Jobe caressed the polished wood of his violin as it sat on the stone counter. “Fine. It’s better in your hands anyway.”

The shopkeeper wiped a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. That’s all I can offer.”

“I know, Sam.”

Sam handed a heavy purse to Jobe. “Will you play it one last time for me?”

“I wish I could bring her back for you permanently, but I can’t.”

“Don’t say that. Not to me,” Sam shook his head. “I won’t ever see her again.”

“You will, Sam. A war is coming. Stay if you wish to see her sooner.”