When the fire died at last, Jack knew what Ash was trying to express. Jack needed to play alone. If Adaira was with him, he would choose her. His heart belonged to her, and the fire needed his undivided attention.
Gray light began to blossom on the frosted windows.
It was time, and Jack carefully rose from the bed. As Adaira continued to sleep, he quietly dressed, drawing on a tunic, his plaid, a sturdy set of fur-lined boots. He slid his harp into its sheath and eased it onto his shoulders.
“I don’t know where to play for you,” he whispered as he stared at the ashes in the hearth.
When there was no answer, he worried that Ash had already fully surrendered to Bane, slipping away to a place not even Jack’s music could find. But then Adaira sighed, and Jack turned to look at her.
She had stretched her hand out to his side of the bed, but she was still asleep.
He remembered something Moray Breccan had shared on the day that upended their lives. Words that had been inspired by Adaira’s existence: Appoint a person you trust to set this lass in a place where the wind is gentle, where the earth is soft, where fire can strike in a moment, and where the water flows with a comforting song. A place where the old spirits gather.
Jack envisioned the Aithwood. It was the place where everything had not only ended but also begun. Joan and Fingal’s deaths. The clan line. The spirits’ freedom. Iagan’s mortality and reign. Adaira’s path eastward. The dwelling of Jack’s father.
It called to him now.
He wrote a note for Adaira and left it faceup on her desk:
My love,
I have gone to play for the spirits. It is best that I do this alone, despite the fact that I want you at my side. Forgive me, but I didn’t want to wake you. I hope to return soon.
Yours eternally,
Jack
He could taste a faint trace of ashes in his mouth. Jack looked at Adaira one last time before he slipped from the chamber.
Chapter 40
Adaira woke to the keening of the wind and a cold bed. She shivered, blinking up into the gray light. She realized she had no inkling of what time it was, and she sat up.
“Jack?”
Her eyes cut through the dimness. She noticed Jack’s imprint on the mattress beside her, and she traced it with her hand. There was no warmth within it; he had been gone for a while. She slipped from the bed, wincing when her feet touched the icy floor.
His boots were missing, as were his plaid and his harp. She then found his note on her desk and read it twice before crumpling it in her hand.
Adaira tore into her wardrobe and hastily dressed in the warmest clothes she could find. But she couldn’t shake off the tremor in her hands, or the way her worries were unfurling, making her breath hitch.
Why didn’t he wake me?
She didn’t realize that the castle was completely without fire until she reached the hall. It was teeming with people, and it felt like time had been frozen in twilight. Adaira stared into the commotion, amazed when she saw that Sidra was already present.
Adaira made a beeline for her, weaving through the people who had gathered. Women with their children wrapped in plaids were eating simple fare of bread and cheese, and men were carrying in crate after crate from the storerooms.
“Sid?” Adaira said when she finally reached her. In the meager light, she saw that Sidra had her healing supplies spread on the table, close to where the poisoning had occurred the night before. She was tending to a young boy who had cut his hand, and Adaira watched as Sidra finished with her stitches.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Sidra said, glancing at Adaira. “Do you mind handing me that roll of linen?”
Adaira did as asked, unable to quell her shock at seeing Sidra caring for a young Breccan as naturally as if she had done it many times before. Then Adaira noticed the line of Breccans waiting to be treated by her.
“Is everyone here waiting to see you?” Adaira whispered.
Sidra finished dressing the boy’s palm and offered him a smile. Without speaking a word, he jumped down and melted into the crowd.
“No, actually,” Sidra said, wiping the blood from her hands. “Your mother has opened up the hall as a refuge. A few houses in the city have collapsed, because of the weather. I fear it will only get worse. There’s currently talk about boarding up as many windows as possible, but then that would steal all the light we have.”
Adaira chewed on her lip. “Do you know what time it is?”
“No, but I heard something along the lines of ‘the bells have been dismantled,’” Sidra answered, sorting through the vials of herbs she had brought. “Again, I believe that’s because of the wind.”