It had been quite some time since he had composed music.
On the mainland, his compositions had gravitated to sorrow and laments. To doomed ballads. But he wondered what his notes would sound like here, on the isle. How they would form now that he was home.
He was exhausted, and yet he felt keenly aware of his surroundings. The bed looked inviting, but Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
He rose and returned to the desk. He sat and chose a quill, then opened a glass well brimming with walnut ink.
He reflected on the day. How sweet the eastern wind had tasted, how it had touched Adaira’s hair as she stood before him when they spoke their vows.
He envisioned wings, gliding over the hills, beating against the stars. Stealing words and carrying them across the heather. Chasing rain and dancing with smoke.
Slowly, he remembered years he had once longed to bury.
Jack began to write a song for the spirits of the wind.
CHAPTER 16
It was sweltering by noontide. A hazy, sun-drenched day for the first trade to take place between east and west. Jack stood beside Adaira in an old fisherman’s hut, with a crate of the Tamerlaines’ best grains, honey, milk, and wine at their feet. The goods had been gathered in secret and were ready to be carried down to the northern coast, where they would meet Moray Breccan. Their only obstacle was Torin, who hovered between them and the hut’s door.
“This is foolish, Adi,” he said, glaring at her. “You should let me come with you.”
“We’ve already discussed this, Torin,” Adaira said in a clipped tone. She was exhausted. Jack knew they had both stolen only a few hours of sleep last night, in their separate beds. “I’m to approach unarmed and without my guard, as is Jack.”
“Aye, so Moray Breccan can sink an arrow into you,” Torin said. “And I won’t be there to stop it, or even see it happen.”
Adaira was quiet, but her eyes were on her cousin. “What are you afraid of, Torin? Give this fear a name, so I can put your mind at ease.”
That brought Torin upright. He stared at her, jaw clenched and eyes glinting in the light.
In that tense moment, Jack saw through the captain as if he were made of glass. Torin never wanted to appear weak or incapable; Jack imagined this must be a Tamerlaine trait. Pride and the need to appear invincible must have been passed down in their blood, generation after generation.
“If they kill you,” Torin said in a low voice. “I will burn the west to the ground. I won’t spare a single Breccan life.”
“You would kill innocent women and children, Torin?” Adaira countered. She didn’t give him a chance to reply before she continued. “You’re afraid of losing me. I understand your fear because I have also felt its many shades. But while I may be your imminent laird, I am not yours to lose. I belong to the clan as a whole, and my choice to participate in the trade today is for the good of all the Tamerlaines.”
Torin sighed. “Adi …”
“I’m also going to find an answer we are desperate to know,” she said, touching her bodice, where the last Orenna flower had been tucked away in a vial.
Torin’s scowl only deepened. He knew what she inferred. “Did Sidra put you up to this?”
“Sidra has given me advice I desperately needed,” Adaira said. “Knowing where this flower grows is going to help us solve this mystery. It could help us find Maisie.”
Torin was silent, and Jack took that moment to study him. The captain’s clothes looked looser, as if he had lost weight. His skin was sallow, and a few silver threads gleamed in his blond hair. Jack wondered if Torin had slept or eaten a proper meal since his daughter had been kidnapped. It seemed like he would slowly wither away without answers, and the thought made Jack feel laden with sorrow.
Torin drew a sharp breath and said, “If a Breccan was crossing the clan line, I’d know instantly. Sidra mentioned to me that she thinks the west is involved, and yet I don’t see how they could be.”
“They might be involved in a trade with one of our own,” Adaira said. “Not crossing themselves but sending the flowers over to the east.”
“I still don’t see how this is possible,” Torin countered.
“This is why you must let me go to meet Moray,” she replied. “To discover how we’re going to send this crate of goods over to the west without crossing the clan line.”
Torin made no reply, but he wanted to protest. Jack could see the captain’s frustration building, but Adaira added in a soft voice, “You and your guards have been searching endlessly, Torin. Let me help by doing this.”
Torin, at last, nodded and stepped back, clearing the way to the hut’s door.
Adaira turned to Jack. “Help me carry the crate.”
Jack took one side, Adaira the other, and together they slipped from the hut and began the careful trek down the rocks. Torin and a few of his trusted guards remained behind, ensuring that no one approached or caught a glimpse of Jack and Adaira. This trade-by-trial was still steeped in secret, and only a select few had been given knowledge of it.
Jack didn’t know what to expect. He tried to appear optimistic for Adaira’s sake, even as he felt more inclined to agree with Torin. The one thing he could be assured of was that the cave they were visiting was a forbidden place, and it would soon fill with water as the tide rose.
They finally reached the shore. A western wind blew, hot with curiosity as birds cawed and swooped down to the water. The waves surged and retreated, leaving pieces of conch shells and tendrils of algae in their wake. The sand was soft, crushed beneath Jack’s boots as he walked with Adaira, the crate bumping against his leg. The clan line loomed in the distance, a chain of stones on the beach smudged with the heat of the air.
It made Jack think of his return to the isle. How he had washed up on the Breccans’ southern coast. There had been no one in the west to greet or threaten him, even for the short amount of time he had inadvertently trespassed. And yet he knew the Breccans had their own watch. Sometimes it felt as if keeping secrets on this isle was impossible, as if the best place for them might be in the woven pattern of a plaid, as Mirin knew best.
All too soon, Jack and Adaira reached the boundary. The edge of the east. They followed the rocks to the cave, its mouth invisible until Jack squinted. Into the shadows he went, Adaira following. They were the first to arrive, and the water was already knee deep. Jack shivered as it soaked through his boots. His eyes swept their surroundings; he took the crate and set it on a rock to keep it dry.
It was dim in the cave, the air cold and prickled with brine. It was a small, round space, and only a few threads of sunlight streamed in from cracks overhead.
Jack didn’t like it here. The place felt dangerous, eager to drown them if they weren’t vigilant about the tide. Ream’s words came to mind, as clear as if she stood in the foam of the cave, speaking to them again. Beware of blood in the water. Had the folk of the tide seen a glimpse of the future? Had they anticipated that this meeting would take place here and sought to give a warning to Adaira?
Jack shifted his weight, uneasy.
The wait for Moray’s arrival felt unbearable. Trying to ease his worries, Jack studied Adaira. He had scarcely given himself a moment to look at her that day, it had begun so madly with covertly preparing for the trade. But his eyes traced her now.