“What’s wrong?” Cailean got to her first but she waved him away before throwing up.
“Leave me. Please.” She retched again, then gentle hands felt for her shoulders and drew back her hair.
“I’ll see she’s alright, Cailean. Probably time you went home.”
Kaetha wiped her mouth on a cloth Nannie handed her and waited for Cailean to leave. “I’m sorry about—” her voice quavered.
“Don’t think on it.”
Her hands were shaking. “I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Believe what?” asked Nannie.
“I know what my Air magic means now. It means my mother really is dead.”
ELEVEN
Season of the Little Sun
Snow swirled around the rocks at Cannasay. Kaetha shivered, holding the hood of her mother’s cloak in place against the wind. She stared at the higher rock which still made the back of her neck tingle. To her, it was a question, a solid question standing there against the buffeting wind. It drew, intrigued and frustrated her. She sensed a Fiadhain, yet nothing was there.
“Aren’t you going to help?” said Donnan.
She continued gathering mussels to add to their bucket. “I had the same dream again last night, about being buried alive,” she said with a shudder.
White flakes began to cling to Donnan’s hair and eyelashes. “We’ll be buried in snow if we don’t get home soon.”
Kaetha noticed that his face looked drawn and he wore his belt a couple of notches tighter than he had done in the summer. Their winter stores were depleting and there was little work for them over these bitter months. Foraging helped but they were still going to bed hungry each night and Kaetha wondered if Donnan had been depriving himself too much for the sake of herself and her father.
“I don’t want us having another winter like this,” she said. “I’m going to think of how we can save more next year.” However, she neglected to mention that at some point the following year she would be leaving them. She had lost the urgency to go upon discovering the truth that her mother was dead and, now that winter had set in, there was no point in travelling. Yet she still needed to find out who was responsible for her death.
Silence crept over her as the aching of her grief pressed down on her chest as it did from time to time.
“Are you alright?” asked Donnan, looking up from the mussel bucket.
Her throat was tight as she spoke. “Aye.”
He set down the bucket and came to her side.
“I was just thinking of my mother,” she said.
They stood there, leaning against the rock and looking out to sea. His hand stole over hers. His touch was too gentle, conveying too much affection, feelings stronger than she could return. She offered him a smile and squeezed his hand before withdrawing her own.
The silence was now thick with awkward uncertainty.
Donnan picked up the bucket, acting as though nothing strange had happened between them, making Kaetha wonder if anything had.
“We should have enough now,” he said.
“Aye.”They set off back to the house. “I’m sorry, Donnan. Me dwelling so much on my own grief when you . . . ”
A flicker of pain broke the composure of his features.
“I understand what it’s like to lose someone,” she said.
He became focussed on picking out bits of seaweed from the bucket. “Bloody freezing, isn’t it.” He smiled up at her, his expression settling into a mask that told her she wasn’t welcome to delve into his past. “You’d better walk faster unless you want to get frostbite.” He laughed. “Imagine, you of all people getting frostbite.”
“Shh!” she said, punching his arm. “Donnan.” In speaking his name, she wanted him to think that she was warning him not to allude openly to her magic but, in fact, she was attempting to use it. Her Air magic stretched out, seeking his mind, but his thoughts were closed to her.
He laughed again, an unconvincing, empty sound.
Kaetha soaked in the heat of the hearth, though her feet still felt like a block of ice. Donnan handed her a bunch of wood sorrel and she picked off the dead leaves, dropping the good ones into a pot. As winter came through its bleakest time, the snow receeding, determined plants had resumed growing in the woods and at the riverbank. Donnan cut sea beets, sorting leaves into one basket and roots into another, Kintail asleep on his lap.
“I used to help Ma do this,” he said, picking up another beet.
Kaetha was about to grab another handful of sorrel but stopped, looking up at him. He’d never talked about his family without being prompted to.
“It has something to do with the Macomrags, hasn’t it?” said Kaetha.
“What?”
“What happened to them. To your family.” She resisted the urge to try using Air magic. She would rather he shared his thoughts freely. Besides, she had little confidence that she could use this kind of magic on demand. “Why do you keep it to yourself?”
“You keep things to yourself,” Donnan’s accusing tone woke Kintail who leapt off his lap. He began cutting sea beets again with more force and less attention. “Damn.” He put his knuckle to his mouth. “No. I’m fine,” he said, turning from Kaetha when she touched his hand.
There was silence between them. Donnan wrapped a strip of cloth around his finger and continued sorting leaves and roots. Kaetha dwelt upon his words. It was hardly fair that she expected him to confide in her when she was keeping much from him.
She twisted a bunch of sorrel, staring at it as if deciding whether it was good or bad. “I’m
