, even without the church’s backing. And yet, what else is there to do but hope, lest faith turn to despair.

“I thank you for making the journey here,” he says, waving to someone in the distance. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Under much different circumstances, to be sure,” Hilla responds.

Kipp leans in toward me and whispers, “She is worth fighting for, Aiken.”

With that, he turns to walk away. Not once have we spoken of my love for Hilla. My feelings for her must not be as well hidden as I thought. Turning to find Salvi standing at my back, I greet him and the other men.

“Tis time,” I say, looking back at the village, at the inn where I spent a most glorious night with a woman who refuses to look at me now. “Come, Hilla, the captain waves to us even now.”

She does not move.

“Hilla?”

She looks at me with such sadness, such despair, that my heart surely just stops beating. Nay, it cannot be.

“The Talisman sails to Breywood.” She nods to a trading ship docked nearby.

“No.” I pull her away from the edge of the dock, toward a small wooden building that serves as a lookout. “No Hilla, you cannot.”

She lifts her chin. “I am no longer your captive, Aiken.”

Wincing at her words, I refuse to believe it. “You do not speak to me for days, and now you will leave like this? Without so much as a fare-thee-well? I do not know that ship’s captain. You will not sail unattended with strangers, Hilla.”

They were, apparently, the wrong words.

“I am the daughter of King Malcom Borea of Edingham, sister to the queen, Princess of Edingham and direct descendant of the son of King Onry. You will not tell me where, or with whom, I can sail.”

I take a step back, looking at Hilla as if we have just met. In some ways, it feels very much as if she is a stranger to me. Her strength . . . it has always been there, of course. But she is not the same woman that I took at Craighcebor.

“The captain,” she says, “is a friend of Kipp’s. He has offered his protection. You may ask him if you wish.”

My gaze shoots to Kipp, who is still on the docks speaking to a group of men.

Traitor.

“I begged him not to tell you. I knew you might convince me to sail back with you.”

She is worth fighting for, Aiken.