“Thank you,” Torin said, taking a sip of the tea Elspeth had poured. He pursed his lips, and Frae worried that maybe the tea tasted terrible. But then the laird said, “There’s something else we need to discuss.”
Frae leaned forward, waiting. When Torin still hesitated, Sidra cleared her throat. “A portion of the clan line has lost its curse,” she said. “In the place where the Aithwood burned, where Jack sang.”
“Jack?” Frae cried, hopeful. “Will he come home soon?”
Now Sidra hesitated. Mirin grasped Frae’s hand and held it tightly. Frae glanced from her mother to the healer, her heart beginning to pound.
“Where is my brother?” she asked. “Is he with Adaira?”
“I’m afraid that something happened when your brother sang for the spirits, Frae,” Sidra said. “I’m sure you noticed that part of the Aithwood is burned?”
Frae nodded. Of course she had. It was one of the first things she had taken note of when she emerged from the cottage after the storm. Sometimes she could still smell the smoke when the wind blew from the west.
“Did Jack get hurt?” she whispered.
“No,” Sidra replied. “But he went to be with the spirits.”
“What do you mean?”
The adults were quiet, but all of them seemed grave and uncomfortable. Frae’s gaze touched each of their faces, and her heart only beat faster, making her stomach ache.
“Do you mean he won’t be coming back?” she asked.
“No, darling,” Mirin murmured, reaching out to caress Frae’s hair. “But he—”
“He promised me,” Frae hissed. Again, that anger was boiling through her. Anger and something else. It tasted like salt and blood, and she lurched up from the table, yanking her fingers from Mirin’s. “He said he would come back soon. He promised me that he would!”
“Frae . . .” Mirin was saying, reaching for her.
A sob broke in Frae’s chest. She turned and bolted, embarrassed to be crying in front of Torin and Sidra and Niall and Elspeth. She slipped out the back door and ran through the garden, catching herself on the gate. She could hardly see; the tears blurred everything. Eventually she clambered over the low stone wall and stormed down the hill to where the river had been.
She sat on its banks, the place where Jack had taught her how to shoot his slingshot, and how to choose the best rocks. She struggled to understand what Sidra had said—how could her brother be gone? Frae stood and went over to the sandy riverbed to gather stones.
She hurled them, one after the other, until her arm was sore. She was sitting in the grass again, knees pulled up to her chest, when Mirin came to sit beside her. The air had cooled with dusk, and Frae was shivering. Her fury had burned away, and the only two things she felt were heavy and sad.
“I don’t want him to be dead,” Frae whispered.
“Jack isn’t dead, Frae.”
“But he’s gone!”
“Yes. But he still lives.”
“Where?”
“Look up, Frae,” Mirin said in a voice soft with wonder.
Frae didn’t want to look up. But she did, unable to resist.
“Tell me what you see, darling.”
“Clouds,” Frae said, stubbornly.
“And what else?”
“The sky.”
“And is there more than just clouds and the sky?”
Frae squinted. She could just discern the first constellation, breaking the lavender cloak of dusk. “I see the stars. And the moon.”
Mirin gathered her close, and Frae rested in her mother’s arms. They both watched the stars begin to burn, one by one, and Mirin whispered, “That is where your brother is. He is the fire and the light of the isle. As long as the stars shine, he will always be with you.”
Frae was quiet, soaking in that thought. This time when she cried, she let Mirin wipe away her tears.
Chapter 44
The first trade happened in Niall Breccan’s cottage in the heart of the Aithwood. Adaira and Sidra had worked together the past fortnight cleaning the house and tending to the garden. They had set tables in the yard and built an outdoor firepit to cook large meals over.
“Do you think anyone will come today?” Adaira asked.
Sidra was stirring a large cauldron of soup over the outdoor pit. “I think you’ll be surprised, Adi.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
Sidra only smiled.
Adaira wasn’t surprised to see Mirin arrive first, by way of the river road. She brought a few weavings with her, as well as a basket of freshly dyed yarn. Then Una Carlow arrived, and while she didn’t bring anything to trade, she gladly took a bowl of soup when Sidra offered it to her. Another Tamerlaine came by road, bearing necklaces strung with shells and colorful glass beads.
Adaira resisted the urge to pace as she waited to see if any of the Breccans would come.
In the end, seven showed up. Two traded with Mirin, three with the Tamerlaine jeweler. Nearly all of the Breccans and Tamerlaines who had come stayed to eat the meal Sidra had prepared. While members of the two clans sat at separate tables, Adaira was deeply pleased.
“It’s a good start,” Innes had said when she arrived to survey the progress of the exchange.
They decided to hold another trade two weeks later rather than wait for a full moon to wax and wane. More Tamerlaines arrived, as did more Breccans. This time they mingled at the tables, eating the meal provided and exchanging goods.
The atmosphere still felt cautious and strained at moments, but for most of her life Adaira had never even dreamt she would see such a day. She watched it all, quietly marveling and reveling in the joy of it—until she noticed the scorched trees surrounding Niall’s cottage. The sight made her feel heavy again, as though her grief had turned to iron.
Some days she would walk through the burned part of the forest. It was always solemn and eerie there, as if that part of the isle had truly died. She wondered if other spirits would eventually reclaim this place, or if the burning would stand forever as a testament to what had happened.
The days became shorter and the nights longer as summer gave way to autumn and winter drew closer.
The first snow fell, and Adaira saw that the Breccan stores were becoming dangerously low. Even with Bane’s curse broken, it would take several seasons for the west to regain what it had lost beneath the clouds. She went to bed hungry some nights, even though Innes always ensured that Adaira had food. Adaira suspected that her mother wasn’t eating, though, in order to keep her daughter fed.
Adaira wrote to Torin and Sidra.
More food appeared during the trade, which was now being held once a week. Word continued to spread in the west, and more Breccans arrived to barter for oats and preserved fruits, wheels of cheese and jars of cream and butter, herbs and dried meat and fish, and livestock. They brought their best weavings and weapons, their finest baskets and shoes and jewelry and furs, and the Tamerlaines accepted their offerings, although not without a bit of haggling.
One night Adaira sat with Innes in her quarters, both of them quietly reading by firelight.
“I was thinking about the clan line today,” Innes said suddenly.