Innes nodded, but hesitated. There was more she wanted to say, and Adaira inwardly braced herself for it.
“The next time you leave Kirstron,” Innes finally said, “please let me know where you’re going.”
Adaira bit the inside of her cheek. How foolish of her to think that just because she had slipped in and out of the castle without trouble, Innes hadn’t known. Her mother seemed to have eyes everywhere.
“And take a horse from the stables,” Innes added gruffly. “I’ve told my stable master to select one for you to ride. Next time simply ask her for the horse rather than sneak out on foot.”
“I’ll do that,” Adaira said. “Thank you, Innes.”
“When I introduced you as my daughter to the thanes the other night, I was making a claim. If anyone tries to harm you, they harm me, and I’m at liberty to take any actions I want in restitution.” Innes paused, but her countenance had softened, as though the mask she wore had cracked. “But because I’ve publicly acknowledged you, some in the clan will now see you as a target. A threat. A way to strike at me. So all I’m asking of you are three things: you let me know when you leave the castle, you carry your sword, and you take a horse. Agreed?”
“Yes,” Adaira said.
“Good. Here’s your next dose. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Stunned, Adaira accepted the vial of Aethyn and watched her mother stride down the corridor. She slipped the poison into her pocket and shut the door, marveling over this new freedom she had been given. She walked into her bedchamber but stopped before the hearth, thinking of Kae and the bard’s cottage on the loch. Adaira needed to visit her again tomorrow, and now it would be much easier with a horse.
She shivered, surprised by how cold the room felt. The fire was still crackling in the hearth, but no heat emanated from it. The air held a trace of winter, and Adaira reached for her plaid, wrapping the enchanted wool around her shoulders to keep warm as she returned to her desk.
She read through Jack’s ink-blotted words again. A few minutes later, the wildest idea hit her, stealing her breath.
Jack wasn’t sending a second letter.
He was coming west.
The guards escorted him into a dingy holding room. Battered armor hung from iron racks, and swords gleamed on the wall. Jack had only a moment to take it in before he saw Rab Pierce, standing in the center of the chamber. He was ruddy-faced and smiling, his blond hair brushed and oiled and gleaming with blue jewels.
“Let’s get you suited for the spar,” Rab said in a pleasant tone, ambling over to the rack. “You’re quite slim, though. Might have to fit you in lad’s armor.”
Jack silently took the insult as his eyes tracked Rab’s every movement. His hands were still shackled behind his back, and four guards stood behind him, but in that moment it was only Jack and Rab in the antechamber. A bard and a thane’s spoiled son, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.
“Ah, here we are,” Rab announced, holding up a bloodstained breastplate with a deep gouge bisecting the front of it. “This one will fit you just right, I think.”
“Why are you so afraid of me?” Jack said.
Rab paused, unable to conceal his surprise at Jack’s comment. But then he snorted, glancing at Jack with languid eyes. “I don’t fear you, Mad Thief. You are, in fact, the last thing I can imagine would terrify me.”
“Then why have you lied?” Jack spoke in a calm voice, even as his pulse betrayed him, beating faster and faster as the minutes passed. As his time in the arena grew imminent. “Why have you treated me with contempt? Why have you falsely imprisoned and shackled me? Why have you led everyone to believe I’m mad when I’m truly everything I say that I am?”
Rab began to close the distance between them. He looked beyond Jack and nodded at the guards, who freed Jack’s hands.
“Lift your arms,” Rab said.
Jack could hear the condescension in his voice, a tone he wanted to rip apart. But he had no choice but to do as Rab said and to allow him to slip the breastplate over his head. The armor settled on Jack’s shoulders, constraining his chest like an unfamiliar embrace. While Rab tightened the leather buckles on the sides, Jack stared at him. The blond stubble that sparsely grew on his chin. The woad tattoo that sat around his neck like a torc. The broken blood vessels framing his nose.
“I believe the last criminal who wore this armor died in it,” Rab said with a sigh, standing back to look Jack over. The guards dutifully bound Jack’s hands together at the small of his back. “I do hope you have better luck, John Breccan.”
“And I must thank you, Rab Pierce,” Jack said. “You believe you have done something grand, something sly. You are quite proud of yourself in this moment but know this: tonight is not my appointed time to die. There are forces at play that you cannot even imagine with your small mind, and one might even say that I was always destined to stand in this moment. You were merely a pawn of the spirits to get me here.”
Rab worked his jaw as he listened. His eyes narrowed, but he managed to scrouge up a sharp-toothed smile and say, “Anything else, Mad Thief?”
Jack returned the scathing smile. “Yes. When I lie beside my wife tonight, when she learns of all you did to bring us back together, I’m sure she will personally want to thank you.”
“Ah yes,” Rab said, stepping closer until Jack could smell the garlic on his breath. “Cora.”
Jack’s stomach wound into a cold knot, listening to the way Rab spoke her western name. How he drew it out. It made Jack want to fill Rab’s mouth with dirt. To slice his tongue into a serpent’s fork. To crack every tooth from his gums and watch him swallow the fragments.
“Perhaps the spirits will be merciful and allow you to bleed out painlessly tonight,” Rab murmured. “Perhaps you will find eternal rest knowing I will keep her bed warm. That I’ll be drawing my name from her mouth in the dark. Because she will never know you were here.”
Jack snarled, his control finally slipping away. He lunged at Rab, teeth bared, but was caught in the mouth as a guard roughly gagged him with a strip of plaid, the wool tasting like smoke and salt.
“Put the moon helm on him,” Rab said tersely. “Check it twice to make sure it’s locked. His face needs to remain concealed tonight, understand?”
Jack strained against the gag, his anger crackling through him like fire. He didn’t register Rab’s words until a dented helm was forced over his head. Jack felt the metal chin strap pull tight beneath his jaw, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock. He was trapped, lost within this heavy helm that afforded him only two slits to see the world. His breaths quickened as he chewed against the gag, but it was knotted tight.
But through the eye holes, he saw Rab cross his arms and grin.