She hadn’t realized how tender her grief was until she saw her parents, hale and alive, in a memory. How much she longed for their company and mourned their absence. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them, but neither had she realized how angry she was at them for raising her as a Tamerlaine and never telling her she was truly Breccan.
But such anger would only rot her from within, reducing her to smoldering ashes, because the truth was that Lorna and Alastair were both gone, buried beneath eastern loam. Being furious at their deceit did nothing to them but everything to her, and anger would wear her down into dust. Adaira wanted to avoid that fate. She didn’t want to let something that had been good in her life turn sour.
She soon felt Kae watching her, as if she were trying to read the emotions passing over Adaira’s face. Adaira met the spirit’s gaze. Kae looked weary and shone with perspiration, as if sharing her memories had been taxing. But Adaira heard the words Kae wanted to speak in that moment.
All those times Lorna had played for the folk, Kae had been there, whether the bard was aware of her presence or not. Kae watched over her to ensure that Lorna had enough space and safety to sing. She had chased down other spirits, both inflicting and taking wounds.
All those times Jack had played for the folk, Kae had also been present, doing her best to shield him from Bane and other spirits who would harm or taunt him.
I wish I had known, Adaira thought, her eyes resting on Kae’s tattered wings. The deadly points of her nails. The pale blue sheen of her skin, splotched with gold. The wounds and lacerations that were bleeding onto the cave floor.
Adaira had always respected the spirits and had faith in them when it was due. She often thought of them as capricious in nature, fickle as a summer storm on the isle, as neither good nor bad but somewhere in between. Blowing whichever way pleased them most. She had never imagined that something so fierce and clawed and cold and infinite as the northern wind could come to love something soft and gentle and mortal.
Adaira realized it then. Those golden blotches on Kae’s legs, shoulders, and collarbone weren’t natural to her skin, as Adaira had first believed.
They were testaments to conflict and battles. To wounds she had endured.
They were scars.
Adaira climbed down the rock face. Once she was steady on the ground, she turned to watch Kae descend, staring at the spirit’s torn back and remaining wings.
Kae’s wounds were already beginning to knit themselves together, the new beginnings of gold-feathered scars. Adaira had cleaned them with her salve, uncertain how helpful such earthly remedies would be for a spirit of the air, but the ministrations had seemed to comfort Kae.
Adaira had drawn a few leaves from her indigo hair and wiped the debris from her cuts.
“You can’t stay here,” Adaira had said to her, glancing around at the cold, bewitching cave. “But there’s a place nearby. A cottage where you can rest and heal, and where I can come and visit you.”
Kae had seemed hesitant, as if she feared walking beneath the wide expanse of cloudy sky, but she followed without resistance. She couldn’t remain in this cave, not if Adaira wanted to easily find her again. And there was no way to know how long Kae would be banished from her home.
Adaira waited until Kae’s long, bare feet had found the ground. Together, they walked up a hill, down another, until Adaira found the trees that hid the loch and the abandoned cottage.
“I don’t think anyone lives here, but let me check first,” Adaira said. “Wait here for me, in the cover of the trees. I’ll wave to you when it’s safe to join me.”
Kae nodded, but her eyes were wide, her face lined with wariness. Adaira wondered if she knew what this place was, or who had once lived here. As an immortal and a powerful spirit of the northern wind, Adaira imagined Kae knew most of the secrets that Cadence held.
That realization made gooseflesh ripple over her skin as Adaira moved forward alone, taking the narrow bridge of earth to the small island. She had to forge through thistle patches and wiry shrubs, which had overcome a very small kail yard, to get to the cottage. She tore layers of red vines from the door, only to discover a faint radiance in the wood. The door was locked by enchantment.
She paused, studying it. Whatever rested beyond this threshold was either valuable or dangerous. And a drop of Adaira’s blood would most likely grant her access to it.
She unsheathed the sword at her side, just enough to catch a glimpse of the blade and a flash of her own reflection. She touched her finger to its edge until she felt the sting of her skin breaking.