His ballad came to its end, and the absence of his voice and music sharpened the terror of the moment. Adaira continued to stand before an audience of manifested spirits, and Jack was stunned by the sight of them. To know that they had rushed alongside him as he walked the east. That he had felt their fingers in his hair, felt them kiss his mouth and steal words from his lips, carrying his voice in their hands.

And his music had just summoned them. His voice and song now held them captive, beholden to him.

He studied the horde. Some of the spirits looked amused, others shocked. Some were afraid, and some were angry.

Just as Adaira was taking a step forward to beseech the spirits, their gathering parted to make way for one of their own to come forward. Jack saw the threads of gold in the air; he felt the rock tremble beneath him. He watched as the south, the east, and the west drew in their wings, watched the spirits quiver and bow to the one who was coming to meet Adaira.

He was taller, greater than the others. His skin was pale, as if he had forged himself from the clouds, his wings were the shade of blood, veined with silver, and his hair was long, the color of the moon. His face was beautiful, terrifying to look upon, and his eyes smoldered. A lance was in his hand; its arrowhead flickered with tendrils of lightning. A chain of stars crowned him, and the longer he stood, held by Jack’s music, the stormier the sky churned and the deeper the mountain quaked.

It was Bane, the king of the northern wind. A name that Jack had only heard whispered in children’s stories, in old legends that flowed with fear and reverence. Bane brought storms, death, famine. He was a wind one wanted to evade. And yet Jack knew the answers they sought were held in his hands; he had been the one to seal the mouths of the other spirits, to keep the truth concealed from them.

Bane motioned for Adaira to approach him, and Jack’s heart blazed with fear.

“Come, mortal woman. You have been clever, tricking this bard into summoning me. Come and speak to me, for I have long awaited this moment.”

Adaira stopped a few steps away from him. Jack noticed how close she was to the edge. If she fell, would the wind catch her? Or would it watch her break on the rocks far below?

Jack slowly lowered his harp, wrapping his fingers around the frame.

“My name is Adaira Tamerlaine,” she said. “I am the Heiress of the East.”

“I know who you are,” Bane replied, his voice deep and cold as a valley loch. “Do not waste your words, Adaira. The bard’s music will tether me only so long.”