“No,” Jack said. “I’ve come to ask you about my father.”
Mirin’s fingers froze, but her eyes darted across the chamber to meet his. He thought she might brush away his questions; she had done so for years when he was a boy, when he had been desperate to know who his father was and why he was absent. But Mirin must have seen the determination in his stance and his distant gaze, as if he were halfway to the west.
She rarely stepped away from her work, but now she left the loom. “Sit down, Jack,” she said, busying her hands with preparing a pot of tea.
Jack sat at the table, patiently watching her. She poured them each a cup before taking the chair across from his, and he noticed she looked pale and exhausted. It was all those enchanted plaids she wove, and he resisted the temptation to glance at the loom.
“What do you want to know?” Mirin asked.
“What his name is to begin with.”
She hesitated, but her voice was clear when she spoke. “Niall. Niall Breccan. He took the clan name when he was appointed Keeper of the Aithwood, as a measure of his fealty.”
Jack thought about that for a moment, mulling over his father’s name. Niall Breccan. “And you said he lives upstream, not far from you?”
“Yes. A cottage in the woods, by the riverbank.” Mirin’s fingertips traced the rim of her teacup.
“Does he live alone there?”
“As far as I know, he does. Why? Why are you asking me this, Jack?”
“Because I’m going west to be with Adaira, and I would like to find him.”
Mirin hardly reacted. It was then that Jack realized she had been waiting for this moment. She had been expecting him to pack up his bags and cross to the other side of the isle ever since the truth had been revealed and Adaira had departed. The entire month he had waited before leaving was apparently a longer period of delay than Mirin had expected.
“I need to tell you something, Jack,” she whispered, and his heart lurched with dread. “I saw your father, weeks ago. On the night when the Breccans came here, demanding to speak with Adaira. The night everything changed.” Mirin paused. She laid her palm over the base of her throat, as though it ached. Jack could only hold his breath and wait. “As you know, your father gave up the secret of the river to Moray Breccan. I suppose Niall must have then struck a deal, one that enabled him to see me one last time before he was punished for his crime of giving Adaira to the east. So they brought him to me. Frae and I . . . we were there, in that corner, preparing for a raid, and the Breccans dragged your father into the house, bound as a prisoner.”
Wondering why Mirin had never mentioned this encounter before, Jack wanted to be angry with her. But then he watched her wipe her tears away.
“They called him ‘Oathbreaker’ and stripped him of his title and name,” she continued. “I hardly had time to draw breath, I was so shocked to see him again. And I said nothing as they dragged him away.”
Jack moved around the table, so he could sit at Mirin’s side. He took her hand, felt how cold and lean it was. Her hand that had woven countless secrets into plaids. He held it now as she wept. She had been suppressing these tears for weeks, for years, and they came fast and furious now, the sound of a heart that had broken. Jack quietly bore witness to his mother’s pain, to the sacrifices she had made, to the weight she carried, alone, as a woman who loved a man she could never claim.
“I’m sorry, Mum,” Jack whispered, squeezing her hand.
Mirin blotted away the last of her tears. “I tell you this, Jack, because I don’t know if your father is living. They may have executed him for his crimes.”
The thought had passed Jack’s mind, but hearing that possibility shaped by Mirin’s voice suddenly made it feel far more real. His heart was heavy as he continued to hold her hand.
“And I knew this day was coming,” Mirin continued, turning her dark eyes to him. Eyes dark as the ocean at night. “I knew that you would cross the clan line to be with Adaira and to find the answers you’ve always hungered for. I know that you want to go now, to not lose another minute. But if I may ask this of you, Jack, stay one more day with us. Spend one last night here with Frae and me. Partake in one last morning meal with us.”
He nearly winced at the request, because his determination was keen. He had sent his letter to Adaira and wanted to follow it immediately. He wanted to stand in the west before the sun set.
Mirin continued, “I have this feeling, Jack. That once you cross over to the west, you’ll never come back here. You’ll never return to the east.”
Her revelation quelled his impatience. His mind went quiet, and his heart seemed to go hollow. There were only his breaths, rushing in and out, and his pulse, echoing in his ears.
He nodded, because he couldn’t argue with the validity of her request. He told himself that he could gladly spend another evening here with her and Frae. For one more night, he could eat at this table, sit by the hearth, and bask in his mother’s stories. He could sing a ballad for his little sister, who was still eager to hear the Tamerlaine songs. He could wake one more morning to watch the sun rise in the east.
“All right,” he whispered. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
Mirin sagged with relief. “Thank you, Jack.”
He granted her a slender smile. But deep within he was sad. And beneath that sorrow, he was furious. He hated how his life and the people he loved were divided and separated from each other. He was chilled by the thought that he might never see Mirin and Frae again, and yet he couldn’t bear to be estranged from Adaira and unknown by his father.
I will bring the two halves together, he thought, even though it seemed so impossible he could have laughed. I will play for peace in the west, and I will see my family made whole.
“Promise me one thing, Jack,” Mirin said, breaking into his reveries by taking hold of his face with her hands.
“Anything,” he said, waiting.
“Don’t tell them you’re Niall’s son.”
He nodded, but his hope began to wither. His excitement dimmed. He would have to go unclaimed once more. He would have to act as if the west held no roots for him. His mother’s request made him feel old and weary.
“Keep your blood ties a secret,” Mirin whispered, urgently.
“Don’t worry, Mum,” Jack said. “They’ll never know.”
Chapter 13
“Eat your kail, Maisie,” Sidra said, watching her daughter from across the table.
“Daddie doesn’t make me eat it,” Maisie stated, glaring at the greens on her plate.
Sidra resisted the temptation to look at Torin’s empty chair, his plate filled with a now-cold dinner. “Your father would if he were here. Eat your kail, please.”