It made Jack think of his return to the isle. How he had washed up on the Breccans’ southern coast. There had been no one in the west to greet or threaten him, even for the short amount of time he had inadvertently trespassed. And yet he knew the Breccans had their own watch. Sometimes it felt as if keeping secrets on this isle was impossible, as if the best place for them might be in the woven pattern of a plaid, as Mirin knew best.

All too soon, Jack and Adaira reached the boundary. The edge of the east. They followed the rocks to the cave, its mouth invisible until Jack squinted. Into the shadows he went, Adaira following. They were the first to arrive, and the water was already knee deep. Jack shivered as it soaked through his boots. His eyes swept their surroundings; he took the crate and set it on a rock to keep it dry.

It was dim in the cave, the air cold and prickled with brine. It was a small, round space, and only a few threads of sunlight streamed in from cracks overhead.

Jack didn’t like it here. The place felt dangerous, eager to drown them if they weren’t vigilant about the tide. Ream’s words came to mind, as clear as if she stood in the foam of the cave, speaking to them again. Beware of blood in the water. Had the folk of the tide seen a glimpse of the future? Had they anticipated that this meeting would take place here and sought to give a warning to Adaira?

Jack shifted his weight, uneasy.

The wait for Moray’s arrival felt unbearable. Trying to ease his worries, Jack studied Adaira. He had scarcely given himself a moment to look at her that day, it had begun so madly with covertly preparing for the trade. But his eyes traced her now.

She wore a green dress and her enchanted plaid shawl. Her hair was braided with silver chains and tiny hearts of gemstones. The half coin shone at her neck, its glimmer matching his own, hidden beneath his plaid.

Jack almost said to her that he was glad she had asked him—chosen him—to stand with her in this moment as her partner. A moment that could unfold in a hundred different ways. A beginning or an end, and yet she had wanted it to be him.

She felt his gaze and glanced at him. She frowned. “Is something wrong, bard?”

He shook his head, but his hand found hers, weaving their fingers together. He returned his attention to the other side of the cave.

A few minutes passed. Soon Jack could hear pebbles shifting and the scrape of boots on the rocks. There was a strange echo, and Jack braced himself as Moray Breccan stepped into the western side of the cave.