said Tamsin once she had steered her father into the kitchen. She couldn’t seem to let go of his arm, and clung there as if he might vanish without her touch. He looked sunburned and shaggier, but every feature was exactly as she remembered it. He hadn’t aged a day, which matched what Angmar had said about the old faery queen making her father an immortal guardian of the knights. He put his hand over hers. It was broad and capable, just as she remembered it. “Surely you understand why I never told you who I am?” His voice was kind, but the words rankled. She didn’t understand—not at all. Hot, sour disappointment pounded through her, bringing heat to her cheeks as she met her father’s brown eyes—so like her own. Tamsin dropped her hand from his sleeve, not wanting the contact now. “I suppose it’s like the old wartime saying that loose lips sink ships. No one can accidentally tell what they don’t know.” “That’s it exactly,”
