Frae felt his gaze shift to her, and she couldn’t fight the draw of his stare. He looked different in the firelight, but she recognized him with a gasp. He had stood in the yard weeks ago. It had been him she had seen, the man who had visited the garden with his horse, staring at the cottage by starlight.

He began to weep as he looked at Frae. Deep, broken sounds emerged from him. They made Frae’s tears surge again, and she didn’t know why it felt like someone had punched her.

“You’ve looked upon them both,” a Breccan with a scar on his face said to the red-haired man, “as per our agreement. And the legends will remember you not as a keeper, not as a man of valor and strength, but as a fool. They will call you traitor to your clan, Niall Breccan. Oath breaker.” He motioned to the men gathered around him. “Now take him back and lock him in the keep.”

Three Breccan warriors surrounded the weeping man. They drew him away, and before Frae could wipe the blurriness from her eyes, he was gone, dragged from the house.

Gone, as if he had never been.

Mirin flinched, as though she wanted to follow him. She began to lean forward, her hands reaching outward, her breaths turning fast and shallow. Frae’s terror swarmed. She clung to her mother’s arm, holding her back.

The Breccan with the scar on his face began to walk around the chamber. He studied Mirin’s loom, running his grimy fingers over it. He studied the dried wildflower chain hanging from the hearth. His eyes then settled on Mirin and Frae, and he smiled. “This house will do just fine for the exchange. The winds work here as they do in the west, don’t they? Tell the captain to summon Cora. Or should I call her Adaira for now?”

Torin was hauled up to his feet and dragged out the front door into the garden.

Frae hunched in her corner, holding tightly to Mirin as she cried. She was frightened until she thought of Adaira, and she wiped away her tears and her runny nose. She had heard the mean Breccan’s story yesterday, when he had been bound to the chair. She had heard every word, even though she struggled to fully understand what it meant.

But there was one thing that Frae did know, and it settled over her like a warm plaid.

Adaira would come. Adaira would save them.

Torin stood in Mirin’s garden, a blade shining at his throat.

“Summon her,” the Breccan ordered.