Every spring, Sidra would take Maisie and a handful of flowers to Donella’s grave, and she would tell the lass about her mother, who had been lovely and brave and gifted with the sword. Even though it sometimes left a lump in Sidra’s throat, she would tell Maisie the story of how her father and mother had trained and sparred on the castle grounds, first as rivals but later as friends and then lovers.
