She saw that he was older, a man in his middle years. His hair and beard were bedraggled, threaded with silver, and yet not even the conditions of the dungeons had hidden the fierce auburn sheen of it. A copper hue that drew the eye and held it, and Adaira’s pulse skipped. He looked familiar, and she wondered . . . had she seen him before?
What oath had he broken?
But seeing the sadness in the downturned corners of his mouth, in the gleam of his eyes as he continued to gaze up at her, Adaira knew.
The sword fell from his hand in defeat.
“You asked David what happened to him,” Innes said, watching Adaira’s reaction. “The man who carried you east.”
Adaira’s breath caught as Oathbreaker turned away, his bloodstained armor dripping red constellations onto the sand. Her heart rose in her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She could only watch him through the tears that stung her eyes. Tears she refused to let fall. Not here in this place. Not with hundreds of gazes upon her.
She watched as Jack’s father disappeared through the doors, returning to the dark maw of the dungeons.
Chapter 12
“I’m leaving,” Jack said the moment he stepped into the castle library. He was so eager to make the announcement that it took him half a moment to realize that Torin was wincing, slumped over the desk, and shielding his eyes from the sunlight that streamed in through the window.
“You what now?” Torin growled as he painstakingly dipped a quill into an inkwell. It looked like he was trying to write in the ledger and was doing a poor job of it. The lines were crooked, and blots marred every other word.
Jack closed the door behind him, taking a closer look at Torin and the amount of whiskey left in the bottle by his elbow.
“Long night?”
“Something of the sort.” Torin sighed, flicking the quill away. “You say you’re leaving. Where to?”
Jack hesitated. The words still tasted strange in his mouth. He thought he knew the proper way to break this news to Torin—who possessed the power to deny him permission to leave—and yet his carefully laid argument crumbled in that moment.
Torin’s brow lowered. “Don’t tell me you’re returning to the mainland.”
“No,” Jack nearly laughed. “ Of course not.”
“Then where? The suspense is killing me, Jack.”
“I’m going west,” he said. “To be with Adaira.”
Torin stared at him for what felt like a solid hour. A dark, angry gaze that made Jack bristle.
“Has she invited you to be with her then?”
Jack drew a sharp breath. “No.”
Torin chuckled and leaned back in his chair. Jack frowned, wondering if Torin was still drunk. Was this conversation doomed from the beginning?
“I need you here, Jack.”
“What for? I have proven myself to be quite useless. Ask the orchard if you need further proof.”
“On the contrary. You are the clan’s hope.”
Jack grimaced, but he was prepared for this statement. Perhaps he was selfish for thinking of himself and Adaira first, the isle second, the clan third. But he would never forget how quickly the clan had turned on Adaira. He would never forget their doubt, their scathing judgment, their sharp comments when they realized she was Breccan by blood. How deep their betrayal had cut her, even as she strove to hide her pain.
No, Jack would never forget. He remembered names and faces, and who had said what. It would be a long while before he’d want to sing and play for such people. At least, not until they apologized to Adaira.
And to lose her now would be worse than drowning, worse than burning. If he was the one to play for unity—if he had been asked to bring down the tyrannical king of the spirits—then he needed Adaira at his side in order to accomplish those impossible tasks.
“I spoke to a fire spirit,” Jack said. He hadn’t planned to fully confess to Torin about dragging himself home in defeat to a darkened cottage and singing to the ashes. But Jack saw no other way to convince the laird. Torin listened with a narrowed gaze, but he seemed to grasp every word Jack was uttering, and even the ones he didn’t. The implications of what Jack was saying.
Torin leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. The signet ring gleamed on his forefinger as he covered his face for a moment, as though he wanted to wake from a dream. But when his hands dropped, Jack saw the resignation in his bleary eyes.
“Who am I to hold you back then?” Torin said, in a heavy voice carved by sadness. “If you have been appointed by a spirit to go, then you should go, Jack. Go and be with Adaira once more. Sing the isle to unity. We shall be here, waiting for you to return if fate wills it.”