Mamgu Elena wasn’t allowed into the attic anymore, not since she forgot herself trying to fix the roof.

That’s what Mam told me, at least, when I ventured out into the rain to take my turn keeping care of Elena and her cottage. All part of showing off how grown up I was, you see, a responsible daughter that Mam didn’t have to keep such an eye on.

I’d keep Elena calm, comfortable, out of trouble and the attic both.

So of course here we crouched - beneath crumbling thatch and spiders as big as my hand - as Elena pulled a decorative case from the piled possessions of a life well-lived.

I hadn’t been able to stop her, I’d tell Mam. She’d been up the ladder like an old hare with a fox on her tail, and now she was staring at me with expectant eyes as I cracked open the case.

“Take it,” she said. And within, coddled in red velvet, lay her sword.

The familiar haze swept across her eyes. I had to get her back downstairs before she lost herself again, but she wouldn’t budge.

“The Princes were supposed to send someone,” she said, wild-eyed. “To guard this place in my stead.”

“Come on, Mamgu,” I urged,

“Will you stand guard, over hill and depth? Over song and sonnet?”

“Of course, Mamgu.”

Relief swept through her like meltwater, as she let me guide her back to safety.