Adaira nodded, motioning for Jack to align himself with the wall, out of sight. He did so, and Adaira steeled herself as she unbolted and cracked open her door.
One of the guards turned to look at her.
“Will you stand aside and let me pass?” Adaira asked.
“We have orders to ensure you stay in your chamber until further notice,” he said.
“Is this my cousin’s order?”
The guard was silent, choosing not to answer her. Adaira knew Torin would never lock her in her room and offered the guard a watery smile. They had lost faith in her, and she tried to ease the pain of this revelation as she shut the door.
Jack had already opened the panel of the secret passage. She grabbed her cloak, knowing she needed to conceal her hair, and drew up the hood, following him into his quarters.
“I doubt they will let me request a horse from the stables,” she said to Jack. “You’ll have to do it. I can find a way out of the castle walls and meet you by Una’s forge.”
Jack hesitated. She could sense his reluctance in the dark, to be separated from her.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll find you there.” He kissed her brow before they slipped out into the corridor.
They rushed through the winding, quiet hallways of the castle, going their separate ways when they reached the lower level. Jack headed to the stables, and Adaira turned to the southern wing of the castle. She stepped into the moonlit garden and moved soundlessly over the flagstone pathways. Passing the door that led to Lorna’s turret, she found the hidden egress in the wall, covered in ivy.
She and Torin had found this secret passage when they were young and bored one summer. Or rather, Adaira had discovered it and eventually consented to show Torin when he realized she had been sneaking out of the fortress without notice from the guard. It led directly to the castle wall and another hidden door that would spill her out close to Una’s forge.
Adaira followed it now, her hands reaching out in the dark. The corridor was narrow and cold, and the air smelled like damp earth and stones. She eventually reached the end. The door cracked open, and she entered a side street of Sloane.
She found Una’s forge, darkened with sleep, and waited in the shadows for Jack.
He arrived moments later, astride her favorite horse. He shifted, making space for her, and Adaira mounted, settling in the saddle before him.
His arms wound tightly about her as she took the reins.
She rode through the city, a trace of fog in the streets. Once free of Sloane, Adaira diverged from the road, choosing to go by hill. The folk lent their aid, just as she hoped. Four hills became one, and fifteen kilometers became five. The eastern wind came behind her and Jack, blowing at their backs as if they were a vessel on the sea.
The horse was lathered by the time she finally saw Mirin’s lights in the distance. Adaira let the mare walk to cool down. She took those precious minutes to mentally prepare herself for the meeting, to run her fingers through her tangled hair. She didn’t know what she would find inside the house, but if everything played out as she had planned, then she had nothing to fear. She unsaddled the horse beneath an oak tree before she and Jack approached the house on foot with trepidation.
Jack’s hand found hers, lacing their fingers together.
As they drew nearer, Adaira could discern figures standing in the yard. Breccan warriors. They had the cottage surrounded, and off to the side toward the byre was a ring of them, illumined by torches. Adaira slowed her pace. The East Guard and the watchmen must have been overcome, and while she didn’t see any bodies lying on the ground, she sensed they were all held captive.
“Halt,” a voice commanded her, breaking the tense silence.
Adaira returned her attention to the yard gate and stopped. Two Breccans aggressively stepped forward to meet her, but as soon as they saw her face by moonlight, their stances changed, softening.
“It is her,” one of them said, lowering his sword. “Let her pass to the door.”
She resumed her walk, drawing Jack in her wake. She felt the Breccans’ gaze on her shoulders, on her hair, as tangible as the wind. All too soon, she reached the front door, and her hand shook as she touched the iron handle.
It swung open, and Adaira stepped into the firelight.
She was overwhelmed by the sight that greeted her. A sea of blue plaids. Mirin and Frae cowering in a corner. Torin on his knees with a dirk shining at his throat.
Innes wasn’t present, and it soon became clear that a scar-faced Breccan with matted blond hair was in charge.
“Cora,” he said to her, granting her half a bow. “It is good of you to come.”