The Staff and the Blade: Irin Chronicles Book Four by Elizabeth Hunter

lands that he had drawn in. The whole of the right page was filled with his hand.
    “But have you been everywhere on this map?” She glanced and caught him watching her. “All these places?”
    He nodded.
    Sari hadn’t known it was possible to travel so far. She thought Orsala’s tales of Vienna were exotic.
    “How many years?” she asked.
    He hesitated.
    “I know you’re much older than me. I’ve seen your talesm.”
    “I spent two hundred years training, fighting, and traveling,” he said. “And I’ve been here two hundred.”
    “Four hundred?” Not as old as she’d thought then. She gave him a crooked smile. “Barely out of your foolish youth then.”
    His eyes were warm. “Older than you.”
    “Oh, everyone knows that scribes take far longer than singers to master their magic.”
    “I have a new study now.” The smile at the corner of his lips was wickedness. “I’m looking forward to mastering something far more interesting then magic.”
    Irritating man.
    “Well”—Sari stood and picked up her bowl, trying to ignore her pounding heart—“it’s good that you’re four hundred years old. I’m sure you’ve learned to handle disappointment.”
    ※

    The whole of the village came together to ready the breeding ewes for pasture. It was midsummer and all the fields had been planted, so Sari and the other women of the village were trimming hooves while Einar and his mate, Agnes, walked through the flock, picking the hardiest to breed with the new ram that Einar had traded for in Kirkwall the week before. Others checked the flock and tied a red string around the necks of the ones whose hooves were overgrown.
    Sari had to admit that, faults aside, Einar knew his sheep. It was probably the reason he was the leader of the village. While grain provided sustenance, it was sheep and wool that provided funds for trading off the small island. Orkney sheep were well known, even in Scotland, and their wool was valued.
    The flock had been sheared months before, but the spring ewes Einar chose would be trimmed and put in richer pasture close to the village. Shearing was never a pleasant job—especially in the height of summer—but Sari had to admit Damien took on the task without complaint.
    Damien and Matthew, Ingrid’s mate, had been chosen to do the more delicate job of shearing the ewes for breeding. It had surprised Sari at first. Damien hardly seemed the type to master animal husbandry. But as she watched him, she saw his calm demeanor settle over each animal he touched. He hummed under his breath, using firm, gentle pressure to hold each ewe before he clipped it quickly. Passing near him, Sari realized the song was one of her own.
    Sari held the sheep’s hooves and cut, slicing her hands more than once during the process. The ground of the island didn’t wear the hooves the way the rocks in her homeland did. Here the land was soft and damp throughout the year.
    “Oh, thank you, Damien!”
    Sari looked up, blowing away the hair that had fallen into her face, when she heard Kirsten’s voice. The young woman had been holding each sheep while Sari worked.
    “What?” Sari asked Kirsten, pausing in the middle of a trim.
    Damien was walking toward them as Kirsten said, “Didn’t you hear me? I need to get back to the village to help Mother ready a bundle of herbs for the humans. Damien offered to take over helping you. He and Matthew are finished with the shearing.”
    “Of course he did,” she grumbled.
    Kirsten smiled. “He must like you. No one holds sheep for trimming by choice.”
    “Go on.” Sari nodded toward the village with a grimace. “Leave me with the irritating male.”
    “You mean fascinating?” Kirsten whispered with a wink. “You can’t fool me, Sari.” She spoke more loudly. “Thank you, Damien. Mother will be grateful to have me back.”
    “You’re welcome.” His low voice washed over her and Sari couldn’t help herself. She lowered her shields just to catch a