Crow listened in silence as Penelope told her story. He hung on the detail about her mother being a peasant. Strange how similar their backgrounds were, except for how she ended up with her nobleman father, and he ended up with his peasant mother. He wondered what his life would look like now if things had been different. Would he be a knight too? Would he serve the king with his whole being? Would he be blind to the struggles of the outer villages? Of his own mother, had she been still alive? He shuddered at the thought. As harsh as his life had been, he was glad he endured it, if only for the sake of understanding the truth about the kingdom.

He lowered his gaze to the floor of the wagon, wincing slightly when she explained how she didn’t even know her mother’s name. While he didn’t want anything to do with his own father, he at least knew that much: Albin Mannering. He swallowed, forcing down rage when he thought of the name. The man had abandoned them. It was the reason why he had taken his mother’s last name: Lockton. He had been terrible and faithless… but Crow still knew who he was. To not know a parent, to not have that knowledge, especially when one desired to know it, seemed cruel.

[i]On the subject of names…[/i]

Crow glanced up at Penelope. They had gotten quite a bit closer over the course of their journey, but she still didn’t know who he was. She just knew his nickname, his title as a thief. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Could he really tell her his true name? No one who was still alive knew it; his name had become a part of him so deep and so secretive that he didn’t know if he could even voice it anymore. He couldn’t even remember what it sounded like spoken aloud by another person.

[i]Not yet,[/i] he thought. [i]I’m not ready to tell anyone yet.[/i] He could almost feel the memory being locked up in his heart. But it was better this way. No one knew who he was, and his real name would be lost to time. He was Crow, and it was better this way. That’s what he would continue to tell himself.

The thief realized Penelope had stopped talking. He had been so caught up in his own mind that he had forgotten to respond. “I’m truly sorry to hear that about your mother,” he said honestly. “I’m sure she’s up there, looking down on you right now.” His somber expression was broken with a smile. “She’s probably right proud of you, too. I don’t know many women who choose to take on the adventurous life of a knight. And, I know I’m biased, but I think you’re the best knight in the kingdom, darling.”