“No, I’m fine.” Jack’s stomach was still roiling from the voyage across the water, from the horror of being on Breccan soil, from nearly having every tooth knocked loose by Roban. He realized his hands were shaking. Torin noticed as well and extended a flask to Jack before he settled across the fire from him.

“I noticed you arrived from the west,” Torin said with a hint of suspicion.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jack replied. “The mainlander rowing me to the isle turned coward. I had no choice but to swim, and the current brought me to the west.”

He took a bracing sip from the flask. The heather ale was refreshing, stirring his blood. He took a second swallow and felt steadier, stronger—owing, he knew, to consuming something that had been brewed on the isle. Food and drink here boasted flavor tenfold over mainland fare.

He glanced at Torin. Now that they were in the light, he could see the captain’s crest on his brooch. A leaping stag with a ruby in its eye. He also noticed the scar on Torin’s left palm.

“You’ve been promoted to captain,” said Jack. Although that was no surprise. Torin had been the most favored of guards from a very young age.

“Three years ago,” Torin replied. His face softened, as if his old recollections were as close as yesterday. “The last time I saw you, Jack, you were yea high, and you had—”

“Thirteen thistle needles in my face,” Jack finished drolly. “Does the East Guard still hold that challenge?”

“Every third spring equinox. I have yet to see another injury like yours, however.”

Jack stared at the fire. “You know, I always wanted to be one of the guard. I thought I could prove myself worthy of the east that night.”

“By falling on an armful of thistles?”

“I didn’t fall on them. They were shoved into my face.”

Torin scoffed. “By whom?”

By your lovely cousin, Jack wanted to reply, but he remembered that Torin was fiercely devoted to Adaira and most likely thought she was incapable of being so fiendish.

“No one important,” Jack replied, despite the glaring truth that Adaira was the Heiress of the East.

He almost asked Torin about her, but thought better of it. Jack hadn’t envisioned his childhood rival in years, but he now imagined Adaira as wed, maybe with a few bairns of her own. He imagined she was even more beloved than she had been as a youth.

Dwelling on her reminded Jack there was a gap in his knowledge. He didn’t know what had been happening on the isle while he was away, steeped in music. He didn’t know why Laird Alastair had summoned him. He didn’t know how many raids had occurred, if the Breccans were still a looming threat when the ice came.