More of the clan had fallen ill. Torin knew he should be striving to solve the riddle from within, but he was at a loss. All he could think of was to learn from Sidra just by observing her, figuring she most likely held the answers in her hands. But time was passing. Even as it seemed to hold steady in the spirits’ realm of perpetual dusk, Torin sensed the days slipping away in the mortal world.
Ice and fire, brought together as one. Sisters divided, united once more. Washed with salt and laden with blood—all united will satisfy the debt you owe.
He didn’t know where to even begin when it came to cracking the riddle.
One night he stood attentively as Sidra tucked Maisie into the bed they shared.
“Tell me a story,” Maisie requested, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
Sidra perched on the edge of the mattress. “What story would you like to hear tonight?”
“The story about the sisters.”
“What sisters, Maisie?”
“Remember in the book? The one Grandda gave me? The sisters of the flowers.”
Torin’s interest was suddenly hooked. The riddle echoed through him as he stepped closer, into the firelight.
“You mean about Orenna and Whin?” said Sidra.
Maisie nodded.
“I don’t know that one as well,” Sidra said, “but I’ll do my best to remember it.” As she began telling the story, Torin soaked in her words. She spoke of Orenna, who had once dared to grow her blood-red flowers in unusual places, angering the other spirits with her eavesdropping. Lady Whin of the Wildflowers had no choice but to urge her sister to grow only where she was invited. Orenna, of course, had bristled at the correction and ignored it, continuing to grow her blossoms where she willed, collecting the secrets of fire, water, and wind. Eventually, the Earie Stone punished her by banishing her to heartsick soil, the only place she was allowed to grow. Orenna would have to prick her finger and let her golden blood fall to the ground to create her flowers, and should a mortal harvest and swallow those petals, they would be granted Orenna’s knowledge and secrets in turn.
Torin’s heart was pounding as the story ended. His mind whirled with thoughts, with ideas and questions. If he was in the spirits’ realm, could he cross the clan line unhindered? Could he find the graveyard where Orenna grew in the west? Were the two sisters in the riddle Orenna and Whin?
“Goodnight, my love,” Sidra whispered, leaning down to drop a kiss on Maisie’s forehead. Their daughter had fallen asleep, arms splayed wide. Sidra continued to sit beside her for a long moment, her own eyes closed, as if she could finally relinquish the mask she wore by day.
She looked drained. Her countenance was deathly pale, and there were smudges beneath her eyes. Torin took another step closer to her, desperate to caress her hair, to whisper against her skin.
“You should rest, Sidra,” he said.
Sidra sighed.
At last she stood and began to loosen the stays of her bodice. This was when Torin always departed. Every night, before she disrobed, he would melt through the door and walk the castle gardens, searching for answers. He was just turning to leave when a gasp slipped from her lips. He turned back, frowning, and watched as she limped to the hearth.
Sidra eased herself into a chair, biting her lip as if to swallow another sound of pain.
Torin followed as though a cord were bound between them. He stopped a few paces away, eaten up with worry as she rubbed her left ankle through the boot. He had shadowed her most of the day, and he didn’t recall her injuring herself.
Sidra released a tremulous exhale, glancing his way. Torin couldn’t breathe, feeling her eyes on him.
“Sidra?” he whispered, his voice softened with hope. “Sid?”
She made no response. He swiftly realized she was looking through him, as he should know by now, and her eyes were fixed on Maisie, who continued to slumber. Torin swallowed the lump in his throat, watching as Sidra carefully began to unlace her knee-high boots.
She was wearing a brace around her ankle. Torin scowled at the sight; he hadn’t realized she was hurt, although now that he thought of it, he only came to her in the mornings after she had readied herself for the day. Not once had he caught sight of the brace, hiding beneath boot and skirt.
He took a step closer to her. When had she injured herself?
The brace came off. She set it quietly on the floor before drawing her stocking down her leg. Her entire foot looked bruised, as if a wagon cart had rolled over it.
Torin’s breath hissed through his teeth as he rushed to her, kneeling at her side. “What happened? When did this happen? I’ve been with you all this time!”