Every week had been full of small tests, quiet assessments to challenge her ties to the east and her future in the west. Innes and David were measuring how pliant she was as they tried to determine if it was possible for her to fully adjust to their way of life.
So far, Adaira had been extremely pliant. But she couldn’t deny the constant ache in her body, as if she had aged a century in one night. She felt cold and hollow every morning when she woke alone to the gray light of the west.
“Follow me,” Innes said. She had melted into the burrow’s darkness and was waiting. “And shut the door behind you.”
Adaira exhaled, her thoughts breaking into fragments. She sought to calm her heart because this burrow was merely another test. She didn’t need to be afraid, even though she couldn’t deny the tension that was gathering in her body. Limning her choice to flee, or to fight.
And yet where will you go if you run? her heart asked. The east cannot take you back. And what would you fight with? Your hands? Your teeth? Your words?
“Cora.” Innes spoke again, sensing her hesitation.
It was the name Adaira had been given at birth. A name bequeathed to a small, sickly child who Innes had thought belonged with the spirits more than with the west. Years later, the name still refused to fit her. It rolled off her like rain.
Adaira stood in the meager light of the burrow’s threshold, staring into the darkness. She couldn’t see Innes, but it sounded like she stood to the right. There was no way to discern how vast the enclosed space was, or what hid within it.
She took her first step into the burrow. Her hand shook as she latched the door, fully closing herself into the shadows with Innes.
“Why do you think I’ve brought you here?” Innes asked softly.
Adaira was silent. Perspiration began to bead her palms as she weighed her answer.
“You want me to trust you,” she replied at last.
“And do you trust me, Cora? Or do you still fear me?”
It was strange how easy it was to speak the truth with darkness as a shield. Adaira didn’t think she would have had the courage to say the words if she had been holding Innes’s gaze.
“I want to trust you, Laird. But I still don’t know you.”
Innes was quiet, but Adaira could hear her breathe. Long, steady draws of air. There was a sudden shuffle of boots, betraying Innes’s movement as she said, “Stretch out your left hand. When you find the wall, walk alongside it. You’ll know when to stop.”
Adaira held out her hand, grasping at the darkness until her fingertips grazed the cool, earthen wall. She did as Innes had instructed, walking beneath veins of roots until her toe hit something solid.
“Good,” Innes said. “Now reach down. There is a flint and an enchanted blade before you. Use both to make a flame.”
Adaira’s hands fumbled, feeling the edges of a crate. But it was just as Innes had said: a large, angular piece of flint and an antler-hilt dirk rested on the wood. Within one strike, the tip of the steel ignited like a candle.
The wavering flame cast a ring of light around her. Adaira took in what she could now make of the burrow. It wasn’t as big as she had initially believed; she could see the far end of the structure where two cots were erected, side by side, their straw mattresses covered with piles of folded blue plaids. More crates were stacked along the wall, full of earthenware jugs and flasks. Candles rested on every horizontal surface, strung with cobwebs. In the heart of the room were two chairs. Innes was sitting in one of them, legs crossed and fingers laced over her lap, as she watched Adaira’s observations.
“Come join me,” Innes said when their gazes met. “We need to talk.”
Adaira walked to the center of the burrow and lit the candles that rested on an overturned crate between the chairs. She sat, facing Innes, although her attention was stolen by the enchanted dirk she still held. In the east, they didn’t have blades with such magical abilities as fire-making, although it wouldn’t be beyond the skills of Tamerlaine smiths to forge one. The cost to their health for crafting such enchantment would be steep, though, and not many Tamerlaines wanted to pay it.
Adaira blew out the blade’s flame, then set it beside the candles on the crate. Looking at Innes, she watched the firelight dance over her mother’s lean face. The woad tattoos on her neck looked stark against her pale skin.
“You say you have yet to wholly trust me because you do not know me,” Innes said. “But you are my daughter, and you have nothing to fear from me.” She paused, glancing down at her hands. At the blue ink printed across the backs of her fingers. “You have this moment to ask me anything. I will answer you if I can.”