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Which made it particularly irritating that I was becoming so restless.

By the end of the third week in the village, Matthias finally stopped following me around as if I might collapse at any moment, although this may have had less to do with my improving health than the fact that I threatened to hit him with Jean’s cane if he didn’t stop hovering. I could walk around the loch now, had stopped needing a nap every afternoon and could even lift Ewan again, although Matthias claimed I should not.

‘Twas during one of my walks with Edan—I loved to bundle him up and talk to him about the village as we strolled—that I found Ewan near the warriors’ training field with Brannok and Kaldun. The three lads were carrying sticks and reenacting whatever they had watched the men doing earlier. Brannok swung at Ewan, Ewan blocked with enough enthusiasm to knock his own feet out from beneath him, and I was already moving before he struck the frozen ground, my heart in my throat.

He rolled onto his back laughing.

Brannok immediately threw himself down beside him, apparently because Ewan falling over was the funniest thing that had happened all day, while Kaldun stood over them with the long-suffering expression of a much older man who regretted his choice of companions. Ewan scrambled upright without so much as glancing toward me, shoved Brannok and took off running again.

I stopped and clutched my younger son to me. A month ago, Ewan would have looked for me.

The thought was absurdly painful, because this was what I wanted for him. He was eating better, his cheeks had filled out, and he spent his days racing through the village with boys who didn’t care that his mother had been widowed, banished, or bedded by an orc. He had people besides me to talk to now, which meant I no longer had to answer every question that entered his head between the moment he woke and the moment he fell asleep.

A blessing, surely.

You miss it.

I did not miss being asked why smoke went upward while I was trying to cook breakfast…but mayhap I missed being needed by him. I sighed. This was part of him growing up, and I was happy for him. I was.

I watched Ewan chase Brannok around a cottage and disappear from sight, utterly confident that he was safe here and that there would be someone to help him if he wasn’t.

For almost six years I had been the person standing between Ewan and everything that might hurt him. Now there were dozens of people standing there with me, including two grubby little orc boys who would presumably beat the threat with sticks.

‘Twas better for him.

This time, when I exhaled, my breath fogging the air around my head, I felt the loosening in my chest telling me I was right. The strange unsettledness was still there, buzzing through my blood…but ‘twas not about Ewan.

The training field was only a short distance away, and I heard Maardok before I found his hulking form among the men. There was nothing graceful about the sound of warriors training. Wood cracked against wood, males shouted and cursed, boots tore at the frozen ground, and somewhere in the middle of it all Maardok roared a command that made every warrior on the field freeze.

I had known he led these males. I’d known he was the strongest warrior among the Battleborn, but knowing something was different from watching a dozen enormous orcs—some older than him, some scarred enough that I could imagine the battles they’d survived—turn toward him and wait.

Maardok strode between two of them, snatched the practice blade from one male’s hand and shoved him backward into position. There was nothing gentle in his face.

The male I knew smiled easily, teased me, carried Ewan on his shoulders and let Edan sleep against his chest. This Maardok barked a correction, demonstrated a movement so quickly I scarcely followed it, then made the warrior repeat it until he was satisfied.

Another male challenged him, and Maardok stepped into the sparring circle.

This was male’s work—violence, threats, anger. I should have left them to it.

But instead, I stood there while the other warrior swung hard enough that the crack of their blades echoed across the loch. Maardok blocked, twisted, drove his shoulder into the male’s chest and sent him stumbling backward, then came after him with a speed that seemed impossible for someone his size. The second impact made me flinch.

The third put the warrior on his back.

Maardok planted the end of his practice blade against the male’s chest, and even from where I stood watching from beneath a large tree, I heard him say, “Dead.”

The warrior laughed and accepted Maardok’s hand to stand. ‘Twas only when the other male was upright that Maardok suddenly froze. I saw his hand tighten around the practice blade, then whip his head around, his gaze unerringly finding me, his scarred expression terrifying.

But between one heartbeat and the next, his face changed. One corner of his lips twitched upward in a way that completely drew attention away from his scars, and he lifted the practice blade in a small salute.

He wasn’t telling me I couldn’t watch, but he wasn’t leaving his place for me, either.

And strangely, that made me feel more comforted than irritated. Maardok was home here. He knew his place, knew what was expected of him each day. Aye, mayhap a portion of those expectations were violence, but that only told me he could fulfil the vow he’d made repeatedly to protect Ewan.

I’d never seen him fight before, and the experience would have been terrifying if I hadn’t seen him that morning pretending to be a horse for an over-excited five-year-old.

By the fourth sennight in Battleborn Village, I had been folded so thoroughly into the ordinary work of the village that I didn’t notice it happening. Laundry was done with other women near the warm springs instead of alone over a bucket. Baking happened in Jean’s cottage because she was convinced no one else could be trusted with bread, and children simply moved between available arms as needed. I had begun learning which women preferred too much salt in their stew, which ones could be trusted with gossip, and which ones absolutely could not.

One morning Ammal was muttering over a grease stain on one of her Mate’s shirts, and I reached for it without thinking.