A Fire Endless (Elements of Cadence, #2)

by Rebecca Ross

“Moray Breccan has escaped from the dungeons.”

She didn’t know if the blight would affect the baby growing inside her.

When the night shift arrived, he asked one of the guards for a quill, ink, and parchment, so he could write a letter. The guard provided him with the materials, not realizing I had denied this request, and Moray used the quill as a weapon, stabbing the guard in the neck. From there, he got the keys and killed four more guards with the dirk he stole.

“I think Moray has gone home to be with his sister.”

She bent down to collect the jewels she had made.

“A place where the last Bard of the West lived, before music fell out of favor,”

“He thought I had stolen my harp from here.”

His breath caught when her gaze united with his own.

“You’ve been protecting me—my music—all this time?”

“All I ask is for you to give me a portion of your power, so I may never die,” the bard said. “So I may grow renowned amongst my clan, and amongst your kind. If you do, I will sing of your prowess forever.”

“I see your essence and how hungry you are. And you play for yourself and your desires alone. You do not give. You only want to consume. For that reason alone, I cannot grant you what you want. It would fit you poorly.”

“We know you’re playing,” one of them said. “And you need to stop. None of us can wield our magic when you do, and our families are going hungry.”

“I have the other half of this book.”

Graeme had originally given its counterpart to Torin, thinking the stories would help him

How did Graeme have it???

“I think the sisters in the riddle are Whin and Orenna,”

You must have seen that day when Orenna was banished to dry, heartsick ground, and then how the clan line’s creation kept Whin away from her sister.”

“May I take some of your flowers, Orenna?”

“You are the first who has ever asked,”

“Take what you can carry.”

Moray Breccan.

“He has stolen from me,” she said. “Again and again, he has taken without asking, without thanking. He has used my knowledge for malice, and if I wasn’t cursed—if I could leave this graveyard—I would hunt him down and tear out his throat.”

She hadn’t given much thought to the nature of her mother’s relationship with her brother, but never would she have imagined this. A laird who didn’t trust or respect their heir. A mother who had no choice but to twist her only son’s arm until he was facedown on the floor.

“I want justice. Let me fight in the arena. Let the sword speak for me.”

“Let her write to Sidra.”

He has asked to fight in the culling, and I want to give him that opportunity.”

“I want him to die with honor. If I return him to the Tamerlaines, they will execute him. His bones will rot from the shame of what he’s done.”

“And what if he kills my father?” Jack queried. “Does Moray walk free?” “No. He’ll remain in the dungeons and fight again until someone can defeat him.”

The hierarchy had been made by Iagan’s music.

She already knew her answer. There had never been a moment of doubt, no moment when she needed to consider which path to take. But she didn’t want Moray to know it. At least, not yet.

And I would love nothing more than to bore you with mainland stories day after day and sing for you until your guilt sheds like old skin and you choose the life you want, not the one you think you deserve.”

“Because your heart is good and brave and kind,” Ella said. “You are thoughtful and smart. And those are the people who I want to be friends with. Not the ones who think they are above everyone else. Who scowl and judge things they don’t understand and throw mud and have cowardly hearts.”

But then your music found me on the floor. Your words found me at my weakest, at my darkest hour. You reminded me to breathe—to inhale, to exhale. You reminded me of all the gleaming moments we shared, even if it had just been for a season. You reminded me of what could still be if I was brave enough to reach out and claim it.

“You and I have faced many things alone,” Jack murmured. “Between the mainland and the isle, the east and the west, we’ve carried our troubles in solitude. As if it were weakness to share one’s burdens with another. But I am with you now. I am yours, and I want you to lay your burdens down on me, Adaira.”

“I don’t need autumn, or winter, or spring,” Adaira said, letting the words bloom. “I want you eternally. Will you take the blood vow with me, Jack?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Adaira.”

“Bone of my bone,” he said as his blood welled. “Flesh of my flesh. Blood of my blood.”

“Bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh. Blood of my blood.”

She let them all go because he was her home, her shelter. Her endless fire, burning through the dark.

If Moray did fall that night, then who would inherit the west when Innes was gone?

They had given him the best the armory had to offer, while giving Niall the battered, dull-edged scraps.

He was waiting for her permission to kill her son.

The western heir was dead.

“The sword has spoken for you, and you are absolved of your crimes. You may walk freely amongst the clan once more, for the spirits have found you worthy of life.”

And there was only one place he would go. Home to his cottage in the woods.

I think he’s going to mirin

“May you be strong and courageous,” he said. “May your enemies kneel before you. May you find the answers you seek. May you be victorious and spirits-blessed, and may peace follow as your shadow.”

The blight’s remedy shone on the rock with all the radiance of the moon.

But if the blight had been on her hands, she too would have had no choice but to wear gloves. If the laird’s consort was blighted, it suddenly made sense why the Breccans were eager to have her visit.

“So you’ll drink it?” “No. I can’t,” Sidra said, her heart quickening. “I’m pregnant.”

“When his music cast a net of control over the spirits of the isle.”

He tore the wings from his body and laid them at Iagan’s feet beside the clan line, where they shone, crimson and gold, and bled into the grass.