The last time I let her hold my hand like this, we were at my father’s bedside. We are closer now somehow, and she smiles even though her eyes shine with tears.
“You’ve done so much, Moira,” she says. “Your father would be so proud.”
We stay just like that, sitting at the table together, drinking tea. We talk and talk, making up for all the years we haven’t—until evening becomes night proper.
I set my teacup down. “I was going to visit Jude.”
My mother looks toward the window. “It’s a little late for it now, dear.”
“They’re keeping him there overnight,” I reply. “He ought to have some company.”
“Well, here…” Getting up, she takes a few of the cakes she means to sell tomorrow and ties them neatly in cloth. “Bring him these.”
I start on the path to Dunmore with a lantern in hand and my mother’s cakes stuffed into my coat pocket.
After fainting on the beach, Jude was taken to the hospital. He was treated for shock, and having recently recovered from siren song, the doctors gave him additional care: salves and clean bandages and a tidier row of stitches since he’d torn the previous ones.
A nurse directs me to his room, and I smile upon seeing the light beneath his door. I turn the knob without bothering to knock and slip inside.
Jude is already sitting up in bed, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling. My heart does one slow roll in my chest before he turns toward me.
“Moira,” he says, sounding so pleased that I break into a grin.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” I ask.
A wicker chair is placed near the tiled wall, and I drag it to his bedside.
He leans against the bed rail. He wears a white undershirt, the short sleeves showing off his new line of stitches. A bandage covers the cut on his neck. Despite these things, he looks well—perhaps better than he has in days.
“Did you speak with the nurse?” His tone is conspiratorial.
“For a moment.”
“You ought to tell her I don’t need to be in here.” He throws out an arm, gesturing at nothing in particular. “Keeping me overnight, I mean, it’s quite unnecessary. I’m perfectly fine. Who is at the light?”
“Mr. Irving, I believe.” Inspector Dale told me as much. Irving boarded the tender back when the police arrived to take Dylan Osric into custody.
Jude releases a sigh. “He and Daugherty are going to give me an earful tomorrow.”
I pull the cloth package from my pocket, sliding it onto his nightstand. “My mother had me bring you cakes.”
“Oh.” He looks at the package. “Thank you. Tell her I’m much obliged.”
“I shall.” I reach over and take his hand atop the sheets. His skin feels warm next to mine. “Are you really all right?”
“Yes.” He grins wide, terrifically bright. “Yes, actually. Moira—we did it.”
“All thanks to Jude Osric’s rash decisions,” I say, which makes him laugh.
“I am sorry,” he says, and I’m ready to scoff at the apology, when he continues. “There wasn’t any other way. I didn’t see—”
“We could’ve thought of something.”
“Perhaps.”
This time I do scoff. “You nearly got yourself killed, Jude.”
“I know.”
Night muffles the activities of the hospital. Everything seems incredibly still, and I find myself wondering if the world is still turning, if the island still exists outside these walls. And despite the fact that Jude is here, alive, I’ll never be able to forget the sound he made when Thackery brought a knife to his throat, or the look in his eyes when we both thought he was going to die. I brush my thumb over the back of his hand.
“I rang him from the watch room,” Jude whispers, “when I got back from Dunmore. Told him to meet me on the beach. I said I had proof—evidence that he killed Connor and Nell.”
“Then what?”
“Then I sent a wire to Inspector Dale. I wrote you that note, grabbed a knife, and went. I didn’t… I didn’t realize… I thought perhaps I could reason with him.” He takes a deep breath. “I guess it was quite senseless in hindsight.”
“You’re not going to contradict me at all, then?”
“No.” He rubs the corner of his eye. “It was dangerous, I know. I saw a sliver of opportunity and I jumped at it. But, Moira, now that it’s over—dear God, I’m just relieved.”
“Me too,” I say in a whisper, and I feel silence close around us once more. Rain taps at the window glass. I try to recall the last time I slept, but it seems like years ago.
Softly, Jude says, “I’m glad you didn’t shoot Thackery.”
I look at him. It takes me a moment to think of something to say. “Well, I’ve never shot anyone. I didn’t want to hit you by accident.”
He holds my gaze, brown eyes wide and honest. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he says again, and there’s an odd quality to his voice, a grave seriousness mixed in with the relief.
The words are a weight in the space between us, a balance, anchoring me the way Jude Osric always has. A steady hand in the dark.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I think perhaps we both know what I’m really thanking him for.
His hand grips mine, and we sit together in the small hospital room, on an island smeared in blood and secrets. It’s an island filled with incomprehensible things, perfect in its imperfections—a flawed design that still holds despite the cracks.
And it is ours.
EPILOGUE
IN THE EAST OF TWILLENGYLE, the evening sky burns red. Night settles in sooner with the arrival of October, so a waxen moon joins the setting sun on the horizon. Jude steps out of the keeper’s cottage, shutting the door behind him. He holds a lantern high.
“Whose bright idea was this again?” he asks.
“I think,” I say, smiling, “it was yours.”
“Ah.”
We set off toward the path leading down to the beach. Jude is hatless, wearing his new oilskin jacket, and when he offers his arm, I press close to him. It still feels like a miracle that he’s here at my side at all. We reach the bottom of the cliff and find a cleft in the rock.
Jude puts out his lantern light. He says, “You have iron on you?”
“Yes.” I look at him, his dark eyes turned amber in the fading light. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
I reach over, taking his hand. His palm is clammy and warm against mine. “We can go back, if you like,” I tell him. “We don’t need to do this.”
Jude holds my gaze. “No,” he says, voice steady. “I want to be here, Moira.”
I grin back at him. We are close, hidden in this damp crevice of the cliff. Jude leans forward and kisses me. I grip the front of his jacket, my heartbeat fluttering.
“You know,” he says, pulling back, “as of late, I feel almost as if I’ve lost my bearings. What are we to do now?”
“I will tell you,” I say with a smile. And I lean close again, to whisper in his ear, as though I’m imparting the greatest of secrets. “You, Jude Osric, will keep the light. I will play my violin out on the cliff’s edge. The sirens will remain safe beneath the waves.”