He closed his eyes.
Dear Jack
Adaira paused, staring at his name on parchment, tamed by her writing. Her mind was spinning, trying to convince herself that she was reading too much between the lines. That Jack wouldn’t be so reckless as to cross the clan line on a whim. Without properly informing her.
But if he was currently traveling to her, then this letter was futile. It wouldn’t reach him in the east.
She pushed it aside and found a fresh sheet, this time writing “Dear Torin.”
And yet the words were still tangled within her. She stared at Torin’s name. How was she to write between the lines to her cousin? How to express to him that she needed confirmation of Jack’s location without alerting David? Or maybe Adaira should cease worrying about it. If Jack was here, her parents would soon realize it. In fact, she should inform Innes, and see if her mother could—
The fire in the room went out. The flames that had danced in the hearth and burned on the candlesticks flickered and died with a howling gasp. Adaira was plunged into darkness, and she froze, wide-eyed in shock. She set down her quill and stood, knotting her plaid at her shoulder to shield her. She fumbled in the dark to find her sword, leaning against the wall, and belted it to her waist before making her way to the door.
The torches in the corridor were still aflame, but Adaira noticed one of them was guttering, like it was about to burn out. She approached it with a frown, unable to shake the chill that clung to her.
Something didn’t feel right.
Another torch farther down the hallway began to frantically flicker, grabbing her attention. Adaira walked toward it. When the next one followed suit, she realized that the fire wanted to guide her somewhere.
She followed one guttering torch after another, passing no one in the winding passages. In fact, the castle felt strangely deserted, and it made her pulse skip in alarm. Adaira halted upright when she heard a distant roar.
“What is that?” she whispered, her hand gripping the hilt at her side. But she had heard such a sound before. The arena. The culling. She gasped when she realized where the fire was leading her.
Adaira broke into a run.
She dashed through the corridors she had now memorized, through the cold shadows and flickering firelight. Her hair tangled across her face as she took a corner, as she pushed herself faster, faster, until she felt like her body would ignite. She nearly slipped in her haste to take the stairs two at a time, her breath cutting her lungs like a blade when the doors to the arena balcony came into view. All she could think was that she was too late. This would be the night her father-in-law would be slain, and she had been too late to save him.
She threw the doors open. They hit the wall with a bang, startling Innes in her chair.
“Cora?”
Adaira ignored Innes. Her heart was in her throat, her eyes riveted to the arena as she rushed to the balustrade to watch the fight.
He’s alive. Oathbreaker was still alive, and Adaira nearly melted to her knees in crushing relief. She laid her icy palms on the stone railing to hold herself up as she watched her father-in-law throw his opponent to the ground and hold him down on the sand. He held his sword poised, ready to plunge the blade into the defeated man’s neck. And all Adaira could think was enough. She had witnessed Jack’s father kill one man already. She couldn’t bear to watch him gather more blood on his hands.
“Step away, Oathbreaker,” she called to him. “Drop your sword.”
A hush fell over the arena. Adaira could feel hundreds of eyes bore into her, but she kept her gaze on Oathbreaker. He heard her and took her command to heart. He slowly stepped away, releasing his defeated opponent.
Her father-in-law turned to look at her, dropping his sword, but Adaira’s eyes were drawn to the man on the sand. A man, tall and thin, who was rising, who looked at her through his dented helm, who was suddenly striding toward her with confidence.
She stared at him, watching him approach the balcony. Then her heart froze, as if caught in a snare, before she felt her blood begin to course through her again. Hot and swift beneath her skin, as if she had been sleeping all this time and only now was opening her eyes, awakening.
She watched the man kneel before her. She watched him lay a hand over his chest, over his heart. A hand that was pale and elegant. Adaira drew a sharp breath.
She would know his hands, his posture, his body, anywhere. All those times she had watched him play his harp. All those hours he had walked shoulder to shoulder with her. When he had lain with her, skin to skin, in the dark.
Jack.
Adaira wondered why he refrained from speaking, why he refused to remove his helm.