Since when have you hated blood pudding, Sid? Torin thought, concerned.
“Ah. Well, we will take great care to avoid those foods for now. Here, let me help you up.” Lilith eased Sidra to her feet. “I was the same with my first bairn. I couldn’t stand the smell of kail boiling in the pot. Which was rather unfortunate. I was sick for months.”
Bairn?
Sidra wiped her mouth, forlorn.
“But that’s not to say it won’t pass quickly for you, Lady,” Lilith hurried to amend. “The first three months are difficult, but I am sure you will feel back to normal very soon.”
Sidra was quiet, lost in her thoughts.
Torin had ceased breathing.
“How far along are you?” Lilith asked gently.
“Seven weeks as of yesterday.” Sidra drew her fingers through her hair, her face pale. “And I would ask you to hold this confidence for now, Lilith. I don’t want the clan to know yet.”
“I won’t speak a word of it, Lady,” the attendant reassured. “But I’m glad to know, so I may be of help to you. Such as telling the cook to cease making you mince pies.” She began to gather the tray. “Does anything else sound good to you at the moment? Perhaps an oatcake?”
“No,” Sidra said, with a watery smile. “I think I should rest for now.”
Lilith nodded and moved to the door. But she paused, glancing back at Sidra with a sheen of pride. “Does his lairdship know, Lady?”
Sidra closed her eyes, briefly. “No, not yet. I . . . plan to tell him when he returns from his trip to the mainland.”
“Very good, Lady Sidra. Ring if you need anything.”
Lilith walked through Torin. The doors shut, wood and iron aligning with his lungs. Slowly, he stepped forward, fully entering Sidra’s new bedchamber.
He didn’t realize how desperate he was for her to see him, hear him. Not until he was halfway to her, his heart wildly beating, and found he couldn’t take another step.
She stood in the light, breathing slow and deep, a palm pressed to her chest.
Torin’s joy flooded him, blurred his vision. He was overcome by it; he wanted to drown in this delight with her. He and Sidra had made a child together. He forgot he was a spirit. He forgot he was made of shadows and air, and he closed the distance between them.
“Sidra,” he whispered ardently. He reached out to caress her hair, but he couldn’t feel it. His fingers passed through her as if she were a dream.
She didn’t hear him. She covered her face with her hands, smothering the break of a sob.
Torin’s joy dissolved the moment her hands fell away, the moment her reddened eyes met his.
Her face was blank. No flicker of recognition stirred within her. She didn’t see him as she gazed absently at the wall.
“Sid,” he said. “Can you see me? Hear me?”
She sighed and walked into him. A shudder rippled in his spirit. Frost crackled along his bones. He had never felt so cold in all his life.
Torin turned and watched as Sidra went to the window, struggled with it for a moment, then managed to open it. She rested in the waft of brisk, fresh air.
He thought on what he had heard her say to Lilith. That he was on a mainland trip. Already, Sidra had covered his absence with deceit, to maintain order and normalcy. He thought it wise of her, even as he hated that she had to lie for him. And she had moved into the castle, giving the appearance that all was well.
“I’m here with you, Sidra,” Torin whispered, aching.
She raised her head. The breeze lifted the hair from her shoulders.
He waited, hopeful. Had she heard him? Some small thread of him believed that she had. That her soul sensed that his was near.
Sidra reached for the curtains and drew them closed with a snap. The golden light that had limned her faded, but Torin’s vision remained the same. He could see her clearly as she walked to the bed and sat on the edge. Her hands hesitated as she reached for her boots, her brow creased with worry. But then the moment passed, eclipsed by her exhaustion, and she shucked off her shoes, crawled into the bed, still wearing her dress and stockings, and pulled the quilts up to her shoulders.
Sidra rested, quiet, unmoving.
Torin waited until he heard her breaths deepen and knew she was sleeping.
He felt unmoored, lost, until he remembered the riddle in the orchard. He was trapped in the spirit realm until he solved the blight.
He let his anger rise, ignite.
He walked through doors, walls, mortals. Across the rise and fall of the land, to where the orchard lay.
Chapter 18