His throat was still aching, but he managed to say, “I would appreciate some dry clothes, if you have them.”

“Yes, of course,” Mirin said, her posture easing with visible relief, as if she had been holding her breath. “Yes, I have clothes ready for you. I always hoped you would return, and so I . . . in here, Jack. . . .” She strode into his bedroom.

Jack stiffly followed.

He watched as Mirin opened the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed. She withdrew a stack of perfectly folded garments. A fawn-colored tunic and a green plaid.

“I made these for you,” she said, staring down at the raiment. “I had to guess how tall you’d be, but I think I imagined right.”

Jack accepted the clothes. “Thank you,” he said, the words clipped. He was numb with shock and irritated from wearing Torin’s oversized, drenched clothes all day. He was hungry and tired and overwhelmed by the knowledge of Frae, by the request Adaira had made of him.

He needed a moment alone.

Mirin must have sensed it. She left without another word, closing the door behind her.

Jack sighed, dropping his guise. His face grooved in pain, and he closed his eyes, drawing in long, deep breaths until he felt strong enough to survey his old room.

A candle burned on his writing desk, washing the stone walls in faint light. His childhood storybooks were lined up in a row; he wondered if Frae had read them by now. He was surprised to find his slingshot still hanging on a nail in the wall, alongside a small tapestry that must have belonged to his sister. A reed mat covered the floor, and the bed sat in one corner, draped in his childhood blanket. Mirin had woven it for him, a warm covering to ward off the chilly nights of the isle.

His eyes traced it, catching on something unexpected near the pillow.

Jack frowned and stepped closer, realizing it was a bouquet of wildflowers. Had Frae picked these for him? Surely not, he thought. But he couldn’t help but assume that his mother and sister had been waiting for him to arrive all day. Ever since they heard of his presence on the wind.

He set his harp down.

He disrobed and dressed in the clothes Mirin had made for him. To his shock, they fit him perfectly. The wool was warm and soft against his skin, and the plaid came around him like an embrace.

Jack lingered in his room a moment longer, struggling to dissolve the emotion he was feeling. By the time he had regained his composure and returned to the common room, Mirin had a bowl of dinner waiting for him.