She walked deeper into the shadows. Through the dusky light, she saw the far wall. It glistened, as if it breathed.
Adaira’s hand found her sword hilt. She dared to take a step closer, frowning. And then the sight of what hung on the wall struck her like a fist and she halted, wide-eyed as she stared at an array of harps.
A few of them still had their strings and hung on the wall. Most of them had cracked from the weight of being untouched for years and lay in scattered pieces on the floor. But there was something else on the wall, gleaming in the light.
As Adaira stared at the slender segments, her blood turned to ice.
Bones.
A skeleton was hanging on the wall.
Chapter 20
Sidra sat in a chair before Moray Breccan’s cell. The dungeons were cold and dimly lit. Water dripped from the ceiling, and the air was laced with every scent imaginable—wet stone, burning pitch, stale hay mattresses, and human refuse.
She almost vomited, but by sheer will held everything down.
Moray sat on the edge of his cot, watching her intently through the iron bars. In the beginning, he had been shackled to the wall. Eventually, Torin had ordered Moray’s wrists and ankles set free, but he was still confined to his small cell. It had taken a while longer, but Torin had then agreed to let Moray request a few books from the library and given him a proper blanket to keep warm with and a plaid, void of all enchantments, to wrap around his shoulders.
Of course, the plaid was red and green, colors the Tamerlaines favored. It took a few days in the frigid bowels of the castle for Moray to finally relent and start wearing it.
“Have you heard from Cora?” Moray rasped.
Sidra continued to stare at him. She would never forget that he had kicked her in the chest and beaten her into the heather. That he had taken her daughter, provoking the worst anguish Sidra had ever known.
“Have you heard from my sister?” Moray persisted.
“Adaira is well,” Sidra said in a clipped tone. “Why have you asked to speak with me?”
“May I write a letter to her?”
“No.”
“If I dictate a letter, would you transcribe it for me?”
“No,” Sidra said again.
Moray’s eyes seemed to grow darker, like night descending on a loch. But Sidra held his stare, unflinching.
“Where is the laird?” he finally asked, and his tone was smug. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your husband. How does he fare?”
“I’ll tell him you asked after him,” Sidra said, beginning to rise.
Moray panicked and stood, holding out a grimy hand. “Wait, Lady! There’s something I’d like to ask you.”
Sidra resumed her seat, but only because her foot was throbbing. “If it’s more books you want, you’ve had plenty. If it’s another blanket, I’ll consider it. If it’s to write your parents, my answer is no.”
“How much longer?” Moray asked, slowly sitting back down on his mattress. He pulled the Tamerlaine plaid tighter around his shoulders. “How much longer will I be here, and is there a way I can prove my honor? Perhaps you could choose your finest, strongest warrior and let us fight to the death, see which of us prevails?”
Sidra was shocked, and he must have seen it in her expression.
“Let the sword decide if I deserve to live or die,” he said.
“No.”
She didn’t tell him this, but the council had decided to keep him imprisoned for a decade. Ten full years. By then, the anger the Tamerlaines felt toward Moray’s sins would be diminished, and they would return him to the west with a long list of conditions. But most important, Adaira would be able to finally come home if she wanted.
Ten years.
Adaira would be thirty-three.
Moray shifted. His irritation was beginning to show, but he surprised her further by saying, “Do you have siblings, Lady Sidra?”
She didn’t want to answer personal questions. She didn’t want to give this man any knowledge about her or her past.
She was silent, but he smiled.
“I take that as a yes,” Moray said. “I have a twin, as you already know. But I also had a younger sister. Her name was Skye.”
Sidra was quiet. She hated how her interest was piqued.
“Skye wasn’t like most of us,” he continued. “She wasn’t drawn to swords or spars or challenges. She preferred books and art and was so tender toward animals that she refused to eat their meat. My parents adored her, even as she seemed to be such an odd creature amongst our kind. And when the rumors spread, rumors that she was destined to be a greater ruler than me, I couldn’t find it in my heart to be jealous of her. She was such a light in our darkness. A constellation that burned through the clouds.”
Sidra listened, shivering beneath the warmth of her plaid. “And what happened to Skye?”
Moray glanced down at the floor. “Every month my parents call their thanes and their heirs into the castle hall for a feast. It’s a dangerous, unpredictable night, because there’s always a thane or two who is scheming to take the rulership. Because I’m their heir, my parents had been dosing me with poison and dressing me only in enchanted garments with orders to always have a blade in my possession. They were paranoid, you see. They had lost Cora to the ‘wind,’ and they couldn’t bear to lose another child. I will always wonder why they didn’t take the same measures with Skye, but perhaps they thought the clan as a whole loved her.
“A fortnight after Skye turned twelve, a feast was held. She and I were present, as was customary, and she was sitting at my right. She had flowers in her hair, I remember. She was radiant, laughing at something one of the thanes’ daughters had said. And then it happened, so quickly.” He fell quiet, lost in his remembrance.
“What happened?” Sidra prompted.
Moray’s gaze returned to her. “Skye began to cough, so she drank her wine. And then I noticed she kept flexing her hands, and she seemed sluggish. Soon her breaths were labored and shallow, as if her heart was beating slower and slower. I reached out to touch her—she was chilled, as if ice had crept beneath her skin. I knew it then. I had felt such things before in my own body, long ago when I first started taking the Aethyn in safe doses. But there is only one way to be sure. I took the dirk from my belt, and I sliced her palm.”
“Why?” Sidra asked. “Did you think it would let the poison escape?”
“There’s no countermeasure, no antidote for Aethyn,” Moray said. “But it turns spilled blood into jewels. And I watched my sister’s blood drip from her palm. I watched it transform into cold gemstones, so brilliant it looked like fire was within them, and I knew by their size alone that she would die within the hour. I will never forget the fear in her eyes when she looked at me, nor the sound my mother made when she saw Skye’s blood, glittering as jewels on the table.”