“Which one should I open first?” she asked.
“Torin’s letter,” Yvaine replied.
Sidra broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. She read Jack’s words, which were both expected and completely bewildering.
“What is it?” Yvaine asked urgently, reading the lines on Sidra’s face.
“Moray’s in the west, as we thought.” Sidra extended the letter to the captain. “But they’re offering up a strange solution for him.”
She drained her tea while Yvaine read, but she soon thrummed her fingers on the tabletop anxiously, waiting to see what the captain thought.
Yvaine set the letter down and leaned back in her chair, lacing her hands behind her neck. “Well. That wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”
“Do we take the chance of them killing him in their arena?” Sidra asked. “Or do we demand that they return him to us immediately?”
“If we demand his return to us,” Yvaine began, “then you’d have to kill him here, Sidra. He’s slain five of my guards, and that cannot go unpunished. His crimes have only multiplied since we first imprisoned him, and I can’t see the Tamerlaines being appeased with anything less than spilled blood at this point.”
“I agree with you,” Sidra said, even though a chill crept through her. She would have to be the one to behead Moray, and she had never killed a man before. “But if we killed him for his crimes, would that start a war with the west?”
“There’s no telling with the Breccans, but I think it could, yes. So that’s why I think you should let them handle his death. Let his blood be on their hands.”
Sidra fell silent, staring at the letter.
“Is it enough for the Tamerlaines, though?” she eventually asked. “To not witness his death?”
“Both Adaira and Jack will be present for it,” Yvaine replied. “Jack can write a ballad and sing of Moray’s death to the clan.”
Sidra nodded, but something still didn’t feel quite right to her. She traced the bow of her lips, smelling the loam beneath her nails. “Why would Innes Breccan approve of this? Approve of losing her heir?”
“I have a few theories,” Yvaine said, sitting forward to refill her tea. “But read Adaira’s letter first.”
Sidra reached for the parchment, her heart heavy with worry. But for the second time that morning, she was utterly taken by surprise. As she read Adaira’s words, the iron fist that had been gripping her insides began to ease.
She breathed once, twice.
Yvaine was fixated upon her, waiting.
Sidra set the letter down, face up on the table. “They are also suffering from the blight. And they want me to visit, to collaborate on a cure.”
“No, Laird.” Yvaine’s answer was swift and sharp. “I can’t let you leave my watch.”
“I’m not the laird,” Sidra began to say, cheeks warming. “And I—”
“No, Laird,” the captain said again, the words even sharper this time. “If something happens to you in the west . . . I don’t even want to fathom it. We cannot lose you.”
“And yet something could happen to me in the east,” Sidra countered. And it was strange, how peace settled over her. She felt calm, assured. There was no doubt marring her mind, and she said, “I’m sick, Yvaine.”
Yvaine was silent, but her frown melted into shock.
“I’m sick with the blight,” Sidra said again, “and I’m carrying Torin’s child, and I don’t know how much time I have left. I’ve exhausted all my knowledge and my resources here in the east, trying to find a cure, and yet . . . I can’t help but wonder. I remember the Orenna flower, a bloom that grows in the west but not here in the east, and it makes me wonder if there are plants that I need for the cure on the other side of the clan line. It wouldn’t surprise me, as if the isle is longing to be united once more.”
Yvaine sighed, but her prior resolve was softening. “I suspected you were pregnant, Sidra. But I didn’t know about the blight.” She paused, holding Sidra’s gaze. “I’m sorry. If I could take the sickness for you, I would.”
Sidra blinked back a surge of tears, but they sat in the corners of her eyes, gleaming like stars. “I would never allow it.”
“Of course not,” Yvaine said wryly, but her eyes also shone with emotion. “And that is why I will kill anyone who hurts you in the west.”
“I’m not worried about that happening,” Sidra said. “I’ll take Blair and three other guards with me. I’ll take my herbs, which are sharper than any knife in my hands. And I’ll be with Adaira, whom I trust entirely.”