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“Yes.”

“I’ve done four, Pearl. Thank you for letting me play.”

“It’s been a pleasure watching you work.” Pearl watched as Luc lifted Ava down to the ground and gave an approving nod when he slid his arm around her shoulder. “You’re welcome any time.”

Luc gave her a wave and then steered Ava away. She was a little unsteady on her feet and rubbed the back of her neck.

“What were you doing that’s drained you so much?” He had never thought of the toll working magic must take.

She leaned in close. “Protection against weapons. Maybe more.”

“Maybe?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes the working does more than I thought it would. It takes on a wider interpretation of my original intent.”

“Like?” He thought of his own improved reflexes and the way arrows bent out of his way.

“Like I worked a protection into my old cloak to warn me of people who meant me harm, but then I began to know what everyone thought of me, like or dislike. The working grew in scope.”

“Like a handkerchief that was given to protect me, as a broad measure, but ended up making me able to anticipate the moves of three assassins almost before they struck.”

She was silent, and he stopped, reached out to turn her to face him.

She worried her lip a little. “That might be from . . .” She looked up at him.

“From . . .?”

“From how I sewed strength, agility and health into you when I stitched up your wounds.”

He studied her face. “That was two months ago, Ava. That surely couldn’t still be in place, although, thank you for that. It has saved my life a few times.”

“I think maybe my workings last more than a few months.” She lifted her shoulders. “I’m not sure. But the general says something my grandmother made her lasted two years.”

“You are at least as strong as your grandmother?” He asked the question softly, and she hesitated. Shrugged.

“I didn’t realize the general knows your secret.”

She turned, sliding her arm around him and tugged him forward. “She’s known all along, but I only discovered that she knew last night. I offered to make something for her.”

“I’m sure she was thrilled to accept.”

She stopped, bringing them to a halt a little way from the campfire near his tent, out of earshot. “I said I’d create a working to help her find the two Grimwaldian spies in the Venyatux column. I’m the reason they’re there, so I felt it was right to help find them. The general is going to wear what I’m making herself and hunt them down. Do you want something similar for the spies in the Rising Wave?”

He did. He really did.

He nodded.

“I’ll work it into your shirt when I get a chance.” She hesitated. “The general thinks I can only work magic into my embroidery if I use black silk thread. That’s all my mother and grandmother used. But I don’t need it to be black silk to work.” She touched her hair. “I used strands of my hair once, that’s why they cut it off. I can use anything I find. It works with canvas, with any cloth, and even with skin.” She touched his arm, where once she had sewn up his injury, before he knew and loved her. “But that is a secret between only you and me.”

She was building on her heart’s song, he realized. On the oath she swore that he need not fear her. Because she wasn’t hiding her skills from him. But still she stood, eyes down, hands clasped.

“There is something else.” Her knuckles were white. “Something I haven’t shared with you.”

“And if it upsets you so much to tell me, then leave it for now.” He drew her close, kissed her forehead. “I don’t need all your secrets at once.”

She looked up at him, gave a slow nod.

He didn’t like that something weighed on her as much as this secret seemed to, but his words had soothed her, and when someone called to her, as they stepped into the light thrown by the fire, she called a laughing reply.