“How do I free you?” she whispered, envisioning Jack’s father again.
By all culling rules, he should have walked free after he killed William. But Innes had refused to pardon him, and all Adaira could think was that her mother wanted to make him suffer for what he had done. How many times had he fought in the arena? How many more of his fellow prisoners would he have to kill before he was redeemed in Innes’s eyes?
There had to be another way for him to be absolved, Adaira thought as she rose with the scrolls in her arms. She returned them to the shelves and thought for a moment about what she should ask for next.
She laid her hand on the shelf and said, “Please show me all the books and scrolls that depict Breccan traditions and law.”
It seemed like half of the books and scrolls in the library pushed their way forward to be noticed, and Adaira sighed, suddenly overwhelmed. She should have tailored her search better, but she selected the ones closest to her and brought them to the table.
She began to read, recording elements she thought either were fascinating or could be helpful in her appeal for her father-in-law’s freedom. But it seemed that even with legal loopholes and strange past traditions, one law couldn’t be avoided.
The laird of the clan always had the last word and could disregard laws in special circumstances. Lairds had most often used this power when a personal offense had been committed against them—such as when a once-trusted man of the clan gave the laird’s daughter away to the enemy.
Why don’t you tell Innes the truth?
Adaira chewed on her lip, wondering if it would make the situation better or worse to tell Innes that the man who had given her to the east was Jack’s father. Initially, when Adaira wasn’t yet certain how angry and vengeful Innes and David were over what had happened in the past, it had seemed safer to keep that fact hidden to protect Jack, Mirin, and Frae. She had worried that Innes might impose a harsh judgment on Jack’s father—wiping out his entire family, for instance, or punishing him even further for having children with the enemy.
She wondered if just the fact that he was Adaira’s relation by marriage would be compelling enough to convince Innes to let him go. But Adaira remembered that merely asking about where Oathbreaker was had turned David cold, breaking the rapport they had built. And then Innes had invited Adaira to watch him fight in a duel to the death, as if his life were meaningless.
Adaira felt that she needed something more. Not a way to catch Innes off guard necessarily, but a way to get her attention. She needed to figure out how to look shrewd rather than soft when it came to freeing Jack’s father.
She retraced her notes.
There was one small tidbit of tradition that she had found fascinating. It was the “draping of the plaid,” or giving someone protection under your name and prowess. In the past, such protection had been extended by thanes or the laird, those who held power and sway in the west and, as such, could serve as a formidable shield for others who had little influence. But even then, there were stipulations to be met.
The life of the one being protected had to be in danger. The thane or the laird had to remove their own plaid and drape it over the individual they were protecting, while speaking a specific set of words. Most of all, the draping of the plaid had to be performed publicly, so that the entire clan would become aware of the ramifications of harming the one being shielded.
Adaira wondered if she could embrace this tradition without offending the clan. Without offending Innes. Could she drape her father-in-law with her plaid on the basis of this old tradition? If she did, no one would be able to harm him without essentially harming her.
She was mulling over this possibility, trying to predict all the ways it could spin and turn and how Innes might oppose it, when an unexpected burst of sunlight warmed the table.
Adaira glanced up at the window.
The clouds had broken for a reason: something had cut through them.
At first, she thought she saw a large bird, falling through the air. A wounded creature. But then she saw a flash of silver, like the light of a star. Arms and legs trying to harness the wind. An iridescent sheen rippled behind the person like a torn sail.
Electrified, Adaira stood, leaning toward the glass. She watched as a spirit with indigo hair and tattered wings fell to the earth.
Part Two
A Song for Embers
Chapter 15
Sidra didn’t realize Torin was missing. Not until the newly appointed Captain of the East Guard came knocking on her door around midday.
“Yvaine?” Sidra said as she stood on the threshold, assuming the captain had come for an ailment. “How can I help you?”