Jack watched as the northern wind died at last.
Adaira walked the clan line. She could hardly see through the haze of the smoke, but she followed the promise of fire, its light beckoning her closer. The trees around her were silent and still. The air felt thick and heavy, and she hurried, shivering with apprehension.
Kae was following close behind her until she gasped.
Adaira turned, prepared for anything. But she didn’t expect to see Kae’s wings flare outward, fully mended, or to see Kae’s eyes widen as she looked up to the sky. The clouds were breaking and the sun was beginning to stream down.
Kae exhaled and melted into the light.
Her disappearance unnerved Adaira. Not knowing if Kae had simply returned to her realm or been vanquished, she hurried onward.
She could soon hear the crackle of fire burning the forest. She could feel a wave of heat.
Through the trees, Adaira saw Jack.
He stood on the clan line, harp in his hands. Fire was burning behind him, dangerously close, as if he were a moment from igniting. Stars crowned his brown hair, and he was gazing down at the ground before him, as if he saw something she couldn’t.
She dared to step closer, her heart pounding. He must have already sung his ballad without her there, and she didn’t know what had happened.
A twig broke beneath her boot.
His head snapped up. His eyes were dark and uncanny, as if he were looking through her. Adaira came to a halt, realizing there was no recognition in his gaze. He saw her but didn’t know her, and she stretched out her hand.
“Jack,” she whispered.
He drew a sharp breath. She knew the moment he recognized her, because his face creased in both relief and agony, as if her voice had woken him from a dream.
“Adaira,” he said, stepping toward her. The harp tumbled from his hands, landing on the ground with a metallic clang that made Adaira wince. Jack had never treated his instrument so carelessly.
He was reaching for her, desperation marring his countenance, when the fire surged. The flames came between them, blue-hearted and jagged, and Adaira had no choice but to stumble away from the blistering heat. It was so bright she closed her eyes, sweat beading her brow and dampening her clothes.
She knelt on the clan line, hands curled into the soil, waiting for the fire to ease. When the heat subsided, she opened her eyes. The flames had extinguished themselves, and the forest was laced with smoke.
“Jack?” Adaira said, rising. She coughed on the sharpness of the air and pressed forward. “Jack!”
She hurried to the place where he had stood. She searched through the smoke, through the embers that smoldered like crushed rubies on the loam. Her fear was suddenly a claw tearing through her, and she choked back a sob as she looked for his burned body on the ground.
There was no sign of him. No trace of where he had gone. There was only ash and a scorched line in the ground, the boundary marking where the fire had ceased burning. Then she saw something glimmering, something whole and unscathed amidst the smoking ruin.
Adaira froze as she gazed down at it.
Jack’s harp.
Chapter 42
When the wind first started to blow from the north, Frae had been anxious. She and Mirin had bolted the shutters and harvested the last fruits from the garden, but her mother had been calm, making tea and weaving at her loom as if it were any other day.
“Don’t be afraid,” she had said with a smile.
Frae had tried to find the courage her mother possessed, but then the wind had started to howl. The walls shook, and the doors rattled, like someone was trying to get in. Wind hissed through the cracks, cold and relentless, and then the fire in the hearth had gone out. So had the rushlights, until no flame burned against the shadows in the house.
Frae had been terrified then, but Mirin had still spoken calmly to her.
“The storm will soon pass, darling. Here, come rest in the bed beside me, and I shall tell you a story.”
Frae had removed her boots and done as Mirin bade, settling next to her mother’s warmth in the dark bedroom. But Mirin’s voice had been hoarse and strange, as if it were fading. Unable to finish the tale, she said, “I think I need a little sleep, Frae.”
Frae had listened to her mother’s breaths deepen as she drifted into slumber. While Mirin slept, Frae remained awake, staring wide-eyed up at the roof, expecting it be ripped away any moment by the wind.
“Mum?” Frae had said, unable to bear her worries alone. “Mum, wake up.”
Mirin hadn’t responded. Frae had called louder, shaking her mother’s shoulders. But Mirin was lost in a deep sleep, and her breaths were slow, labored.