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“In a minute.” Rowan wasn’t quite ready for the warmth and good-natured ribbing of the dinner table.

  Shay came out and stood silently beside him on the weathered boards.

  “You’ll miss him,” she said at last. She had slipped her hand into his, Rowan noticed. It felt nice.

  “I will.” And Hazel and Cashel and Ettie, the great losses that loomed over every smaller one. He would miss them, always.

  And yet…he could also enjoy Shay’s hand in his and hope it meant more than friendly sympathy. He could look forward to dinner, and feel excited about the new tune he was learning. That loss and laughter could co-exist so comfortably—it was a mystery as baffling as any ghost.

  He had to work at the smile, but it came. “Right. Let’s go try our luck with River’s cooking.”

  EPILOGUE

  The heavy crate arrived addressed to Rowan, with a note from Samik.

  Rowan Redwing,

  My family and I send this crate as a small, utterly inadequate thank-you for all you did for me—from taking me in, to saving my life. It is very good wine, and I charge you to have a most excellent party with your friends on Sumach Lane with it. Savor it slowly with a good meal, and then get blind drunk and dance through the house together. The remaining bottles (if any!) you may drink as you wish.

  This next part is just for you: it is a song, the first I have ever written, and in Prosperian, no less! It is about you when we first met.

  My heart goes out to you

  Poor weary traveler

  Forced to travel this world alone

  Forced to wander away from home

  You must sow what you cannot reap

  You must hold what you cannot keep

  You must fear what you cannot know

  You must feel what you cannot speak

  You can’t see the angels

  Gathered all around you

  You must lie in the cold clay

  You must travel to the end of the day.

  I would never share this with you if I thought you were still this person, but you are not. I hope you can read this and see how far you have come in one short season. You have come home.

  Now go drink up!

  Samik

  P.S. I hope you have kissed the lovely Shay by now. If not, perhaps you should hold back one bottle to share just with her. Courage, man!

  Rowan looked at the song for a long time. There seemed no end to Samik’s ability to surprise, even from the other end of the island. A part of him winced to think his friend had seen him in this light. The other part, the greater part, was almost overcome by how perfectly Samik had captured how Rowan’s life had felt back then—even, somehow, in the parts that didn’t really make sense. And Samik was right; he didn’t feel this way anymore.

  On the back of the page, Samik had written out the tune. Rowan fetched his button box, sat it on his knee and began to play.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It gets repetitive, thanking the same people in each novel, but it’s really important to recognize that there is a whole team behind every single book, and most don’t even get their names on the copyright page. So, I am very grateful to all the people who helped make this book a reality, including:

  My agent, Lynn Bennett, of Transatlantic Literary Agency. If you hadn’t been generous enough to read that very first manuscript and find it a home, I’m not sure any of the others would have followed.

  My smart, talented and patient editor, Sarah Harvey. It has got to be a challenge to work with a writer who is also an opinionated know-it-all editor! But because I’m an editor, I am deeply aware of how valuable your work is. Redwing is a much better book because of you.

  To all the staff at Orca, from publisher to publicist, designer to copyeditor.

  Finally, my thanks to the wonderful Irish songwriter John Spillane, who generously gave permission for me to abridge his song, “Poor Weary Wanderer,” and call it Samik’s.

  HOLLY BENNETT is the author of Shapeshifter, The Warrior’s Daughter and the Bonemender series, all published by Orca. She is also a freelance editor and writer working from her home office in Peterborough, Ontario. Her husband and three sons are all musical, so it seemed inevitable that she would eventually write a book about a boy musician.