“I will comfort you in sadness; I will lift your head and be your strength when you are weak. I will sing with you when you are joyful. I will abide beside you and honour you for a year and a day, and thereafter should the spirits bless us.”

I thought this vow was absolutely beautiful. There is something so lovely about the promises being made here. Not promises of perfection, but promises of companionship: to comfort each other in sadness, to be each other's strength, to celebrate joy together. I don't know, it just feels so heartfelt and genuine. "I will sing with you when you are joyful" especially stood out to me. What a beautiful thing to promise someone.

I also really love the whole tradition of handfasting. It adds so much to the atmosphere of the story and makes the world feel deeply rooted in its culture and history. The Scottish-inspired setting already feels a bit like a folktale to me, and scenes like this just reinforce that feeling.

(And yes, a lot of my excitement is probably thanks to Outlander, which introduced me to handfasting and a lot of Scottish traditions and vocabulary in the first place. 😅)

This entire setting just feels magical, and the handfasting was a perfect reminder of why I'm loving it so much.

I‘m having trouble connecting the current Jack and the snippets of the past that elude to his trouble-making past. When his character was introduced he seemed like such a introverted, shy, sad boy musician that follows the rules. Then, he talks about his past with Adaira where he supposedly was super antagonistic to her and played pranks on her etc. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s supposed to be the result of Jack‘s growth since his time off the island, but I just cannot picture this gangly, soft, music boy causing so much trouble? 😭

Is anyone else feeling this way, or am I just misinterpreting things? Maybe it‘ll make sense to me once we get more of his past or more time with Jack on the island, but I just feel this disconnect with current and past Jack 🤷‍♀️

“Sorry sir, but it’s not my fault, you know?”

So far, the main character comes across as quite detached, or maybe just numb to what’s happening. Which feels understandable given the situation; his mother has just died, and there’s no “right” way to react to that.

But this response to his employer made me pause. It almost feels like one of those moments where you automatically over-apologise, even when nothing is actually your fault. Like a reflex: “Sorry, sorry” before you even think about whether an apology is needed.

In that sense, it felt quite human to me. A bit like people-pleasing or trying to smooth things over, even in situations where there’s nothing to fix. At the same time, it also felt kind of sad, because it raises this idea of feeling like you have to justify taking time off for something as significant as a parent’s death, even though, of course, there’s nothing to justify.

The “it’s not my fault” part is also interesting. Because… well, it isn’t his fault. But I wonder if it also hints at some kind of discomfort or guilt underneath, even if it’s not clearly expressed yet.

Very interesting beginning overall. I’m definitely intrigued by the writing so far, but I’m not sure what to make of the main character yet!

“Indeed, I’m a bard. I was educated at the university in Faldare.”

I didn’t read the synopsis before starting this book, but I love that the main character is a bard instead of the usual soldier/warrior type. It already feels so different and refreshing, and I’m really curious how that will be woven into the story.

It reminds me of playing online RPGs, I always used to pick either a mage or a bard, and I’ve always loved that playstyle. So seeing a bard as the main character feels really special. I don’t think I’ve read a fantasy like this before, and I’m very here for it.

This Chapter really unsettled me, especially those lines like “we are gonna make you a big boy.” That one in particular just made me feel genuinely sick. There’s something about the casualness of it that makes it even more disturbing, like the way power and violation are wrapped into language that is almost playful or dismissive on the surface.

And then the other quote: “God, how old are the Olsen twins now? [...] Come on, they are still jailbait, right? Don’t tell me none of you haven’t thought about it.” That one hit in a different but equally uncomfortable way. The word “jailbait” alone is already so loaded and disturbing, and reading it in that context just brought up how normalised that kind of sexualization of minors has been in certain spaces.

I actually came across a video a while ago about the Olsen twins and the way they were discussed in the 90s and 2000s, and it stuck with me. The idea that there were countdowns to celebrities turning 18, or open conversations about waiting for them to become “legal,” is horrifying. It really highlights how normalised that kind of thinking was, and probably still is in different forms, especially around young women in the public eye.

It’s one of those sections where I had to stop for a moment, because it just leaves you with this very uncomfortable awareness of how normalised these attitudes have been.

“Sorry sir, but it’s not my fault, you know?”

So far, the main character comes across as quite detached, or maybe just numb to what’s happening. Which feels understandable given the situation; his mother has just died, and there’s no “right” way to react to that.

But this response to his employer made me pause. It almost feels like one of those moments where you automatically over-apologise, even when nothing is actually your fault. Like a reflex: “Sorry, sorry” before you even think about whether an apology is needed.

In that sense, it felt quite human to me. A bit like people-pleasing or trying to smooth things over, even in situations where there’s nothing to fix. At the same time, it also felt kind of sad, because it raises this idea of feeling like you have to justify taking time off for something as significant as a parent’s death, even though, of course, there’s nothing to justify.

The “it’s not my fault” part is also interesting. Because… well, it isn’t his fault. But I wonder if it also hints at some kind of discomfort or guilt underneath, even if it’s not clearly expressed yet.

Very interesting beginning overall. I’m definitely intrigued by the writing so far, but I’m not sure what to make of the main character yet!

“Moray Breccan was carrying Frae upstream.”

Why was I so shocked by this?! I spent half the book suspecting that someone from the Breccan side was behind the kidnappings. I never trusted Moray. Not when we first met him, not when he was writing letters, not during any of the negotiations. And yet somehow, seeing that sentence still hit me like a truck.

Maybe it's because we see it happen through Frae's perspective. That made it so much more frightening. I've been worried about her for ages, and actually seeing her get taken was awful.

And then we get Moray explaining himself:

“When you first wrote to me of a trade, it gave me hope. It was a sign that you were ready to come home. And I wanted to tell you the truth, so you would understand why I longed for vengeance."

Sir. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??? This man had opportunities to just talk to Adaira. Write a letter. Tell her the truth. Explain the family connection. Have a conversation like a normal person. Instead, he decides that kidnapping children and terrorising families is the correct response???

And I'm sorry, but his whole vengeance argument makes absolutely no sense to me. Adaira was a child. His own parents left her to die in the wilderness because they believed she was a changeling. Neither she nor the Tamerlaines chose any of that. Yet somehow, the Tamerlaines are the villains in his story? No. Absolutely not. I disliked him from the moment he appeared on the page, but these chapters really cemented it.

"It’s really not a problem that someone needs to be saved. Everyone needs help. It’s hard to be the person who makes trouble, but the thing is, everyone makes trouble. How would we help anyone if nobody ever needed help?"

This quote hits me on a deeper level because it’s not just about adventure or heroics — it’s about what it means to be human. Everyone struggles, everyone stumbles, and everyone causes problems sometimes. And needing help isn’t a flaw; it’s a part of life.

I love how the book frames this truth: strength doesn’t come from never needing assistance, it comes from how we navigate that need. Asking for help doesn’t make Tress, or anyone, less capable — it makes her real, relatable, and ultimately stronger. There’s a profound freedom in admitting that you can’t do everything alone, and in trusting others enough to let them stand beside you.

In a world that often equates independence with worth, this feels radical. Help isn’t weakness. Vulnerability isn’t failure. Being the person who receives help doesn’t erase your courage or your agency — it amplifies it, because courage isn’t measured by how much you endure alone, but by how openly you engage with life, even when it’s messy.

This message is quietly revolutionary: our need for others is not shameful; it’s the heartbeat of connection, growth, and true heroism.

“Alert your guards that you must come alone with your gifts. So they must remain distant enough to be out of sight.”

Am I the only one who immediately did not trust this guy?

I understand not wanting Adaira to arrive with a full guard or an army. That would completely change the atmosphere of a meeting that is supposed to be about peace. But why does she have to come completely alone? Why can't there be one guard? One trusted advisor? One witness? Someone close enough to help if something goes wrong?

The insistence on her being isolated feels so suspicious to me. Especially because she's not just any person, she's the heir and one of the most important people on the island. Asking her to put herself in a vulnerable position with no protection just feels wrong. I do not trust this man. At all.