It was also marked by the western seal.
Moray Breccan had written to her again. She almost hesitated to open it.
On the day Adaira had forged a letter to Jack, she had also sent a letter to the heir of the Breccan clan, expressing her desire to discuss the possibility of a trade. Moray had quickly replied and, to Adaira’s surprise, had been well spoken and enthusiastic about her idea.
It seemed that peace might be attainable after centuries of strife, and Adaira was hopeful. She was tired of the raids, tired of the fear that laced the cold days in the east. She dreamt of a different isle, and if the Breccans wouldn’t initiate it, she would.
Her father had been furious.
She could still remember how Alastair had railed at her, claiming it was foolish to open their storehouses for the Breccans. To begin a relationship with the clan that wanted nothing more than to harm them.
“I know you have raised me to never trust the western clan,” she had replied. “For us to be self-sufficient. The history of raids alone is enough to make me despise the Breccans. But I confess that the hatred has worn me down—it has made me feel old and brittle, as if I have lived a thousand years—and I want to find another way. Have you never dreamt of peace, Da? Have you ever envisioned an isle that is united again?”
“Of course I have dreamt of it.”
“Then is this not the first step toward such an ideal?”
Alastair had fallen silent. He refused to meet her gaze when he replied, “They have nothing we need, Adi. A trade, as much as you want to believe it will stave off winter raids, will not end them. The Breccans are a bloodthirsty lot.”
She didn’t agree. But he had grown so feeble over the past two years that Adaira had let the argument fade, worried it would overtax him.
Torin had responded in a similar manner, but Adaira understood the ground he stood on. How would this trade work with the clan line? Where should it take place? One foul move from either clan would shatter the trust, and some innocent person would most likely wind up dead.
Adaira reached for the letter. Since the disappearing girls had become the focus of her days and energy, she had almost forgotten about the trade and Moray’s previous response: an invitation to her to visit the west. She held the letter close to her face, breathing in the wrinkled parchment. It carried the fragrance of rain and juniper and something else. Something that she couldn’t name, something that stirred her apprehension.
She broke the wax seal and opened the letter. She read it by dawn’s light.
Dear Adaira,
I hope all is well with you and your clan. It has been four days since I last heard from you, and my parents and I are eagerly awaiting your response to my invitation to visit the west. I wonder if my letter failed to reach your hands. If so, let me repeat what I said before:
As the next generation, you and I have been afforded the chance to change the fate of our clans. You write to us of peace, which I had not thought possible, given our history. But you have granted me hope with the offer of a trade, and I want to extend an invitation to you and you alone to visit the west. Come and see our lands, our ways. Come and meet our people. Afterward, I will follow you east, likewise alone and unarmed to show the measure of my trust.
Furthermore, I ask to meet you on the clan line in five days’ time. I will bring the best my clan has to offer to trade with you. You may likewise bring the best your clan has to give, and we can begin a new season for the isle.
Meet me at noontide on the northern coast, where the sea cave marks the boundary between east and west. I will remain on my side of the clan line, as you should remain on yours. It will take some imagination to pass the goods back and forth, but I do have a plan. Alert your guards that you must come alone with your gift, so they must remain distant enough to be out of sight. I assure you that mine will do the same, and that I come unarmed to meet you.
Let us be an example to our clans that peace is attainable, but that it must be built entirely on trust.
I will be awaiting your response,
Moray Breccan
HEIR OF THE WEST
She read it a second time. Then a third, just to be certain she understood the gravity of it. Adaira’s hands shook as she folded Moray’s letter and departed from her bedchamber.
Was it wise for her to go alone to the west? Was it hypocritical of her to feel a pit in her stomach every time Moray mentioned trust?
She needed council.
She wanted to speak with Sidra first.
Sidra paced Graeme’s common room, around piles of parchment and books. They were waiting for Torin to arrive. Every minute felt like an hour, and Sidra’s heart continued to beat in her throat.