“He stepped into the currents and followed the river, unaware that he was walking in the opposite direction of his home. He claims that he didn’t realize the moment he crossed, owing to his distress, but soon the trees fell away, and he stood in an unfamiliar valley. He knew he was no longer in the west, but the East Guard had taken no note of his presence. A terrible inkling came to the keeper.
“Which Tamerlaine he first gave my sister up to, I don’t know, for he would never say their name. But I believe they live near the clan line, and that is how the east committed the worst of crimes: they took a daughter of the west as their own.
“I’ve always wondered what the Tamerlaines who accepted her were thinking. Perhaps they didn’t want my sister to grow up so close to the clan line, where the west and her true clan might call to her blood one day. Perhaps at first the Tamerlaines didn’t fully know who my sister was—a child of their greatest enemy. The offspring of the western laird. The keeper wouldn’t tell me, but when I asked him where Cora now lived in the east, he only smiled and said, ‘The Breccan druid once said she was destined for greatness in the west, but he must have misread the stars.’
“I doubted him at first. I believed the keeper’s claims were those of a man gone mad after a life of solitude in the woods. But I also was determined to find my sister. And what better way than to walk the east, listening to the gossip that rides your winds?
“I visited numerous times, entering through the secret of the river and empowered by the Orenna’s essence. I learned the lay of your lands, and I listened to the wind. I soon learned of the heiress. The only living child of the laird. And the Tamerlaines loved you. They called you Adaira, with hair the color of the moon and eyes the shade of the sea. And I knew it was you, Cora.”
“Enough!” Torin’s voice cut through the chamber. “Enough with this dribble. With your lies and your cunning, Breccan. Silence him, cousin.”
Adaira sat like stone, watching Moray’s blood continue to spill from his wound and pool on the floor at his feet. Her breaths felt shallow, and her heart was beating against her ribs. She raised her gaze back to his eyes and saw herself reflected in them.
“Why, then, did you steal the Tamerlaine daughters?” she asked.
“I wanted to tell you that day we met in the cave,” Moray said. “When you first wrote to me of a trade, it gave me hope. It was a sign that you were ready to come home. And I wanted to tell you the truth, so you would understand why I longed for vengeance. Why I chose to strike at the Tamerlaines’ hearts. But it was not my place to tell you.
“I took one of the Tamerlaine daughters, hoping to gain the attention of the eastern laird. For him to realize what was happening and tell you who you truly are. And when he did nothing, I took another. I determined to keep stealing lasses until someone in the east gave up the secret and spoke truth. I simply didn’t think it would take so long, that the Tamerlaines would be so tenacious and stubborn. I didn’t think the laird would pass away during my attempts, taking his secret to the grave as you rose in his place. I didn’t think that I would have to be the one to speak your story, to behold your face when you heard it for the first time, Adaira. Laird of the East who was born in the west. But here we are.”
Moray paused, his voice softening. “I’ve come to bring you home, Cora.”
Adaira had told herself that she wouldn’t feel anything, that she would take him prisoner after he reached the end of his tale. But she couldn’t ignore the mark, like a bruise, that the story left on her. The story was also like a sword—she couldn’t prevent it from cutting her heart in two. And the story was like a veil torn from her eyes—she couldn’t help but see her past from a different angle, even if it was ugly, terrible, and absurd.
In the moment of quiet that followed, when Moray Breccan’s story had ended and everyone in the chamber waited to see what she would do, Adaira remembered the spirits. It is her, they had said when they saw her on the shore and on the holy hill. It is her. They had known who she truly was. A girl of the west, raised by her enemies. Perhaps the folk had been watching her life, year after year, anticipating this moment.
“Will you come home with me, Cora?” Moray said again. “If you’ll come home, the Tamerlaine lasses I took will be returned to their families. Just as you were cared for in the east, we have cared for the lasses in the west. Come, sister. A better life awaits you with the people you belong to. Let this exchange be made without bloodshed.”