Page 59 of Fierce Highland Magic

"A dry road. A clear stair. No water. No detour."

Her gaze slid to Rowan.

"One traveler's price. Two may pass."

Rowan stepped forward.

I moved first.

"No."

His attention snapped to me.

"Lyra."

"You have already paid for a passage."

"That doesn't mean you must."

"It means you are out of resources to spend on me."

"You do not know that."

"I know enough."

The woman on the stool waited. The silver thread of the sign gleamed above her head.

One true sound.

Something small. Something I would miss. The memory I had offered when I was trying to buy Nessa's courage. The rain on the shed behind my grandmother's house.

The corrugated roof. The quick metallic rhythm when the drops came straight down. The change in the pattern when wind moved through the yard and drove the rain sideways. The long low rattle that had made me feel safe because I was inside, dry, waiting for the storm to pass.

I could still hear it.

Not the way I could remember remembering my mother's face.

This memory lived whole inside me.

It was not load-bearing.

It was not a face. Not a final goodbye. Not the last time someone had said my name.

But it was mine.

I looked at the woman. "One true sound," I said.

She nodded.

"The sound of rain on a particular roof."

Rowan's voice came low beside me. "Lyra."

I didn't look at him.

"The shed behind my grandmother's house," I continued. "Corrugated metal. Rain falling hard enough to blur the garden. When the wind shifted, it struck the roof from the east and the sound changed. Faster. Sharper. Like fingers drumming on a table."

The sound filled me as I spoke.