That didn’t happen. The smile turned into a grimace, and Innes said, “I’ve had my share of wounds, and David knows them all. But that isn’t why I’m here. There’s something I want you to witness tonight, so grab your plaid and come with me.”
Adaira was curious and did as Innes asked. She took up her plaid and pinned it to her shoulder, then followed her mother into the intricate sprawl of corridors.
She was still learning her way around the castle, but ever since David had showed her how to open enchanted doors and given her a sword—which she was nearly certain he had done so she could protect herself from the likes of Rab Pierce—Adaira had been eager to explore on her own. To learn the quirks and secrets of the Breccan holding.
She recognized where Innes was guiding her. It was the same route David had led her along to the armory, but instead of heading downstairs, Innes guided her up a flight. On the next floor, they approached a set of doors carved with wolves and fruit-laden vines. They creaked when Innes pushed on their iron handles, opening to a balcony that overlooked an arena.
Adaira stopped short and gazed down. This was the same ring where she had sparred with David in the storm.
The sand was freshly raked, waiting for new boot prints. Adaira couldn’t help but shiver when she remembered falling to her knees and watching her blood harden into gemstones. She wondered if those gleaming pieces of her had been raked deep beneath the sand.
She let her eyes drift, taking in more of her surroundings. Without rain, the arena felt almost like a place Adaira had never seen before. It was well lit by iron-bracketed torches, and the wooden stands that surrounded the ring were overflowing with spectators. Breccans sat shoulder to shoulder, nursing cups of ale and wine and eating cold dinners from their satchels. Their hair was wind-snarled, their shoulders wrapped in plaids and shawls to ward off the slight chill of the night. Some were talking while others looked weary, like they might fall asleep where they sat. Even children were present, whining and crying and sleeping in their parents’ arms. The older youths entertained themselves by chasing each other up and down the stands.
The Breccans quickly took note of her presence on the balcony. Their murmurs grew like a wave building up, their attention like pricks upon her skin.
She looked at them as they looked at her.
But Adaira soon sensed that the Breccans were required to be present. As she stepped closer to the edge of the balcony, she was struck by the same feelings she’d had the day before, when she had followed David out onto the sand. Eerie, unsettled feelings. She didn’t like this place. Even with the firelight and the countless people around her, something about it felt sinister.
“Join me, Cora.”
Innes’s voice was calm and deep. As if she sensed Adaira’s aversion.
Adaira turned her attention away from the arena to study the balcony. Lit by standing candelabras and framed with blue curtains, it was not a large space. Two high-backed chairs were set close to the stone balustrade, where the laird could sit and watch whatever unfolded in the arena, and a small table was within reach. A bottle of chilled wine and two gold-chased goblets rested on it.
Innes had already sat down in one of the chairs and was pouring each of them a glass of wine. Adaira stepped closer, her left knee popping as she lowered herself to sit.
“Is something happening tonight?” she asked, accepting the goblet that Innes handed to her.
“Yes.”
Adaira waited for Innes to expound on that, though she was learning that her mother was not a woman of many words. All these one-worded answers were going to drive Adaira mad, and she almost spoke curtly but caught her tongue when Innes pointed upwards.
“Any time I call for a culling,” the laird began softly, “the clouds break, as if the northern king wants to witness from above. It is the only reason why I believe the spirits enjoy watching our lives unfold on the isle.”
Adaira gazed up at the sky. The clouds broke like long, pale ribs, exposing a luminous full moon and a smattering of stars.
She stared at the night sky, captivated by its beauty, which she had so often seen and taken for granted in the east. The sight softened her, and the tension that had been building since she beheld the arena eased. She thought of Torin, Sidra, Jack, vivid images of them coming to mind: Torin riding the hills. Sidra harvesting night blooms in her garden. Jack walking along the coast, harp in hand. All of them lifting their eyes to the same moon, the same stars. How close to them she was, and yet how far away.
The thought made her chest ache, as though a dirk had pierced her, hilt deep.