She paused, but her gaze flickered to the window, where the storm continued to howl for a third day beyond the glass. “The king of the northern wind? I’m afraid I don’t know much about him, other than to prepare for the worst when he decides to blow.”
Jack was silent. Sidra began to pack her basket but suddenly remembered a story her grandmother used to tell her often.
“One of my favorite legends is from the time preceding his reign, when the folk of fire reigned on the isle.”
“Tell me,” Jack said softly.
Sidra settled on her stool beside the bed. “Before the clan line was split between the east and the west and Bane rose to power in the north, Ash was a beloved leader amongst the fire spirits. He was generous and warm, full of light and goodness. All of the spirits answered to him, even those of the wind, the water, and the earth. All save one, that is. Ream of the Sea had always detested him, for she was made from tides and he was made of sparks, and every time they met threatened a catastrophe.
“But then one day Ash found out that a member of his court had set an ancient grove aflame and the fire was devouring the trees and the earthen spirits within them. Desperate, Ash had no choice but to go to the shore, where Ream dwelt in the foam of the sea, and call her forth to help him. Ream, however, wouldn’t do it without seeing Ash on his knees, willing to be doused first. He submitted without qualm, even though he knew what would come of it: he knelt before her and allowed her tide to wash over him. A great portion of his power turned to smoke and left him, but he continued to kneel despite the pain of the water.
“When Ream saw her enemy’s resilience, her respect for him grew and she called upon her river attendants to rise up and flood the burning grove. She put out the wildfire, and Ash retreated back to his dwelling place in the sky. Once, he had governed the sun during the day, but now he was so weak that he had to choose the night, when his muted fire could burn among the constellations. His twin sister, Cinder, took over the rule of the sun and daylight. Meanwhile, Ream, who had always hated fire, began to see its beauty, how it burned so passionate and constant, even as it fell to embers. That is why the sea is often gentle at night, for the fire of the stars and the moon reflect upon the waves, and Ream remembers how her old enemy became her friend.”
A smile had spread over Jack’s face as he listened. Sidra saw that some color had returned to his countenance.
“I suppose that since Ash lost his power, Bane rose to replace him?” Jack mused.
“Yes,” Sidra said. “Although I think it took a few more years before the northern wind became a threat. My nan said that for a while the spirits were all equal, and the balance of the isle reflected it.”
“I wonder what that would feel like,” he said.
Sidra had thought the same. How would Cadence feel if it was united and restored? Was it even possible?
She didn’t know anymore, and her sorrow deepened.
She gave Jack orders to stay in bed and to avoid wielding magic until he had fully recovered. But her worry followed her down the corridor as she went to visit her next patient.
When she finished her rounds, it was late and she was exceedingly tired. Sidra stepped into the courtyard, relieved to see the storm had finally abated. The air was chilled and peaceful; few stars shone through wisps of clouds. The flagstones were slick from the rain, and Sidra prepared to walk home in the dark.
She was nearing the gates when she recognized Torin, standing with his horse. The lantern light trickled over his face as he watched her approach.
She nearly asked him what he was doing; it was so rare to see him standing idle. But then he reached for her basket and offered his knee to help her mount his gigantic horse.
Shocked, she realized he had been waiting to take her home.
CHAPTER 24
Torin dreamt of blood again.
He saw the first Breccan scout he had dispatched years ago. The killing stroke was still there, gaping at the man’s neck, but he seemed to neither notice it nor feel his life dwindle away. Blood dripped down his blue plaid as he stared at Torin.
“Will you take care of them then?” said the Breccan, his voice perfectly intact despite his torn vocal chords.
“Who?” Torin asked, staring at the wound he had made.
“My wife, my daughters,” the Breccan whispered, and suddenly they were around him. A woman with gray-blond hair, a gaunt face, and shoulders that curved inward, as if she were starving, and three young daughters with hair the shade of flax, copper, and honey. The women began to weep when they saw the blood and the wound. His wife clung to him, trying to close the gash with her hands.