But she hadn’t responded as he expected, which had been to run away to tattle on him. She had taken hold of his tunic and challenged him, and they had wrestled amongst the vines and flowers, crushing the blooms and muddying their clothes. Jack had been surprised by how strong she was, how viciously she fought, as if she had been waiting for someone to match her. Her nails drew his blood, her elbows bruised his ribs. Her hair stung his face.
It had roused strange feelings within him. Adaira had fought as though she knew exactly how he felt, as if they were mirrors of each other. But that was ridiculous, because she had everything he didn’t. She was adored, and he was reviled. She was the clan’s joy, while he was the nuisance. And when he remembered that, he had striven to triumph in the match, pinning her beneath him on the garden path. But he drew back when he saw his fury reflected in her eyes. It was then she had said to him—
“Your parting words to me were that you ‘despised my existence,’ and that I ‘sullied the Tamerlaine name,’ and that you hoped that I ‘never returned to the isle,’” Jack drawled, as if those words had meant nothing to him then. For some strange reason, they made him ache now, as if Adaira’s farewell had seeped into his bones. But then again, he had never been one to forgive and forget easily.
Adaira was silent as she walked, listening to him.
“I’m sorry for the words I spoke that night,” she said, catching him by surprise. “And now you know why I had no choice but to forge my father’s order, because you would have never returned for me.”
“You’re right,” he said, and her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure if her mistrust was sparked by his honesty or the fact that he was agreeing with her. “I would have never returned for you alone, Adaira.”
“As I just said,” she spoke through her teeth.
At last, Jack thought as he slowed his pace. At last he had roused her temper. He said in a smug tone, “But only because I have built a life for myself on the mainland.”
Adaira paused on the path. “A life as a bard?”
“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. I’ll soon be a professor at the university.”
“You’re teaching now?”
“Hundreds of students a term,” he replied. “Endless music has passed through my hands over the past decade, most of it my own creation.”
“That’s quite the accomplishment,” she said, but he noticed how the light in her eyes dimmed. “Do you enjoy teaching?”
“Of course I do,” he said, although sometimes he also thought that he hated it. He was not one of the adored assistants, and every blue moon he dreamt of casting off all the expectations that sat heavy on him. Sometimes he imagined becoming a traveling bard who drank lore and spun it into song. He imagined gathering stories and reawakening places that were half dead and forgotten. And he wondered if remaining at the university, held within stone and glass and structure, was more akin to being a bird, held captive in an iron cage.
But these were dangerous thoughts.
It must be the isle blood in him. To crave a life of risk and little responsibility. To let the wind carry him from place to place.
Jack suddenly dashed these reveries, worried that Adaira might see them in his expression. “So now you can understand why it was very difficult for me to leave my life’s work for a mysterious purpose. And I want to know why you summoned me home. What do you want with me, heiress?”
“Let me first say this,” she said, and Jack braced himself. “You are a bard, and I am not your keeper. You are not tethered to me. You are free to come and go as you please, and if you want to leave the isle tonight and return to the mainland, then leave, Jack. I will find another to fulfill my request.”
She fell silent, but Jack sensed there was more. He patiently waited for it.
“But if I am honest,” Adaira continued, holding his gaze, “I need you. The clan needs you. We have been waiting ten long years for you to return home to us, and so I would ask you to stay and aid us in our time of need.”
Jack was astonished by her words. He stood frozen, staring at her. A terrible voice within him whispered, Leave. He thought of the winding corridors of the university, full of light and music. He thought of his students, their smiles and their determination to master the instruments he set into their hands.
Leave.
It was tempting, but her words were far more enticing. She claimed that she needed him in particular, and he was curious now. He wanted to know why, and he took a step forward, following her once again.
She led him into a small inner chamber, devoid of windows. A room in which to discuss sensitive topics, he knew, as there was no chance of the wind stealing the words spoken there. A host of candles burned on a table, and flames crackled in the hearth, shedding light. Jack stood by the closed door as Adaira approached a table and poured them each a dram of whiskey. When she brought the drink to him, he hesitated, even as the firelight caught the glass, casting her hand in amber.
“Is this a peace offering or a bribe?” he asked, brow arched.
Adaira smiled. It was genuine, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “A bit of both, perhaps? I thought you might enjoy a taste of the isle. I hear mainland fare is quite dull.”
Jack accepted the offering, but then he realized she was waiting for him to make a toast.
He cleared his throat and said, a bit gruffly, “To the east.”
“To the east,” she echoed, clinking her glass with his. And she waited until he had taken his first sip of the whiskey, which curled down his throat like a flame of ancient fire, to add, “Welcome home, my old menace.”
Jack coughed. His eyes watered and his nose burned, but he held himself together and merely winced at her.
This is not my home anymore, he almost said, but the words melted when she smiled at him again.
Adaira moved to sit in a leather chair, pointing to an empty one across from hers. “Have a seat, Jack.”
Whatever she had to ask of him must be truly wretched if she had to ply him with whiskey and order him to sit. Jack relented, sitting on the edge of the cushion, as if he might need to bolt at any moment. He laid his harp across his lap, weary from toting it around.
She was gazing at him again, her fingertip tracing the rim of her glass. He took that quiet moment to study her in return. In particular, her hands. There were no rings on her fingers. But sometimes partners didn’t wear rings to signify their vows. Sometimes they broke a golden coin and each wore a half of it around their neck, and so Jack’s eyes traveled upward. Her dress was cut square, exposing the valleys of her collarbones. Her throat was bare; no necklace hung about it. He presumed Adaira was still unwed, which surprised him.
“You’re exactly how I imagined you to be, Jack,” she said, and his eyes snapped back to hers.
“I haven’t changed?” he asked.
“In some ways, yes. But in others … I think I would know you anywhere.” She downed her whiskey, as if the confession had made her feel vulnerable. Jack watched as she swallowed, uncertain how to reply.
He kept his face poised as he drained the rest of his drink.
“More?” she asked.
“No.”
“Your hand’s bandaged. Are you hurt?”
Jack flexed it. The pain from the cut had faded considerably, thanks to Sidra’s care. “Just a scratch. The folk of the sea weren’t very welcoming.”