“I’ll wait for them now,” he said.
He wanted to watch her work. He had never cared for such things before, and Sidra felt anxious as she began to gather fresh herbs.
“You should sit,” she said. “This will take a while.”
She hoped he would change his mind and leave. There was always someone else who needed him more. Another task more pressing than her.
Torin drew out a chair and sat.
He was quiet for a full five minutes as Sidra set a pot to boil over the fire and began to mix her herbs.
“If a Breccan was wounded and knocked on your door,” Torin began, “would you heal them?”
Sidra glanced up. She wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear from her. And then she realized it wasn’t what Torin was asking for. He yearned to know her truths, even if they were sharp and difficult for him to fathom.
“Yes,” she said.
“If a Breccan wounded me and then knocked on your door with pains of their own, would you heal them?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then you should prepare yourself for it,” he said. “Prepare your salves for our enemies. To heal their wounds, as well as the ones they’ll give to us in return. It’s imminent.”
“What are you speaking of, Torin?”
“The trade that you advised my cousin to go forward with? It happened today, and according to Adaira, it was a success. She now wants to establish a permanent trade with the Breccans, as if one good encounter can wash away all the terror and raids they’ve bestowed upon us for decades.”
“And this is a terrible thing? That your cousin dreams of peace?”
Torin leaned forward in the chair. “I don’t think the Breccans truly want peace. I think they want to drain our resources to weaken us before they overtake the east.”
Sidra swallowed. “Did they recognize the Orenna?”
Torin’s eyes darkened. “No. Which means we are no closer to solving this mystery than we were a day ago. I wish you would trust me to do my job, Sidra.”
She was angry now. Her blood was simmering. He had not only accused her of giving Adaira ill advice but dropped an innuendo that she was meddling in affairs that didn’t concern her.
“What is this really about, Torin?” she asked, slamming her pestle down on the table. “Tell me honestly.”
She had never been one to raise her voice. They had never argued like this. And while she seemed to burn, he withdrew into ice.
“Everything I’ve built with my hands is about to come undone,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “I’ve been charged to protect the east, to give up my own life for it if necessary. It’s how I was raised. It’s why I have this scar on my hand. I’ve given all of myself to this endeavor. I’ve surrendered so much of my time, so much of my devotion, that I often feel as if I can give you and Maisie nothing more than scraps of me, when you both deserve so much more.”
His words caught her by surprise. Her fury waned, leaving ash in its wake.
“The truth is … my hands are stained, Sidra. I’ve craved violence, and I’ve drunk willingly from its cup. I’ve beaten the men who trespass over the clan line, beaten them until they cower and yield. And those who don’t? I’ve ended their lives without a moment of hesitation. I’ve slit their throats and pierced their hearts. I’ve stolen their voices and dropped their bodies into the sea, as if the water could wash away my deeds.”
Sidra was silent as she listened, but her heart was pounding.
“So when you speak of peace,” he said, “when Adaira speaks of peace, I’m unable to see it. It’s a sentiment that is unattainable in my mind, given all the things I’ve done to the Breccans in order to keep the east safe. And if the trade does happen the way my cousin hopes, I will have to encounter people marked by my actions. Do you think they’ll be glad to see me, Sid? Do you think they’ll want to trade with the man who killed their son or beat their brother?”
Torin was staring at his hands, as if he could see the blood on them. Sidra watched him with a knot in her throat. She thought he might be struggling to express his guilt, and while the healer within her wanted to smooth his brow and give him words to ease his pain, she sensed this was a festering wound in him that needed to be opened.
“I know you’ve killed men, Torin,” she said, drawing his eyes to hers. “I’ve seen the blood that stains your plaid, the blood beneath your nails. I’ve seen the haunted gleam in your eye, even though it is fleeting. I know that you are the captain of the guard, that you must protect us from the west, and that sometimes that requires you to kill. But there is more to you than violence. And I don’t want to see you become a man who kills without reason. A man who lets revenge turn his heart into a cold, bitter vessel.”