Her mother was speaking again. “...and you must always ken who eats at your table, even when you are not seated there.”

Sorcha nodded, feigning attention. But she wasn’t thinking of who sat at her table. She was thinking of steel. Of her brothers. And of how daft it was that boys learned to defend, while girls were meant to measure and mind.

That was when the horn sounded, cutting through the air in a sharp, blaring cry that set her teeth on edge.

Lady Moira was on her feet in an instant, the ledger forgotten. “Sorcha. The alcove. Now.”

“Mam—”