“You’ve got that look on your face again.”
“I do? What look?”
Owain Gawinn tried to rearrange his features into a pleasant smile but could not. He was not fond of smiling. His wife, Sibb, was sitting by him, knitting a scarf from red wool. The needles clacked in her hands.
“There,” said his wife. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“I know that face, Owain,” she said. “That’s the same look you got the day you told me you were leading a troop to Vomaro to hunt for Devnes Elloran. Intent, inscrutable, as solemn as an owl, but there! With a bit of glee glinting in your eyes.”
“I do not feel glee, as you put it,” he said, “due to the distress of others, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying. All I mean is you enjoy crises.” Sibb softened her words with a smile. “There’s nothing more you love than buckling on your sword and riding out the gates with your soldiers behind you.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But if I’m out in the field, cold and tired and bruised, there’s nothing I love more than riding home to you.”
“Devnes Elloran!”
A strand of wool snapped in Sibb’s fingers. She exclaimed in annoyance.
“That girl was a hussy if I ever saw one,” she said. “She got what she had coming to her!”
“Sibb, Sibb—I wouldn’t wish ogres on anyone. At any rate, the Farrow lad handily beat us there.” Owain shook his head in wonder. “I still marvel at the story after all these years. He must’ve been the bravest fool in the land to have done what he did. Even with a column of men, I’d be wary of venturing into an ogre’s lair.”
“So what are you thinking of doing now?”
“Doing now?”
“Don’t try that on me, Owain. I know when you’ve got something brewing in your head.”
He smiled and kissed her, but then his face became serious.
“I’ve been wondering about our little foundling. To my knowledge, she’s the only survivor of whatever’s been murdering its way across Tormay.”
“Murdering its way—what? There’ve been others?”
“I didn’t want to trouble you, my dear,” said her husband. “But there have been other incidents reported. Twice in Vo and three times in Vomaro. Mostly isolated farms. The news of them has been trickling in over the last few weeks. The same signs, the same methods of killing. Murder for no reason at all. No reason, at least, I can see.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Do?” He picked up a ball of wool and turned it over and over in his hands. “I’m not sure yet. It doesn’t affect Hearne, but the regency does have obligations. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
She touched his hand.
“No, you can’t. No Gawinn would.”
He smiled.
She said something else, but it was lost in the sudden shrieks and laughter that invaded the room as their four children burst through the door. Loy was scrambling about on all fours, mooing like a cow and chasing them about.
“Help, Father! Help!”
“My duties don’t extend to defending the city against cows,” said their father, laughing. But his smile faded when he looked up, for the girl was standing in the doorway. Her face was grave. Her eyes stared at the other children, but Owain had the distinct impression that she did not see them.