Jack had never seen her cry. He had never heard such an unearthly sound wrenched from her chest, and gooseflesh rippled over him as he listened. It froze the marrow in his bones as he felt her pain, her grief. He knew in that moment she had been holding this in for days, for weeks. This emotion that she had quietly buried in a castle surrounded by strangers. In a land where she was still regarded with suspicion. A place that should have been her home but wasn’t.
Tears welled in his eyes as he walked to her. The blue jewels on the floor cut into his bare feet, but he scarcely felt them. He drew Adaira up in his arms and carried her to the chair. She sat in his lap and pressed her face into his hair, clinging to him. She continued to weep, and Jack’s hands caressed her shoulders, stroked down her spine, then up her ribs. He felt her tremble with her uneven breaths, and he pulled her closer, his heat seeping into her. Finally, he could no longer hold back his own tears, and he wept with her.
An hour could have passed. Time seemed to melt away, and Adaira eventually leaned back to look at Jack, to wipe away his tears with her thumbs.
“My old menace,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
Jack smiled, and his laugh sent more tears slipping down his cheeks. He sniffed, his nose inconveniently running. “I see you got my letter,” he said in a stuffy voice.
“Yes. And nearly a moment too late, Jack.”
“Was it my words that drew you to the arena, Heiress?”
He felt her stiffen. Heiress was his old moniker for her, a title she had once worn amongst the Tamerlaines. Jack instantly regretted saying it, even though it had rolled naturally from his tongue.
“No,” she said, glancing away from him. “It was the strangest thing.”
He felt her drifting far from him. Jack tightened his hold on her waist, desperate to feel her gaze tracing him again. “And what was that?”
“The fire,” Adaira whispered, looking at the hearth. “The flames extinguished. The fire led me to you.”
Jack wanted to be surprised, but all he could think of was Ash, rising from Mirin’s hearth. Ash, encouraging Jack to venture west.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Adaira,” he said.
She fixed her attention on him so intently, he almost lost his train of thought. She listened as he told her about Mirin’s hearth going dark, and about playing for the fire spirits. About Ash telling him he would find the answers in the west.
“I see,” Adaira said, but Jack could feel her withdrawing. “You’re here because Ash has commanded it of you?”
“Yes,” Jack replied. “But to be honest, I was only waiting for a reason to cross the clan line. I was waiting for a reason to come to you, whether you invited me or something else directed me.”
She was quiet.
He hated how he suddenly couldn’t read her face, her inner thoughts. But the light in her seemed to dim, as if she was tamping down her emotions again. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her to hide how she felt, and he was about to lift his hand and touch her face when his stomach let out a loud, plaintive growl.
“When was the last time you ate, Bard?” Adaira drawled.
Jack sighed. “Not too long ago.”
“Stop lying. You’re famished, aren’t you? Why don’t you eat while I change and wash this blood off me.” She stood from his lap, and Jack’s hands reluctantly slid from her waist.
“You don’t want to share this meal with me?” he asked, a bit petulant.
She only smiled as she unbuckled her belt and leaned her sword against the wall. “I already ate dinner. But you can pour me a cup of gra. I’ll share that with you.”
Jack glanced at the green bottle. He had assumed it was wine but now remembered that the Breccans brewed their own special drink, which they consumed only with those they trusted.
He poured them each a cup as Adaira approached her pitcher and ewer to wash the blood from her hands and face and a few strands of her hair.
Spirits, what did she do to Rab? Jack wondered. Had she killed him? But he couldn’t envision Adaira taking such a measure. Or . . . perhaps he could. He could see the Adaira he felt so familiar with—the one who had stood beside him in the dark while he sang. Who loved to tease him, as well as challenge him. But he was also seeing new facets to her. As if she had had no choice but to sharpen herself amongst the Breccans.
“I’m curious to know how your time has been in the west, Jack,” she said, reaching for her plaid to dry herself. “I’m sorry it hasn’t been the most gracious of welcomes, but next time you should let me know days before you come.”