It had roused strange feelings within him. Adaira had fought as though she knew exactly how he felt, as if they were mirrors of each other. But that was ridiculous, because she had everything he didn’t. She was adored, and he was reviled. She was the clan’s joy, while he was the nuisance. And when he remembered that, he had striven to triumph in the match, pinning her beneath him on the garden path. But he drew back when he saw his fury reflected in her eyes. It was then she had said to him—

“Your parting words to me were that you ‘despised my existence,’ and that I ‘sullied the Tamerlaine name,’ and that you hoped that I ‘never returned to the isle,’” Jack drawled, as if those words had meant nothing to him then. For some strange reason, they made him ache now, as if Adaira’s farewell had seeped into his bones. But then again, he had never been one to forgive and forget easily.

Adaira was silent as she walked, listening to him.

“I’m sorry for the words I spoke that night,” she said, catching him by surprise. “And now you know why I had no choice but to forge my father’s order, because you would have never returned for me.”

“You’re right,” he said, and her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure if her mistrust was sparked by his honesty or the fact that he was agreeing with her. “I would have never returned for you alone, Adaira.”

“As I just said,” she spoke through her teeth.

At last, Jack thought as he slowed his pace. At last he had roused her temper. He said in a smug tone, “But only because I have built a life for myself on the mainland.”

Adaira paused on the path. “A life as a bard?”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. I’ll soon be a professor at the university.”

“You’re teaching now?”

“Hundreds of students a term,” he replied. “Endless music has passed through my hands over the past decade, most of it my own creation.”

“That’s quite the accomplishment,” she said, but he noticed how the light in her eyes dimmed. “Do you enjoy teaching?”

“Of course I do,” he said, although sometimes he also thought that he hated it. He was not one of the adored assistants, and every blue moon he dreamt of casting off all the expectations that sat heavy on him. Sometimes he imagined becoming a traveling bard who drank lore and spun it into song. He imagined gathering stories and reawakening places that were half dead and forgotten. And he wondered if remaining at the university, held within stone and glass and structure, was more akin to being a bird, held captive in an iron cage.

But these were dangerous thoughts.