Frae stood beside Mirin, watching her weave on the loom. It was an ordinary plaid, one that didn’t hold a secret because Frae wasn’t to learn that skill until she came of age. And yet Frae’s eyes felt crossed amongst all the threads. No matter how she tried, she didn’t see what her mother did. She couldn’t see the possibilities, how to make a pattern come to life, but she dutifully watched Mirin work.
The chamber brimmed with the clack of the shuttle, the musty fragrance of wool being woven—sounds and scents that were familiar but made Frae daydream. She stifled a yawn as her thoughts wandered.
When a knock sounded at the door, Frae’s heart lifted, grateful for the interruption, and she went to answer it.
Torin stood on the threshold.
Frae gaped at the captain for a moment, wondering why he had come. She thought maybe he was back to search the house again, but then she noticed a black-and-white collie panting at his side.
“Good afternoon, Fraedah,” Torin said. “Is your mum home?”
Frae shyly nodded and opened the door further.
Torin commanded the dog to sit and wait on the stoop before entering with muddy boots. Frae shut the door, uncertain whether to leave or stay.
“Captain,” Mirin greeted him, turning away from the loom. “How may I help you?”
“I’ve come to commission you, Mirin,” he replied.
“Another plaid, in the vein of your others?” Mirin asked, nodding to Frae, who hurried to boil some water for tea.
“No, not for me,” Torin said. “It’s for Sidra.”
Frae listened to Torin describe the shawl he wanted Mirin to weave as she quietly filled the pot and carried it to the hearth. She had taught herself how to move without sound, how to move like a shadow. Her game of stealth ended only when she had to set the kettle on the iron hook and stir the logs, renewing the flames.
The talk began to drift from the plaid to what had transpired a few nights ago. Her mum hadn’t wanted Frae to know all that had happened, but she had gathered bits and pieces of information, puzzling it all together to realize that Maisie had vanished and Sidra had been attacked. Sidra, who Frae thought was one of the most beautiful people on the isle.
The news had strengthened Frae’s fears. It felt like her heart was bruised.
“How is Sidra today?” Mirin was asking.
“She’s recovering,” Torin answered. Frae thought his voice sounded different from normal. Like he was short of breath. “I’m still searching.”
“No trace?”
He shook his head.
The tea prepared, Frae glanced at her mother, who was intently watching the captain.
“About this plaid, Mirin,” he continued with an awkward wave of his hand. “I would like for it to be strong as steel. Something to guard her when I’m away.”
He wanted it to be enchanted.
Mirin glanced at Frae, and Frae recognized it as the sign. The one that meant Frae was to go outside but to stay within the safety of the yard. She quickly filled two cups of tea and set them down on the table between Mirin and the captain, despite the fact neither of them had sat.
“Thank you, lass,” Torin said with a sad smile. It made Frae feel like she was important, and she wished more than anything she could remain in the room and hear the secret Torin wanted Mirin to weave into the plaid.
“I’ll go gather the eggs, Mum,” Frae said and meekly departed, latching the front door behind her.
When she turned to the yard, she saw the dog, waiting on Torin to return. She tentatively stroked its fur before walking around the garden toward the coop.
Jack was in the byre yard, on his hands and knees. Frae ran to join him, her heart lifting. He had been working on the byre most of the morning, resetting stones and reframing the windows, thatching fresh straw for the roof. Frae was grateful for these repairs, because she worried about their three cows not having enough shelter when it rained and snowed. When the wind blew harshly from the north.
“Jack!” she greeted him, clambering over the stone wall.
He glanced up at her. His hair was tangled, his face sun-burned. He looked so different now, Frae thought. The first night she had met him, she had thought he looked sad and pale, as if a breeze could sigh through him. Now his skin was darkening from the sun, his eyes were brighter, and his presence was strong, as if nothing could bend him.
“Did Mum send you to me, little sister?” he asked with a grin.
That was what she liked most about him. Almost as much as his music. Frae loved his smile, because it made her own rise, every time.
“Yes. Can I help?”
“Please do.”
She knelt beside him and watched as he worked.
“I feel like you have always been here with us,” she said. “It’s hard to remember what it was like before you came home.”
She hoped he never left.
“I’m glad to hear it, Frae. Here, why don’t you help me bundle the straw?”
Together, they measured out golden heaps, which Jack would carry up the ladder to the roof, where he thatched the straw with sticks.
“I was so nervous,” Frae blurted.
“What were you nervous about, sister?”
She wiped the dust from her hands and squinted up at him. “That you wouldn’t like me.”
Jack blinked. He looked stunned, as if she had just smacked him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, and Frae glanced down at her fingers, twirling a thread of straw. He reached over to affectionately tap her chin up.
“Impossible. You’re the sister I always wanted.”
Frae grinned. She was about to say something else when the back door of the cottage slammed, startling them both. Mirin never slammed doors. Their mother appeared in the yard, blazing a trail through the garden toward them.
“Uh-oh,” Frae whispered, shooting to her feet.
Jack steadied her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“John Tamerlaine!” Mirin shouted and slammed the yard gate next, so roughly that it bounced back open, creaking in protest. She was almost to the byre, and Jack slowly stood.
“Are you in trouble?” Frae asked him, anxiously twiddling the end of her braid.
“I think so,” Jack replied.
Mirin came to a halt before them, but her glare was for Jack alone.
“When were you going to tell me, hmm?” she cried. “After you wed her?”
Frae’s mouth fell open, and she turned to stare up at her brother.
Jack held Mirin’s flinty stare, but he squeezed Frae’s shoulder, as if silently begging her to remain at his side. Frae stepped closer to him.
“Of course not, Mum. She only just asked me.”
“When is it? When is the wedding?”
“It’s not a wedding. It’s a handfast—”
Mirin tossed up her hands, her frustration palpable. “It’ll be a wedding, son. You’re marrying the heiress.”
Frae gasped, her eyes round as saucers. She clapped her hand over her lips when Mirin and Jack both glanced at her.
Her brother was marrying Adaira.
Frae loved Adaira. She wanted to grow up to become Adaira. And now the heiress was going to be her sister.
Her heart began to pound with excitement. She could hardly keep still, and she felt like dancing.
“Marriage isn’t a game, Jack,” Mirin continued in a voice Frae rarely heard. A sharp, pointed cadence.
Jack shifted his weight. Frae could sense his anger. “I know what marriage is, and I don’t step into it lightly, Mum.”
“Do you love her?”
Jack was silent.
Frae laced her fingers together and gazed up at him, waiting to hear him say that he did.
“I care for her,” he eventually said. “She has asked this of me, and I’m doing it because she wants it, and it’s for the good of the clan.”
Mirin’s eyes thawed at last—Frae knew the worst of her temper was gone now. Her mother laid a hand over her throat, as if to calm her pulse. “What about your university, Jack?”
Frae winced, waiting for his reply. Would he take Adaira away with him?
“I’m done with teaching.” The words slipped out of him in a growl. “I don’t want to go back.”
Frae almost jumped, a cheer rising in her throat. But she held it in, gazing up at her brother. Did that mean he was staying forever?
“And what do you plan to do here?” Mirin asked. “Other than be Adaira’s partner?”
“She has asked me to become Bard of the East.”
This time Frae couldn’t hold in her excitement. She squealed and threw her arms around him. Sometimes Jack still felt stiff when she embraced him. But not that day. He hugged her back.
“This is a great honor she’s giving you,” Mirin said. “When is the wedding then?”
Jack hesitated before speaking in a very low voice. So deep Frae almost didn’t catch his reply. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mirin shouted.
“Adaira’s decision. Not mine.”
“And what are you going to wear?”
“Clothes, I suppose.”
Mirin swatted him, but she was hiding a smile, and the tension faded between them. “You’ve taken a few years off my life, Jack. Just … look at you. How did you convince her to ask you?”
He sighed. Frae studied him. She saw the dirt staining his nails, the splinters that had worked their way beneath his skin, the hay that hung in his hair like threads of gold.
He looked like he finally belonged here with them.
“Adaira asked me, and I said yes. Simple as that.”
Mirin appeared unconvinced, but Frae knew better. She saw the light in her brother. She knew why Adaira had chosen him.
“I suppose I need to prepare your wedding garments then,” Mirin said, hands on her hips as she studied him. “As quick as I can.”
“Nothing enchanted, Mum,” he warned her. “I will only wear ordinary clothes.”
“And your hair needs trimming.” She wasn’t listening to him, and Jack stepped away when Mirin tried to pull the straw from his hair.
“My hair is fine.” He began to stride to the back door, as if he wanted to escape.
Frae couldn’t help but follow him, like a shadow. She followed him all the way to his bedroom, where he began to pack his harp.
She wondered where he was going, and then it struck her. Of course, he was going to see Adaira! He was so lucky; he could see her whenever he wanted now.
“Oh Jack!” Frae said, dancing on the balls of her feet. “It’s like a dream come true.”
He only smiled at her, reaching for a small stack of parchment. He tucked the paper into his harp case, and she sensed how anxious he was. Why was he nervous?
And then another realization hit her, like a fist to her stomach.
“Oh no,” Frae gasped.
Jack paused, glancing at her. “What’s the matter, Frae?”
“Oh no,” she said again, her joy disintegrating. She dragged her fingertips down her face. “If you marry Adaira … then you won’t live here anymore.”
Jack knelt before her. His harp was tucked beneath his arm, and his eyes were gentle as he looked at her.
“I’m honestly not sure what to expect in the next few days, sister,” he said. “But I will never be far from you. That I can promise.”
Frae nodded. He tapped her chin, provoking another smile from her.
The back door creaked, and Jack grimaced.
“Now I must fly,” he whispered as he stood. “Before Mum catches me.”
“You shouldn’t run from Mum, Jack,” Frae scolded. She watched, wide eyed, as her brother proceeded to climb on his desk. “Jack!”
He held his finger over his lips and winked at her. One moment he was there, crouched on his desk. The next he was gone, vanishing out the window.
“Frae?” Mirin said, pushing open the bedroom door. “Frae, where did your brother go?”
Frae was still staring at the window, amazed. “I think he went to see Adaira.”
Mirin heaved a sigh. “A wedding. Tomorrow. Spirits below, what is Jack thinking?”
The excitement began to rise again. It tingled at Frae’s fingertips, making her want to dance.
She was thrilled and astonished. And suddenly overwhelmed.
Frae turned, buried her face in Mirin’s side, and wept.
The news spread like wildfire.
Jack stepped through pools of gossip as he walked the thoroughfare of Sloane. He felt every stare like a pinprick. He didn’t falter, nor did he make eye contact, and he let the whispers drip off him like rain.
Why, the clan wondered. Why would Adaira choose him?
Why, indeed, Jack mused wryly as he was ushered into the hall to wait for Adaira. He sat at one of the dusty tables, thrumming his fingers on the wood, lost in contemplation.
He was still in shock that she had asked him to marry her, and that he had told her yes. He was beginning to realize more and more that he couldn’t return to the mainland. Not when his mother was ill and he had a little sister and Adaira wanted him and the isle had embraced him despite all his years away. Not when he had played for the spirits of the sea.
He had changed, and he looked at his hands, now dirty from repairing the byre. He would have never attempted to rethatch a roof, or shovel manure, or reset stone walls in his academic life. His hands were his livelihood as a harpist—as vain as it sounded, he couldn’t afford to break a nail—and yet he was pleased to know they had also made repairs on the byre. His hands could offer more to others than he had once thought or even wanted to give.
“Have you come to tell me you’ve changed your mind, bard?”
Adaira’s voice was like a hook, reeling in his attention. Jack stood and turned to behold her standing in the aisle. Her hair was tamed into a braided crown that day. A moon thistle was tucked behind her ear like a rose, and there were faint smudges beneath her eyes. It was apparent she hadn’t slept much either, Jack thought, admiring the crimson embroidery on her dress.
“My mind is unchanged, although I did wonder if I dreamt of you last night,” he said, meeting her gaze. He was caught off guard by the defensive light that flickered within her, like moonlight on a steel blade. She had expected him to change his mind and disappoint her. Jack let the affront rise in him for a moment, then felt it fizzle away. This must be a wound within her; someone had once given her a promise and then broken it. Jack added, “I’ll not go back on my word, Adaira.”
She mellowed and stepped closer to him, noticing his harp. “You’re prepared?”
Jack nodded, although he felt a pinch of worry. He had Sidra’s tonic and salve packed away in his harp case, but he didn’t know what to expect. He was both eager and hesitant to play for the spirits again, and he followed Adaira into the sunshine of the courtyard. She led him to the stables, to his great distress.
“Can’t we walk?” he asked.
“This will be faster,” Adaira said, mounting a dapple mare. “And besides, it will keep people from pestering us on the streets.”
She made a good point. Jack still hesitated.
“I chose the gentlest of steeds for you to ride today,” she said, indicating the bay gelding that waited beside her horse.
Jack gave Adaira a flat look but pulled himself up into the saddle.
They rode together to the Earie Stone, the heart of Eastern Cadence, where the hills began to rise into mountains.
Adaira and Jack left their horses safely hobbled by a creek and ascended the hill, where the stone sat jagged and proud on the summit, a ring of alder trees surrounding it like dancing maidens.
“It feels like yesterday, doesn’t it, my old menace,” Adaira said wistfully as she walked beneath the boughs.
Jack knew what she spoke of. He felt it too, the way time seemed to cease on this sacred ground. It was eleven years ago that he and Adaira had fought over the thistle patch, not far from here.
He stood beneath one of the trees, a reverent distance from the stone, and watched as Adaira continued to walk around the perimeter.
“I’m sorry, you know,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I don’t think I ever apologized for shoving my thistles into your face and then abandoning you to your fate.”
“They were never your thistles to begin with,” Jack teased. “You stole them from my secret patch. And you still do, I see.” He nodded at the moon thistle tucked into her braid, and Adaira came to a stop an arm’s length away from him.
“Shall we split the patch equally now? Would that make you happy, bard?”
Jack was silent for a beat, and then he said, “No. I don’t want half of anything. Only all of it.”
Adaira held his gaze. She drew a deep breath, as if she wanted to say something to him. Perhaps to acknowledge the electricity that was brewing between them. Jack hoped that she would speak it first. Every time he saw her, he felt it a little more. Felt the tension like a harp string within him, strung from rib to rib.
“Are you ready to play?” she asked.
He heaved a sigh, hiding his disappointment. But this was why he was here. To sing for the earth, not to name his feelings for Adaira.
Jack deliberated about where to sit—facing the stone or facing one of the trees. In the end, he opted to sit on the grass with his face to the stone, his harp arranged on his lap. Adaira only sat after he had settled, a few yards away from him.
As he began to strum on his harp, he filled his mind with images of earth. Old crumbling stones and tangled grasses, wildflowers and weeds and saplings that put down deep roots, growing into mighty trees. The color of dirt, the scent of it. How it felt clutched in the hollow of one’s palm. The voice of branches, swaying in the breeze, and the slope of the earth as it rose and fell, faithful and steady.
Jack closed his eyes and began to sing. He didn’t want to see the spirits manifest, but he heard the grass hissing near his knees, and he heard the tree boughs groaning above him, and he heard the scratch of stone, as if two were being rubbed together. When he heard Adaira’s soft gasp, Jack opened his eyes.
The spirits were forming themselves, gathering around him to listen. He played and sang and watched as the trees became maidens with long arms and hair made of leaves. The grass and pennywort knotted themselves into what looked to be mortal lads, small and green. The stones found their faces like old men waking from a long dream. The wildflowers broke their stems and gathered into the shape of a woman with long dark hair and eyes the color of honeysuckle, her skin purple as the heather that bloomed on the hills. Yellow gorse crowned her, and she waited beside the Earie Stone, whose face was still forming, craggy and ancient.
As Jack played Lorna’s ballad he felt as if he was slowly sinking into the earth. His limbs were becoming heavy, and he drooped like a flower wilting beneath a fierce sun. It was like the sensation of falling asleep. He swore he saw daisies blooming from his fingertips, and every time he plucked his strings the petals broke away but regrew just as swiftly. And his ankles … he couldn’t move them, the tree roots had begun to take hold of him. His hair was turning into grass, green and long and tangled, and as the song ended he struggled to remember who he was, that he was mortal, a man. Someone was coming to him, bright as a fallen star, and he felt her hands on his face, blissfully cold.
“Please,” the woman said, but not to him. She beseeched the wildflower spirit with her long dark hair and crown of vibrant gorse. “Please, this man belongs to me. You cannot claim him.”
“Why, mortal woman,” one of the pennywort lads said from the ground, his words raspy as summer hay falling to a scythe. “Why did you sit so far away from him? We thought he sang to be taken by us.”
Jack snapped out of the haze. Adaira was kneeling beside him, her hand shifting to his arm. He was stricken to see that he truly had been turning into the earth—grass, flowers, and roots. His harp clattered from his tingling hands; he struggled to breathe as he watched his body return to him.
“He is mine, and he played to bring you forth by my command,” Adaira said calmly. “I long to speak to you, spirits of the earth. If I may have your permission, Lady Whin of the Wildflowers.”
Whin regarded Adaira for a long moment. She shifted her honeysuckle eyes to the Earie Stone, an old face who also was watching Adaira.
“It is her,” Whin said, her voice light and airy.
“No, it cannot be,” the Earie Stone countered. His words were hard to discern, crunching like gravel.
“It is,” Whin persisted. “I have waited a long time for this moment.” She turned her attention back to the mortals, and Jack felt Adaira shiver.
“I’m Adaira Tamerlaine,” Adaira said, and her voice was strong in spite of her fear. “My bard has summoned you so I may ask for your help.”
“What help, mortal lady?” one of the alder maidens asked.
“Four lasses have gone missing in the east,” Adaira began. “We are desperate to find them, to reunite them with their families. I have questions that I would like to ask you.”
“We can only answer so much, Adaira of the Tamerlaines,” Whin said. “But ask, and if we may speak, we will.”
“Can you tell me where the lasses are?” Adaira said.
Whin shook her head. “No, but we can say they are all together in one place.”
Adaira’s breath caught. “They’re alive, then?”
“Yes. They live and they are hale.”
Jack felt the relief trickle through him. He hadn’t realized how afraid he had been to learn the girls were dead until that moment.
“The man who has been kidnapping them,” Adaira rushed to continue. “Who is he, and is he working alone?”
Whin glanced back to the Earie Stone. Wildflowers fluttered with her every movement. Jack watched the blossoms drift from her arms, her hair. He sensed the spirits were about to retreat; his performance had not been strong enough to hold them long in their manifest forms.
“We cannot say who he is, but he is not working alone,” Whin replied.
Adaira yearned to ask more. To make demands. Jack could see it in the clenching of her jaw and the curl of her fingers.
“Can you tell me where Orenna grows?”
A shadow of agony passed over Whin’s face. She opened her mouth, but wildflowers tumbled from her lips. At her feet, the pennywort lads began to unravel, and the alder maidens began to groan back into trees.
“Please,” Adaira cried, ragged. She removed her hand from Jack and knelt before the Earie Stone and Whin. “Please help me. Please guide me. Where can I find the lasses?”
“Oh mortal woman,” said Whin, sorrowful. Her flowers began to wilt as she faded. “I cannot tell you. My mouth is barred from speaking truth to you. You will have to find the answers elsewhere.”
“Where? In the wind?” Adaira asked, but she was never answered.
The folk of the earth transformed into trees, stones, grass, and wildflowers. A clump of heather was the only evidence the spirits had manifested, a lingering trace of Lady Whin.
Jack felt sore and bruised as he continued to sit and stare at the Earie Stone. All he could think of was Lady Whin’s statement. A statement that was nearly identical to what the water spirits had uttered …
It is her.
His gaze slid to Adaira, on her hands and knees, discouraged and breathing like she was about to weep.
“Adaira,” he rasped. “Adaira, it’ll be all right. The earth told us more than we could have hoped for. The lasses are alive and well. It’s only a matter of time before we find them.”
She gradually regained her composure. She pushed herself up and drew a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she said, gazing up at the tree branches. “I’m just so tired, Jack.”
“Then let me take you home,” he said, brushing grass from his tunic. He made a note of his hands; they felt fine, as did his head. Perhaps he wouldn’t suffer from the magic this time. He decided to leave the tonic bottle in his harp case.
Adaira looked at him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said such a thing. We’re all tired these days.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You can always speak your mind to me.”
She looked at him, unguarded. Her father was dying, her lasses were missing. He could see her weariness mingled with her waning hope. He could see how much she wanted to be strong for the clan, strong for Torin and Sidra. And yet she was just one woman, and Jack wondered how she held everything together on her own.
He eased himself up to his feet. He felt drained, and a bit peculiar, but then he had nearly turned into the earth itself.
Play with caution, Lorna had said.
He understood now, and he offered his hand to Adaira, drawing her upright.
“We should get back to Torin,” she said. “He’ll be eager to know what we learned.”
“Yes,” Jack said. “We should hurry.”
They approached their horses in silence, and as Jack mounted, he realized that he was marrying Adaira the following day and he had no idea what to expect.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asked, gathering the reins.
“I don’t have a plan,” she replied, nudging her horse into a walk. “I’m making this up as I go.”
Jack snorted, his gelding plodding after hers. He was about to make a smart remark when he felt the pain bloom behind his eyes, a sudden brightness that stole his breath. He couldn’t see for a moment; there was nothing more than the agonizing sheen of lightning coursing through him, and he scrambled for his harp case. His hands were beginning to ache, as if he had set them in snow for hours.
Adaira was saying something. She was blithely unaware of his condition, riding ahead of him.
He felt a sharp pain in his nose; it began to bleed, and he knew he needed Adaira’s help.
“Adaira,” he whispered.
The world spun. He thought he was floating until he crashed to the ground, his shoulder smarting in pain. He could feel the grass, tickling his face. He could smell the loam of the isle. He could hear the sough of the wind.
“Jack? Jack!”
Adaira was shaking him. Her voice seemed far away, as if kilometers stretched between them.
“Tonic,” he struggled to say, blinking against the light. “Harp case.”
He listened as she searched for it. An excruciating minute passed before her fingers wove into his hair, tilting his head up as she placed the bottle to his lips.
The tonic went down like honey, sweet and thick.
Jack swallowed once, twice. He was shaking, but the pain began to fade. He blinked, and Adaira’s face came into focus, hovering over him.
“Do you need more?” she asked.
“Just … wait,” he said.
The pain dulled behind his eyes, but his headache lingered. His hands were still in misery. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he glanced down and found that claws had grown, breaking the skin beneath his nails.
He told Adaira about the salve, also in his case. She found it and rubbed the tingling ointment over his hands, into his palms and knuckles. It put him into a trance, to feel her touch him like that. A groan slipped from his lips.
He didn’t know how much time passed until he felt restored, but when he could at last behold Adaira clearly, he saw she was furious.
“You foolish, irresponsible, infuriating bard,” she said. “You should have told me!”
Jack sighed, leaning against her. He could feel the warmth of her, seeping into him, and he eased his head to her lap.
“Adaira … let’s not fight about it.”
“I’m trying to make sense of your reasoning. To withhold something this vital from me.”
Jack didn’t know how to answer her. Was it his pride? His fear that she might forbid him from playing? The realization that he was a hypocrite? The desire to find the lasses, no matter the cost he had to pay?
Adaira’s silence prompted him to glance up at her. Her face was furrowed in pain, and he knew she was thinking back to her mother. He watched as she made the connection in her mind.
“All those years my mum played for the spirits in secret,” she began softly. “I never realized how much it cost her, but I should have.”
“She and your father kept those dealings private, Adaira. There was no way you could have known.”
“But there were strange moments when she would fall ill,” Adaira continued. “I remember she was always sick in spring and autumn, burning with fevers, her hands full of aches. She would be in bed for days and would always tell me it was just ‘the change of weather’ and she ‘would be better soon.’”
Jack listened, and it felt like a bone had cracked in his chest. He hated to see her sadness, the way the truth was hurting her. But before he could draw breath and speak, Adaira turned her eyes to his, softly touching his hair.
“I never should have asked this of you,” she whispered. “This music … it’s not worth your health, Jack.”
He nearly lost his train of thought beneath her caress.
“If not me, then who?” he managed to counter. “You know as well as your father does that the east needs a bard. The spirits only require a song twice a year. I can easily do that, Adaira.”
She fell silent, her hand still in his hair. Jack watched her, but she was far away from him in that moment, lost to her thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you, but I didn’t want it to interfere with finding the lasses.”
Adaira sighed. “Your health is important to me. Surely, you can understand that.”
“I thought I could handle this,” he said. “On my own.”
A flicker of emotion passed over Adaira’s face. She understood the need to hide pain and perceived weakness from others.
“Is it just when you play for the spirits?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m fine when I play for the clan.”
Adaira made no response, but she was watching the breeze pass through the trees again. Jack sensed her thoughts: they needed to call the spirits of the wind. They had no choice in the matter, as the earth hadn’t been as forthright as they had hoped, and Jack knew Adaira would put the clan above his health. This was no surprise to him; he understood this reasoning and had expected no less when he had agreed to become Bard of the East.
Yet Lorna had never played for the wind. They were the highest of the folk, the most powerful. Jack had a terrible inkling they not only knew where the girls were being held but had also sealed the mouths of the other spirits. Jack would have to compose his own ballad for them, and he shivered, wondering what it would do to him. If the earth had nearly swallowed him whole, how would the wind react to his music?
“If this trade with the Breccans is successful,” Adaira said, “if we can forge peace for the isle … then perhaps we will finally see a day when there is no cost to spin magic. When you can sing for the spirits without pain, and Mirin can weave without suffering, and Una can make blades without anguish.”
Days ago, Jack would have scoffed at such a notion. But he was changing, and he felt it like a tide rising within him.
What have you done to me? he wondered as his gaze traced Adaira.
“Where should we get married?” she asked, tugging on his hair. “I suppose we should settle this now, since it’s happening tomorrow.”
The abrupt change of topic nearly made Jack laugh.
“The hall?” he suggested.
“Hmm. I think it should be outdoors,” Adaira replied. “And besides, I want it to be small. Intimate. I want only our closest family there. I don’t want an audience, and if we bind ourselves in the hall, the entire clan will want to watch.”
Jack shuddered. Yes, that would be horrifying.
They both fell silent, thinking. But then Adaira smiled, and his heart quickened.
“Actually,” she said. “I know exactly where we should take our vows, old menace.”
