The old woman's name was Cora.
Rowan told me quietly as she composed herself, stepping back slightly, pressing her hands together in front of her the way people do when they need something to hold onto. He said her name low enough that only I heard it and I was grateful for that small preparation.
She had served my birth mother. That was what he had told me briefly on the road and I had filed it away without fully understanding what it would mean to stand in front of her and have her look at me like that. Like I was something she had stopped believing she would ever see.
The courtyard had gone quiet around us.
"Cora," Rowan said. His voice carried without being loud. "Give her a moment."
Cora nodded once, sharp and dignified, and pulled herself fully upright and the wetness at the edg
