A good death. The wheel turns, and returns. I thought of Liam’s tale of our mother, slipping away from the world, calmly bidding her sons farewell. Serene, orderly, inevitable. I did not feel like that at all. I was angry, I was terrified, my heart thumped and I had trouble breathing. My head hurt. I was not ready to die. Not yet, not now. Not before I held my brothers in my arms again.

I did not sleep at all that night. There must be time to finish. There had to be. Did the Fair Folk set a task, and then make its completion impossible? I could not believe that it would be taken from me, so close to the end. I must finish. I would finish. I did not tell myself stories, as the night raced on toward dawn. Instead, working in the dark, I filled the space around me with mind pictures, shining images to keep out the shadows, as Finbar had once done for me to his own cost. To keep out the flames. To keep out the cruel news that my father knew where I was, and would not ransom me. So I fixed my mind elsewhere. There was the white beach, and the great solemn seals with their soft eyes. There was Red, watching me with his heartbreaking smile and his bright hair like a beacon against the gray and green and blue of the sea. I saw, for an instant, an image of John lifting his tiny son in his arms, love and pride written bold on his weathered face. Margery, plaiting my hair with deft fingers. It suits you. You’ll have to stop hiding yourself. Well, it seemed my ending would be public enough. Everyone would be out to see a sorceress burn. No, keep those thoughts away. There was the forest, filtered sunlight between leaves, high, high overhead. There was a child dancing down the path, barefoot on the soft earth, her hair dark and wild on her shoulders. There was her brother watching with eyes like clear water, that saw far, so far. There was a girl running on the sand; there was her image done small and neat in careful pen strokes. The very last image in the book.

My hand came up to clutch the two precious items that still hung around my neck, under my stained gown. Lady Anne had said her son loved me. But it was not love, not if you did what you did only because you must, only because of a command laid on you which you could not understand. He would return, and I would be gone, gone as if I had never been. Perhaps he could still weave together the broken threads of his life. And yet, I wanted him here now. I needed him here. In the darkness, if I sat very still, I could almost feel his presence by me, quite near, but not too near. Didn’t I promise to keep you safe, he would say softly. I have never broken a promise. Don’t look so worried, Jenny. And yet, he would be careful. Careful not to move too close. Careful not to frighten me. Waiting still. I am your shelter. Don’t be afraid.