Adaira retreated to her room. She locked the door and melted to the rug, weeping until she felt hollow. She lay there, longing for her parents as she watched the sunlight move across the floor with the passing hours.

Eventually, a rap sounded on her door, and she forced herself to stand.

Answering the knock with a hitch of anxiousness, Adaira was surprised to see two guards stationed at her threshold. She wasn’t sure if they were there by Torin’s orders, to protect her, or had been appointed to keep an eye on her. To prevent her from leaving.

“A letter has arrived for you,” one of them said, extending the parchment.

Adaira knew it was Innes’s reply. She accepted the letter and shut the door, breaking the seal. The Laird of the West’s response was surprisingly terse:

I agree to your terms, Adaira. I will see you at dawn.

—I.L.B.

Adaira threw the letter into the fire. She watched it turn to ash until her red shawl caught her eye, draped over the back of her reading chair. Lorna had given her this plaid years ago. Her mother had asked Mirin to weave one of her secrets into the pattern.

Adaira was weary of secrets. She was weary of lies. She hated how she had worn one around her shoulders for years.

She gathered her plaid in her hands. It was soft, well worn from years of guarding her against the wind when she roamed the hills. She pulled at it with all the fury and anguish within her. The enchantment was gone, and the plaid tore apart in her hands.

It was late afternoon when auxiliary forces arrived to keep watch over the river in Mirin’s valley. Jack needed to speak with Adaira. He left his mother and Frae under the protection of the East Guard and walked the hills to Sloane, slowly, as his body still felt weak. He had filed down the worn edges of his nails, but there was still a tremor in his hands. He wondered how long it would be before he could play again.

This entire day had been strange, almost dreamlike. As if an entire season had bloomed and died in a matter of hours.

Eventide was on the cusp of surrendering to a dark night and the shadows had grown thick at Jack’s feet by the time he walked into Sloane.