Crow frowned disappointedly when Penelope said that her mother had just mentioned Madeleine’s name. He’d been hoping to hear a little more about his mother than that. After going longer than a decade without her warm presence by his side, the prospect of hearing about how she was faring in the afterlife had been exciting. Still, even though Penelope didn’t know much else, he supposed it was still nice to find out that she had been looking after him all this time. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips. He wondered what she thought of him now, fully grown and making a living for himself as a thief. Was she proud of the man he’d become? He knew she wouldn’t have condemned him for his decision to continue stealing, since she was the one who had taught him to begin with.

He was drawn from his thoughts as he heard Penelope speak up to question her father. Her words made him raise a brow in surprise, and he turned to look at John with interest. He never would have guessed that the older knight knew his mother, but now that he thought about it again, it made a strange amount of sense. John knew the thief was related to Albin somehow, and he had also been in love with a peasant woman who had apparently been close friends with his own mother. It wasn’t that far of a stretch to guess that John and Madeleine had crossed paths long ago.

When John confirmed that he had in fact met Crow’s mother before, the thief listened curiously. He wondered if the night Penelope’s father was speaking about was the same night when Madeleine and Albin had had their fling. His mother didn’t often speak of their brief time together, since she never liked to talk about Albin in general, but he recalled that she’d mentioned meeting his father in a tavern. It felt strange to hear about the incident from someone else’s mouth.

“What was your mother’s name?” he asked suddenly, turning to Penelope with newfound intrigue. Perhaps if the two women really had been as close as John claimed, his mother may have told him about her before.

“Lilliana,” John answered first in a soft voice.

“No way,” Crow’s eyes widened in recognition. “I’ve heard of her before.” It was faint, but he vaguely remembered his mother telling him about a friend she’d had before he’d been born who had gone by the same name. Turning back to Penelope, he shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe our mothers were from the same village. What are the odds of that?”