“But your shoulders looked better!”

Great. A twelve-year-old was kicking her ass and trying to make her feel better about it.

“It’s fine, Brooke.” Ava glared at Mala. “Can we take a break now? I think I need to ice this leg.”

An unfamiliar voice sang from the door. “You’re never going to get better if you keep taking breaks.”

Ava turned to stare. The woman was tall and dark with olive skin and black hair that streamed down her back. Everything about her—from the black clothes to the wary expression—screamed “Danger!” Ava stepped in front of Brooke, but the girl shot out from behind her and rushed forward.

“Renata!”

“Ciao, bella mia,” the woman named Renata murmured, holding out her arms to the girl and enclosing her in an embrace. She looked up at Mala. “Who’s the new girl?”

Mala signed quickly, and Renata lifted one hand, signing back while still holding Brooke with her other arm.

“No,” Brooke said, clearly understanding the silent conversation. “She’s from Los Angeles. She was only visiting in Istanbul when Damien met her. She’s not Turkish.”

Renata said, “I was thinking Persian, actually. Welcome to Sarihöfn, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She lowered her staff and stepped forward. “Your name is Renata?”

“Yes.” Renata eyed Mala. “Are they done for today?”

Mala shrugged, then signed something that seemed to indicate Brooke could go, because Renata turned and started toward the door with the girl still curled under one arm.

“I’ll see you later, Ava.”

“Bye!” Brooke called.

Ava lifted her hand in a wave, then started toward the bench where she’d left her jacket, only to be stopped by a staff across the belly. Groaning, she lifted her eyes to Mala.

“Let me guess. I’m not done yet.”

The corner of Mala’s mouth lifted, and Ava didn’t need to understand signing to read her expression.

Not even close.

She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed by the time she finally made it back to the cottage. Mala had drilled her for another three hours after Renata had shown up and taken off with Brooke. Luckily, Ava was picking up some signs from Mala and communication was starting to get better. And so, despite her reservations, were her attacks. Mala was a patient teacher and seemed to understand instinctively where and how Ava was struggling. By the end of the session, she was parrying with a fair amount of success instead of simply fending off blows. And, if she’d read Mala’s signs correctly, the next week they were going to add daggers.

Ava liked daggers.

“Wash up,” Damien called from the kitchen. “I’m fixing tea and I’ll make you a snack.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Then we’re going to a sing. There will be a dinner before at the house.” He glanced at her. “I’ll get you an ice pack, too. Do you need two?”

“A sing? What’s a sing?” She tried to sort through the barrage of information. “And yes. I probably need two.”

“I’ll get three. There’s hot water for your shower, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be late.”

“What’s a sing, Damien?”

“It’s a ceremony. With singing.” Damien walked over and patted her head. “Hence, it’s called a sing.”

“You’re the only person I know who uses ‘hence’ in everyday conversation.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that you know me, then?” He waved toward the door, unusually chipper. “Go. I’ll get the tea going.”

“Why are you so happy?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, this ‘sing’ is going to be at the main house, isn’t it? Sari’s house?”

“Yes.” A smile teased up the corner of his lip.

“And it’s like a party?”

“It is.”

“And you’re invited?”

“I am.”

“Ahhhhh.” Ava was smiling.

“What?”

“Damien’s making progress,” she sang.

“That’s enough.” He shoved her shoulder. “Go clean up. I don’t want to be late.”

“Mr. Cranky is gonna get some,” she sang some more, then ducked in her room after the kitchen towel smacked the back of her head. Ava slammed the door and yelled, “Maybe you won’t be Mr. Cranky after tonight!”

“You are childish and you stink. Take a shower, Ava.”

She gathered her things and went to the small bathroom, still smiling. Ignoring the tug in her heart. Ignoring the quick twist of pain at the thought of her friend’s happiness. Damien was a good friend. A good man. He deserved his happiness, even if she’d lost her own.

“I will not abandon you. I will not leave you. Ever.”

But you did leave me.

Would her heart ever stop bleeding?

She heard Damien banging cupboards in the kitchen, no doubt looking for the tea, which he could never seem to find. Maybe he would go to this party tonight and Sari would talk to him without scorn in her voice. Maybe they would make up. She could hope. The world didn’t stop just because she’d lost Malachi.

With that thought, Ava stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away her tears.

Ava didn’t know quite what to expect from the party that night. She tried to imagine, but she kept coming up blank. Her lessons with Orsala had been minimal. The old woman had focused on teaching Ava the magic to block the soul voices from her mind. It was a simple spell, designed for a child to be able to master. Orsala had helped Ava create a door in her mind, and for the first time in her life, that door was slammed shut.