A River Enchanted: A Novel (Elements of Cadence Book 1)

It was sweltering by noontide. A hazy, sun-drenched day for the first trade to take place between east and west. Jack stood beside Adaira in an old fisherman’s hut, with a crate of the Tamerlaines’ best grains, honey, milk, and wine at their feet. The goods had been gathered in secret and were ready to be carried down to the northern coast, where they would meet Moray Breccan. Their only obstacle was Torin, who hovered between them and the hut’s door.

“This is foolish, Adi,” he said, glaring at her. “You should let me come with you.”

“We’ve already discussed this, Torin,” Adaira said in a clipped tone. She was exhausted. Jack knew they had both stolen only a few hours of sleep last night, in their separate beds. “I’m to approach unarmed and without my guard, as is Jack.”

“Aye, so Moray Breccan can sink an arrow into you,” Torin said. “And I won’t be there to stop it, or even see it happen.”

Adaira was quiet, but her eyes were on her cousin. “What are you afraid of, Torin? Give this fear a name, so I can put your mind at ease.”

That brought Torin upright. He stared at her, jaw clenched and eyes glinting in the light.

In that tense moment, Jack saw through the captain as if he were made of glass. Torin never wanted to appear weak or incapable; Jack imagined this must be a Tamerlaine trait. Pride and the need to appear invincible must have been passed down in their blood, generation after generation.

“If they kill you,” Torin said in a low voice. “I will burn the west to the ground. I won’t spare a single Breccan life.”

“You would kill innocent women and children, Torin?” Adaira countered. She didn’t give him a chance to reply before she continued. “You’re afraid of losing me. I understand your fear because I have also felt its many shades. But while I may be your imminent laird, I am not yours to lose. I belong to the clan as a whole, and my choice to participate in the trade today is for the good of all the Tamerlaines.”

Torin sighed. “Adi …”

“I’m also going to find an answer we are desperate to know,” she said, touching her bodice, where the last Orenna flower had been tucked away in a vial.

Torin’s scowl only deepened. He knew what she inferred. “Did Sidra put you up to this?”

“Sidra has given me advice I desperately needed,” Adaira said. “Knowing where this flower grows is going to help us solve this mystery. It could help us find Maisie.”

Torin was silent, and Jack took that moment to study him. The captain’s clothes looked looser, as if he had lost weight. His skin was sallow, and a few silver threads gleamed in his blond hair. Jack wondered if Torin had slept or eaten a proper meal since his daughter had been kidnapped. It seemed like he would slowly wither away without answers, and the thought made Jack feel laden with sorrow.

Torin drew a sharp breath and said, “If a Breccan was crossing the clan line, I’d know instantly. Sidra mentioned to me that she thinks the west is involved, and yet I don’t see how they could be.”

“They might be involved in a trade with one of our own,” Adaira said. “Not crossing themselves but sending the flowers over to the east.”

“I still don’t see how this is possible,” Torin countered.

“This is why you must let me go to meet Moray,” she replied. “To discover how we’re going to send this crate of goods over to the west without crossing the clan line.”

Torin made no reply, but he wanted to protest. Jack could see the captain’s frustration building, but Adaira added in a soft voice, “You and your guards have been searching endlessly, Torin. Let me help by doing this.”

Torin, at last, nodded and stepped back, clearing the way to the hut’s door.

Adaira turned to Jack. “Help me carry the crate.”

Jack took one side, Adaira the other, and together they slipped from the hut and began the careful trek down the rocks. Torin and a few of his trusted guards remained behind, ensuring that no one approached or caught a glimpse of Jack and Adaira. This trade-by-trial was still steeped in secret, and only a select few had been given knowledge of it.

Jack didn’t know what to expect. He tried to appear optimistic for Adaira’s sake, even as he felt more inclined to agree with Torin. The one thing he could be assured of was that the cave they were visiting was a forbidden place, and it would soon fill with water as the tide rose.

They finally reached the shore. A western wind blew, hot with curiosity as birds cawed and swooped down to the water. The waves surged and retreated, leaving pieces of conch shells and tendrils of algae in their wake. The sand was soft, crushed beneath Jack’s boots as he walked with Adaira, the crate bumping against his leg. The clan line loomed in the distance, a chain of stones on the beach smudged with the heat of the air.

It made Jack think of his return to the isle. How he had washed up on the Breccans’ southern coast. There had been no one in the west to greet or threaten him, even for the short amount of time he had inadvertently trespassed. And yet he knew the Breccans had their own watch. Sometimes it felt as if keeping secrets on this isle was impossible, as if the best place for them might be in the woven pattern of a plaid, as Mirin knew best.

All too soon, Jack and Adaira reached the boundary. The edge of the east. They followed the rocks to the cave, its mouth invisible until Jack squinted. Into the shadows he went, Adaira following. They were the first to arrive, and the water was already knee deep. Jack shivered as it soaked through his boots. His eyes swept their surroundings; he took the crate and set it on a rock to keep it dry.

It was dim in the cave, the air cold and prickled with brine. It was a small, round space, and only a few threads of sunlight streamed in from cracks overhead.

Jack didn’t like it here. The place felt dangerous, eager to drown them if they weren’t vigilant about the tide. Ream’s words came to mind, as clear as if she stood in the foam of the cave, speaking to them again. Beware of blood in the water. Had the folk of the tide seen a glimpse of the future? Had they anticipated that this meeting would take place here and sought to give a warning to Adaira?

Jack shifted his weight, uneasy.

The wait for Moray’s arrival felt unbearable. Trying to ease his worries, Jack studied Adaira. He had scarcely given himself a moment to look at her that day, it had begun so madly with covertly preparing for the trade. But his eyes traced her now.

She wore a green dress and her enchanted plaid shawl. Her hair was braided with silver chains and tiny hearts of gemstones. The half coin shone at her neck, its glimmer matching his own, hidden beneath his plaid.

Jack almost said to her that he was glad she had asked him—chosen him—to stand with her in this moment as her partner. A moment that could unfold in a hundred different ways. A beginning or an end, and yet she had wanted it to be him.

She felt his gaze and glanced at him. She frowned. “Is something wrong, bard?”

He shook his head, but his hand found hers, weaving their fingers together. He returned his attention to the other side of the cave.

A few minutes passed. Soon Jack could hear pebbles shifting and the scrape of boots on the rocks. There was a strange echo, and Jack braced himself as Moray Breccan stepped into the western side of the cave.

He was tall and lean with dark blond hair and striking, angular features. A blue plaid was draped from his shoulder. On his forearms, woad tattoos danced in interlocked patterns. An old scar shone on his cheek, cutting through his braided beard. He carried a burlap sack and a narrow boat made from a hollowed tree trunk.

In some ways, Moray Breccan was exactly as Jack had envisioned him. A warrior, with stories on his pale skin. But in other ways, his appearance was surprising. He was dressed similarly to Jack—tunic and plaid and belt, with soft boots tethered up to his knees. If not for the proud display of blue and the tattoos, he might have passed as one of their own. And then came his smile. A grin spread across his face the moment he beheld Adaira, even as the tide whirled between them.

Jack didn’t know if the smile was friendly or predatory. He tightened his grip on her hand.

“Heiress,” Moray said. His voice was rough at the edges, resonating in the cave. It reminded Jack of splintered wood. “At last we meet face-to-face.”

“Heir of the West,” Adaira greeted him. “Thank you for coming. This is my husband, Jack.”

The Breccan’s eyes shifted, meeting Jack’s stare. “A pleasure,” Moray said, but his gaze returned swiftly to Adaira. She was the one he was interested in, and Jack felt his stomach knot.

“Is it not odd to you, heiress,” Moray said, “that you and I have breathed the same wind and walked the same isle, swum in the same tides and slept beneath the same stars, and yet we have been raised as enemies?”

Adaira was quiet, but Jack could feel her draw a deep breath. “Our isle was divided long ago by the decision of one of my ancestors, as well as one of yours. I have hope that Cadence can be restored, and I believe this trade is the first step to seeing the balance return. We have brought the best of the east as a sign of our goodwill. This is only a prelude to what we can offer your clan should peace be upheld.”

“And we are grateful for your benevolence, Adaira,” said Moray, and he sounded genuine. “Likewise, we have something to give to you, in hopes that it will be a worthy enough exchange.”

“Then let us make the trade,” Adaira said, but she hesitated. She couldn’t cross the line lurking beneath the water, and neither could Moray. Or, Jack supposed, they physically could, but doing so would sound alarms to both sets of guards. To Torin, pacing on the hill, eager for a reason to arrive, and to Moray’s guards, who Jack surmised were also not far from the coast.

“I’ve thought long about how we could safely partake in this first exchange without stepping foot off our lands,” Moray said. “Hence, this cave and this boat. I will put my goods in the boat and pass it over to you. After you take my offering, grant me yours, and I will pull the boat back to my side.”

Jack remained quiet as he stood beside Adaira, and they watched as Moray prepared his boat. He tied a rope to the stern and set his burlap bag in the hull. He let the rope go slack in his blue printed hands, and the boat began to float toward them. It sailed over the clan line, from western waters into eastern ones. Jack grasped the boat to hold it steady while Adaira opened the sack.

She withdrew a large blanket, woven from the finest of dyed wool. It was a vibrant purple, even in the dusky light, with traces of gold in the pattern. Jack had an inkling it was enchanted; did all the Breccans sleep beneath charmed weavings?

“The blanket will keep you warm in the winter and cool in the summer,” Moray explained. “It will also protect you from any harm that might befall you in the night.”

“It’s beautiful,” Adaira said. “Thank you.”

Next, she found a bottle, sloshing with amber liquid. She held it up to a stream of sun, and Moray said, “It’s called gra. A fermented drink that is revered in the west. We consume it only in the presence of those we trust.”

Adaira nodded, appreciating the message, and reached for the last object in the sack. Jack watched, his brow creasing as she withdrew a piece of an antler.

“I couldn’t bring you a dirk,” Moray explained. “Because we had agreed to come unarmed for this first meeting. But you’re holding a hilt in your hand, Adaira. Tell me what enchanted blade you long for, and I will have it forged for you.”

Adaira was quiet, studying the piece of antler. There were countless charms she could ask for. Jack had heard of blades being enchanted with terror, confusion, weariness. There were tales of swords stealing joyful memories from the mortals they cut. Most enchanted weapons held terrible things, emotions and feelings that one would only desire to bestow upon an enemy.

Jack sensed this was a test. Moray wanted to arm her, which felt strange until Jack realized this was his way of measuring Adaira’s true determination to seek peace. It was tempting to ask for the Breccan’s steel. To ask the Breccans to forge them weapons that the Tamerlaines could in turn use against them.

Adaira returned the antler to the sack. She looked across the water at Moray and said, “Forge me a blade with an enchantment of your choosing. I’ll trust your judgment.”

Moray nodded, his expression neutral. Jack couldn’t read the slant of his thoughts, but it seemed Adaira had answered correctly.

“Will you bring our crate to me, Jack?” Adaira whispered to him.

Jack nodded, gathering the blanket and the bottle of gra. The tide was rising; the water was beginning to reach their waists and he felt a tremor of fear as he half-walked, half-waded to their crate. He set Moray’s offerings on the rock and took the box in his hands, bringing it to Adaira’s side.

She felt the rising tide as well and quickly loaded their resources into the boat. A sack of oats. A sack of barley. A jug of milk. A jar of honey with the comb. A bottle of blood red wine. A taste of the east.

“All right,” Adaira said, and Moray began to pull the boat back to him.

He touched each of the offerings, and when he glanced across the water again, a smile had warmed his face.

“Thank you, Adaira. This is generous of you and your clan,” he said. “Now I would like to ask when you can visit the west. Both my mother and my father are keen to meet you and learn more of the trade you dream of.”

No further preamble. This was the heart of the matter. Jack was tense, waiting for Adaira to speak. He still didn’t think the visit was a good idea. Even if he was with her, there was only so much he could do to protect her. He wasn’t Torin. He wasn’t a guard. He was a musician who was siphoning away his vitality to sing for spirits.

“It might be another month or so,” Adaira replied. “I’m unable to give you a determined date at this time.”

She wanted to settle the mystery of the missing girls first, Jack knew. She wouldn’t even consider leaving the east until the lasses were returned to their families.

“Very well,” Moray said. “We can wait, although I do believe we need to establish a place for trade to happen, and the best way to do so will be through a visit. I don’t think we can continue to pass goods back and forth in this cave.”

“No,” Adaira agreed. “I do want to see the west and your people. But perhaps you could visit us first?”

Yes, Jack thought. Let the Breccans take the initial risk.

Moray’s smile stretched wide. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, for a number of reasons. The first is that my clan would never allow it, given how many Breccans have been killed on Tamerlaine soil by your captain and his guards. But if my people see you come to us first, Adaira, it would diminish that fear.”

“I fail to see the rationale in that,” Jack said tersely. “Your people have been killed in the east because we have had to defend ourselves from your violence.”

Moray cast a languid glance at him. “Is that so? Perhaps you should ask your captain then. Ask him how many innocent Breccans he’s killed over the years.”

Jack’s blood turned cold. His hands felt like ice when he recalled his first night on Cadence. Sitting in a sea cave with Torin.

You meet every stray who crosses the clan line with instant death?

“Then I will come to you first,” Adaira said, seeking to smooth out the tension that was gathering between them. “I’ll write when the time is acceptable for the visit. But in the meantime, I do have one more request of you, Moray.”

“Speak it, heiress.”

She held up the vial with the Orenna blossom. “I’ve been seeking this flower in the east, and I wonder if you recognize it. Perhaps it flourishes in the west? If so, this flower is something that I would like to trade with you for.”

Moray squinted as he studied it. “It’s hard to see clearly from here”—Jack almost rolled his eyes—“but I don’t recognize it. Despite that, I’ll ask others in the clan, to see if they know of it. What’s the flower called, by chance?”

“Orenna,” Adaira said. “It has four petals and is crimson in color, veined with gold. An enchanted flower, as it continues to live long after it has been cut. I appreciate any advice or knowledge you could give about it.”

“I’ll do what I can, heiress,” Moray said. “Now, I should depart, but I’ll await word from you?”

Adaira nodded.

The trade had finally ended. They had survived it unscathed, and Jack took a stiff step away. It felt wrong to turn his back on Moray, but Adaira did, gathering the blanket and the bottle of strange western alcohol.

Jack held out the crate, and she placed the items within. Moray was still in the cave fiddling with his boat when they departed out the eastern side. They walked away, past their footsteps still pressed in the sand, although the tide was threatening to wash them away.

The wind had died, and the air was strangely calm.

“Do you think he was lying, Jack?” she asked in a low voice. “About the flower?”

Jack shifted the crate to his other hip. “I’m not sure. He wasn’t what I expected.”

“Yes. I’m not sure what I think about him yet,” Adaira agreed. “But if we’ve proven anything today … it is possible to move products over the clan line without alerting Torin. It feels fanciful to even think this, but one of our own might be secretly obtaining the flower from the west, delivering them in the tides. Just as we did today.”

The thought was disturbing.

When they had almost reached the rock path, Jack drawled, “So. They want to give us blankets we don’t need and get us drunk. An excellent trade, if I may say so myself.”

Adaira only laughed. It was surprise and joy, mingled into one.

Jack discovered he loved the sound of it.

Sidra stood in her yard, staring at the vegetables, herbs, and flowers. She hadn’t watered them or harvested their fruit. Weeds were beginning to snake across the soil.

She should kneel. She should work, put her hands in the loam.

But she didn’t have the heart to.

Sidra went inside, past Yirr curled up on the stoop, keeping watch. She stood at the table, staring at her pestle and mortar. Her dried herbs, stems, leaves, and flowers. A language she had grown up speaking, and yet it now felt scrambled and dissonant.

The house was so quiet. She wanted to drown in such silence. Gazing into space, Sidra didn’t know how long she had been standing there when the door creaked open.

Yirr hadn’t barked to alert her that someone had entered the yard.

Sidra’s heart leapt into her throat as she turned, afraid until she saw it was Torin. His face was ruddy, whether from sunburn or anger, she wasn’t sure yet. He smelled of summer wind and grass, and she realized he was holding a handful of tonic bottles. The ones she had made for his guard to decrease their need for sleep and to sharpen their focus on the search.

“I’m sorry, Torin,” she said reflexively. She was sorry for the anguished gleam in his eyes, for how his body was losing its strength, hour by hour. She was sorry to see how exhausted he was, and how he was grinding himself down to pieces.

“What are you sorry about?” he countered briskly, as if he were sick of her apologies. “Could you make another batch of these for my guards?”

She didn’t want to make anything with her hands. But she nodded and accepted the bottles from him, setting them on the table. “I’ll bring a new batch by the barracks later.”

“I’ll wait for them now,” he said.

He wanted to watch her work. He had never cared for such things before, and Sidra felt anxious as she began to gather fresh herbs.

“You should sit,” she said. “This will take a while.”

She hoped he would change his mind and leave. There was always someone else who needed him more. Another task more pressing than her.

Torin drew out a chair and sat.

He was quiet for a full five minutes as Sidra set a pot to boil over the fire and began to mix her herbs.

“If a Breccan was wounded and knocked on your door,” Torin began, “would you heal them?”

Sidra glanced up. She wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear from her. And then she realized it wasn’t what Torin was asking for. He yearned to know her truths, even if they were sharp and difficult for him to fathom.

“Yes,” she said.

“If a Breccan wounded me and then knocked on your door with pains of their own, would you heal them?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then you should prepare yourself for it,” he said. “Prepare your salves for our enemies. To heal their wounds, as well as the ones they’ll give to us in return. It’s imminent.”

“What are you speaking of, Torin?”

“The trade that you advised my cousin to go forward with? It happened today, and according to Adaira, it was a success. She now wants to establish a permanent trade with the Breccans, as if one good encounter can wash away all the terror and raids they’ve bestowed upon us for decades.”

“And this is a terrible thing? That your cousin dreams of peace?”

Torin leaned forward in the chair. “I don’t think the Breccans truly want peace. I think they want to drain our resources to weaken us before they overtake the east.”

Sidra swallowed. “Did they recognize the Orenna?”

Torin’s eyes darkened. “No. Which means we are no closer to solving this mystery than we were a day ago. I wish you would trust me to do my job, Sidra.”

She was angry now. Her blood was simmering. He had not only accused her of giving Adaira ill advice but dropped an innuendo that she was meddling in affairs that didn’t concern her.

“What is this really about, Torin?” she asked, slamming her pestle down on the table. “Tell me honestly.”

She had never been one to raise her voice. They had never argued like this. And while she seemed to burn, he withdrew into ice.

“Everything I’ve built with my hands is about to come undone,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “I’ve been charged to protect the east, to give up my own life for it if necessary. It’s how I was raised. It’s why I have this scar on my hand. I’ve given all of myself to this endeavor. I’ve surrendered so much of my time, so much of my devotion, that I often feel as if I can give you and Maisie nothing more than scraps of me, when you both deserve so much more.”

His words caught her by surprise. Her fury waned, leaving ash in its wake.

“The truth is … my hands are stained, Sidra. I’ve craved violence, and I’ve drunk willingly from its cup. I’ve beaten the men who trespass over the clan line, beaten them until they cower and yield. And those who don’t? I’ve ended their lives without a moment of hesitation. I’ve slit their throats and pierced their hearts. I’ve stolen their voices and dropped their bodies into the sea, as if the water could wash away my deeds.”

Sidra was silent as she listened, but her heart was pounding.

“So when you speak of peace,” he said, “when Adaira speaks of peace, I’m unable to see it. It’s a sentiment that is unattainable in my mind, given all the things I’ve done to the Breccans in order to keep the east safe. And if the trade does happen the way my cousin hopes, I will have to encounter people marked by my actions. Do you think they’ll be glad to see me, Sid? Do you think they’ll want to trade with the man who killed their son or beat their brother?”

Torin was staring at his hands, as if he could see the blood on them. Sidra watched him with a knot in her throat. She thought he might be struggling to express his guilt, and while the healer within her wanted to smooth his brow and give him words to ease his pain, she sensed this was a festering wound in him that needed to be opened.

“I know you’ve killed men, Torin,” she said, drawing his eyes to hers. “I’ve seen the blood that stains your plaid, the blood beneath your nails. I’ve seen the haunted gleam in your eye, even though it is fleeting. I know that you are the captain of the guard, that you must protect us from the west, and that sometimes that requires you to kill. But there is more to you than violence. And I don’t want to see you become a man who kills without reason. A man who lets revenge turn his heart into a cold, bitter vessel.”

Now she was the one to take him by surprise. For a moment, he merely gazed up at her. “How would you stop it then? A heart turning to stone?”

“There is another way to protect our clan. A way that veers away from vengeance and enmity. But you must strive to find it, and you must lead the others by example.” She paused, turning her own palms upwards. “Our hands can steal, or they can give. They can harm, or they can comfort. They can wound and kill, or they can heal and save. Which will you choose for your hands, Torin?”

He answered, through his teeth, “This is the way it has always been done. The way I have been taught.”

“And sometimes we must look inward and change ourselves,” she said. “If you have killed men without cause, if you have struck them out of vengeance just because they live on a different side of the isle, then you must search within and ask yourself why you have done these things, and what is the cost for them, and how you can make reparations for them. The trade would be a good place to start.”

Torin stood. He paced the room, breathing heavily. Sidra thought he might flee, but he stopped and looked at her again.

“And if I don’t agree with your thoughts? If I can’t change to become what you hope for? Is losing you one of the costs for my sins?”

“I have been with you all this time,” she said, a soft answer that eased his rigid posture. “The good as well as the bad. Once, we were acquaintances sharing a vow. But you have become more to me than mere words spoken on a midsummer night. And I have never been one to love conditionally.”

“And yet you ask me to change?” he asked, fist over his heart.

Sidra wondered if he had even heard what she had just said to him. She had never spoken such words aloud before—that she had come to love him in a deep, quiet way. Completely, with all of his scars and mistakes and glory.

She realized she and Torin stood on two different mountains, with a deep valley between them. They saw the world from opposing sides, and she didn’t know if they would be able to find a middle ground. Their differences could be enough to break their vows, despite her feelings for him.

“You haven’t heard the things I’ve heard,” he said, as if he also sensed the divide. “You haven’t gone hungry after a raid, or watched your storehouse go lean, losing all of your winter provisions. You haven’t had to draw a sword and fight them, Sidra.”

“I haven’t,” Sidra agreed. “But I’ve had to heal wounds caused by the raids. I’ve given to those who have suffered losses, and I have been with them through their pain. And so I must say this, Torin … what has brought on these feelings within you? It doesn’t sound as if I am asking you to change, but that your own blood and bones are aching for it.”

His face went pale. He stared at her with a clenched jaw, and she sensed the divide between them grow.

“Bring the tonics to the barracks when they’re ready,” he said in a cold voice.

Sidra watched as he turned and departed. He was running from the things she had said to him, and she stood for a moment longer before sinking into a chair.

She had never felt more defeated.