“‘I’m thirsty,’ said the old woman in a cracked voice (but to Bryn it was the most heavenly sound he’d ever heard). ‘Fetch me a drink, if you please, soldier.’ And since there was only one cup in his humble house fit for a lady of her standing, the old man fetched the cup of Isha from his dusty kitchen shelves and lo, it was full to the brim with fresh, clear water. With trembling hands he offered it to the lady.

“‘You must drink first,’ she said, and he was powerless to go against her will. So he took a sip, and she took a sip, and the precious stones on the cup glowed bright as stars. When Bryn looked up, there was his sweetheart before him, as young and lovely as the day he’d lost her. And when he looked in the cup of Isha, his reflection showed curls of raven black and a dazzling, sunny smile. ‘But—but I thought…’ he could scarce get a word out, for his heart was beating like a great drum. His sweetheart smiled, and took his hand. ‘You could have drunk from it all along,’ she said, ‘for who but a man pure of heart could wait three score years for his beloved?’ She put the cup down on a stone beside the road, and then they went into the little cottage together, and got on with the rest of their lives. And the cup of Isha? There it rests among the bracken and daisies, waiting for the next traveler to find it.”

The boy was almost asleep, his face nearer to repose than I’d seen it yet, but wary still. He spoke in a whisper.

“If you’re not a witch,” he said, “how did you know my name?”

One of the Fair Folk told me. That was the truth, but I could hardly expect him to believe it. I thought quickly. As I said before, lying was a skill I never came to grips with, being no better at it than my brother Finbar.

“I will answer that when I see you on your feet and out in the air,” was the best I could manage. “Now you must rest, while I see what food Father Brien has for us. The dog must be hungry too.”

But when I tried to call Linn to follow me, she lowered her whiskery muzzle onto her paws, and simply looked at me with liquid, doggy eyes. Simon’s hand rested on her back, fingers moving against her rough coat. And so I left the two of them, for a while.