Elijah took Blythe’s face in both hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is nothing to fret over, all right? We’ll have everything sorted out by morning.” Elijah embraced Signa then, and her body warmed from head to foot as he kissed her forehead, just as he had kissed his own daughter. Perhaps it was because both she and Blythe were on the verge of tears—each of the girls holding the other’s hand—that Elijah looked so calm. Like a man on his way to tea, rather than one publicly accused of murder. “Do not trouble your mind, my girls.” He set a hand upon their shoulders. “I’ll see you
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