“But I’m rambling. The moral of this long-winded tale is that I realized music would always be more important to her, so I tried to turn myself into stone. To not feel anything. But now I realize that it is better to live, to feel and have a clean break than be half-dead and cold, cracked from resentment.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Adaira whispered and lifted her cup.
Jack clinked his glass against hers, and they both drank. It felt like a garment had slipped away between them, as if to utter and confess was the first step to healing, to putting broken pieces back together.
She could see more of him now—the mist-laden years when he had dwelled on the mainland and she had roamed the isle.
They sat for a while longer in companionable silence, and when the fire began to die, Adaira rose.
“I’ve kept you up far too late,” she said, brushing the wrinkles from her wedding dress. “The trade is tomorrow, and I should let you rest. Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
Jack made for the door, but Adaira cleared her throat, catching his attention.
“You and I have a secret door that connects our chambers,” she said with a crafty grin, lifting a latch in one of the wooden panels on the other side of her room. Jack’s eyes widened as he watched the secret door creak open, leading into a shadowy corridor.
Adaira stepped into the secret passage, ducking beneath a curtain of gossamer.
Jack followed her. The short corridor led to a door that fed into his chamber. Adaira opened it and let him take the first step into his new room. It was similar to hers: wide and spacious with painted panels and bookshelves, a hearth that had almost extinguished into embers, and a bed with a grand tapestry for a headboard.
“Does this suit you?” Adaira asked.
“More than enough,” Jack said, glancing at her. “Thank you.”
She nodded and began to draw the door closed. “Then sleep well tonight, Jack.” She shut the panel before he could respond, but she stood there for a moment and drank the shadows of the passage, thinking how strange life was. How different her days were bound to be now, with him on the other side of this secret corridor.
Jack stood in his new room.
He stared at the bed—it was far too grand for him—and walked to the desk, where parchment was stacked. His harp rested on the floor nearby. He studied the bookshelves and the painted panels on the walls before he wandered to the hearth, where he threw another log on the fire. He succumbed to the nearby leather chair and felt a restless pang of longing.
It had been quite some time since he had composed music.
On the mainland, his compositions had gravitated to sorrow and laments. To doomed ballads. But he wondered what his notes would sound like here, on the isle. How they would form now that he was home.
He was exhausted, and yet he felt keenly aware of his surroundings. The bed looked inviting, but Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
He rose and returned to the desk. He sat and chose a quill, then opened a glass well brimming with walnut ink.
He reflected on the day. How sweet the eastern wind had tasted, how it had touched Adaira’s hair as she stood before him when they spoke their vows.
He envisioned wings, gliding over the hills, beating against the stars. Stealing words and carrying them across the heather. Chasing rain and dancing with smoke.
Slowly, he remembered years he had once longed to bury.
Jack began to write a song for the spirits of the wind.
CHAPTER 16
It was sweltering by noontide. A hazy, sun-drenched day for the first trade to take place between east and west. Jack stood beside Adaira in an old fisherman’s hut, with a crate of the Tamerlaines’ best grains, honey, milk, and wine at their feet. The goods had been gathered in secret and were ready to be carried down to the northern coast, where they would meet Moray Breccan. Their only obstacle was Torin, who hovered between them and the hut’s door.
“This is foolish, Adi,” he said, glaring at her. “You should let me come with you.”
“We’ve already discussed this, Torin,” Adaira said in a clipped tone. She was exhausted. Jack knew they had both stolen only a few hours of sleep last night, in their separate beds. “I’m to approach unarmed and without my guard, as is Jack.”
“Aye, so Moray Breccan can sink an arrow into you,” Torin said. “And I won’t be there to stop it, or even see it happen.”
Adaira was quiet, but her eyes were on her cousin. “What are you afraid of, Torin? Give this fear a name, so I can put your mind at ease.”