“Missing,” Graeme said, pouring himself a cup of tea.
“You have no idea where it is?”
“If I did, don’t you think I would have recovered it, son?” Graeme added a hearty splash of milk into his tea, meeting Torin’s gaze over the rim of the cup as he sipped. “Take it, Torin. Read it. Perhaps the answer you need rests within those pages. But I expect you to return this book to me in a timely manner. That is, unless Sidra and Maisie want it. Then they can keep it.”
Torin arched his brow, only mildly offended. He noticed the slant of sunlight on the floor, realizing he had stayed much longer than he had intended.
“Sidra and Maisie thank you for the book then.” He lifted it as a toast, despite the fact that this visit had been a waste of his time. As he wound his way back through the clutter, Torin was surprised that Graeme accompanied him to the door.
“It once belonged to Joan Tamerlaine,” said Graeme. “It was written before the clan line was formed.”
Torin paused at the gate, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“The book in your hand, son.”
Torin glanced down at it again. “This was Joan’s?”
“Aye. And it’s in the west.”
“What is?”
“The other half of the book.” His father shut the door without another word.
Jack sat at his desk that night, studying Lorna’s ballad by firelight. He had come to know her notes well. They hummed in his thoughts, eager to be played, and he was just about to extinguish his candle when his shutters rattled.
He froze.
He had no blade to defend himself. His eyes darted around the room, landing on his old slingshot. He rose and grabbed it, although he had no river rocks to shoot, and he pushed open the shutters with a burst of anger.
There was a caw, a flap of dark wings.
Jack’s breath loosened when he realized it had only been a raven. The bird retreated before circling back, then landed on his desk with an indignant screech.
“What do you want?” he asked, noticing the roll of parchment that was fastened to its leg. He gently unraveled it, but the bird continued to wait, and Jack read:
Forgive me for missing our meeting today. As you might imagine, I was swept away by Catriona’s disappearance. But I still desire to speak with you, my old menace. Let me come to you this time. Tomorrow evening at Mirin’s, before you play for the spirits.
There was no signature, but only one person called him “old menace.” Adaira must be expecting a reply, because her raven still waited, watching him with beady eyes.
Jack sat at his desk and wrote:
Your apology is accepted, heiress. My sister will be thrilled to see you tomorrow. My mother will insist on feeding you. Come hungry.
He began to sign his name but thought better of it. With a wry tilt on his lips, he wrote:
—Your one and only O.M.
He rolled it up and bound the parchment with twine to the raven’s leg. The bird took flight with a flap of dark blue wings.
Jack dreamt of the spirits of the sea that night. He dreamt of opening his mouth to sing for them and drowning instead.
CHAPTER 7
Hold the slingshot like this,” Jack instructed Frae. They stood in one of the croft’s paddocks, in the crook of the river. The air was cool with evening and smelled of the nearby Aithwood—sweet sap and sharp pine and damp oak. The wind was tranquil, the hillside spotted with wild orchids.
Adaira should be arriving soon.
“Like this?” Frae asked.
“Yes, that’s right. Take up a river stone and place it in the pocket.” He watched as Frae found her stone and pulled back on the pouch, aiming for the target he had built out of the byre’s old wood. It seemed to take her forever to let it go, and the rock sailed past the target, to her disappointment.
“I missed,” she mumbled.
“I missed in the beginning too,” Jack reassured her. “If you practice every day, you’ll soon hit the target.”
Frae took up a rock and shot again. It was another miss, but Jack only encouraged her to try it once more, to shoot until all of the river rocks they had gathered were gone, lost in the long grass of the paddock. As they walked to retrieve them, Jack studied the river. It flowed through the western portion of Mirin’s property, wide but shallow, melodious and brimming with perfect slingshot rocks.
“Mum has probably already said this to you,” he began. “But you know that you should never draw water from this river, don’t you?”
Frae watched its currents, seemingly harmless as it reflected the hues of sunset. “Yes.”
“Do you know why, Frae?”
“Because it flows from the Breccans’ land. But I can gather rocks from it, right? For your slingshot?”
He met her gaze and nodded. “Yes. Just the rocks.”
“Have the Breccans ever poisoned it before, Jack?” Frae asked, bending to pick up the stones. “The river, I mean.”
He hesitated until she looked up at him. Her eyes were mirrors of his—wide set and dark as new moons. Only hers still shone with innocence, and he wished more than anything she could remain that way. Full of hope and wonder and goodness. That she would never know the sharp, jaded ways of the world.
“No,” he replied. “But there’s always the chance that they might.”
“Why would they want to do that, Jack?”
He was quiet, rolling his lips together as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s hard to understand, I know, sister. But the Breccans don’t like us, and we don’t like the Breccans. We’ve been at odds with them for centuries now.”
“I wish it could be different,” Frae said with a sigh. “Mum says the Breccans are hungry when winter comes. Can’t we just share our food with them?”
Her words brought Jack to a stop as he imagined an isle that was united. He could hardly fathom it.
Frae paused, looking up at him. She held the slingshot in one hand and rocks in the other. A few wilted flowers were tucked into her hair.
“I wish it could be different too,” he said. “Perhaps one day it will be, Frae.”
“I hope so.”
They walked back to their starting point to have another practice round. He wanted Frae to have a weapon and to know how to use it. He wanted her to carry this slingshot with her everywhere.
She aimed and fired, hitting the corner of the target.
“I did it!” she cried, and Jack was clapping when another voice spoke.
“Excellent shot, Frae.”
Jack and Frae both turned to see Adaira standing a few paces away, watching with a smile. She was dressed in a dark red gown, an umber cloak shielding her back. Her hair was loose and brushed into silk, the long waves reaching her waist.
Jack almost didn’t recognize her. She looked otherworldly at first glance as the sun continued to set, limning her in gold.
“Heiress,” Frae said in an awed tone. “I can’t believe you’re here! I thought Jack was teasing me.”
Adaira laughed. “No teasing. I’m honored to spend the evening with you, Frae.”
“Would you like to shoot the slingshot?” Frae asked. She sounded nervous, and Jack’s heart warmed.