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Sithe Breckenridge was the only trueborn child of Aranh Breckenridge—one of the most celebrated soldiers in Moonguard’s military history. Instead of taking her sire’s fortune and building herself into a socialite, or else following in his footsteps and joining the forces of Saint Vilaya, Sithe had decided to do something for the children of her city.

The forgotten children. The abandoned children. The children who, as Vincent had it, weren’t important enough to have two names.

It wasn’t fair to call what she did “child-rearing.” Being the product of a battlefield general and a lifelong scholar, Sithe didn’t have much in the way of an example when it came to being a gentle mother. She was a protector, a teacher. Sometimes she was callous; sometimes she was frightening. But in all the winding political webs of Moonguard’s merchant class, there was no one who fought harder for her charges than Miss Sithe.

She’d gone to her sire after her nineteenth dawning day, and she’d told him what she planned to do. Commander Breckenridge had immediately dipped into his coffers and bought out four abandoned storefronts. The inner walls were stripped out, and after four moon cycles of trial and failure, drinking, cursing, and bribery, the Breckenridge Children’s Home sat tall and proud (if a bit lopsided) as a sanctuary for the downtrodden.

Or so the good soldier liked to say.

There were more children living in Sithe’s orphanage than any other in the city, and no one quite understood how she managed to make it work as well as she did. Any number of fellow child-herders—their term, not hers—had asked after her secret, but all she would ever say was this:

“People take great pains to ensure that a child’s life leads into a responsible adulthood. Only that child’s parents take equal care to ensure that that life is happy. I have become their parent. I will keep them happy. My duty is not to my city, not its reputation nor its future. My duty is to my children.”

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