I did not call my brothers aloud, but two of them heard me. Finbar was there first, putting his arms around me, stroking my hair, swearing under his breath. A moment later, there was Conor, striding up the path with a face like thunder, roaring for the gardeners, turning his fury on two men I had not noticed, who were cowering now by the bonfire, spade and rake in hand, wilting under my brother’s ferocious interrogation.

I gripped Finbar’s jacket and fought to get my breathing under control. My head was exploding with rage and grief and shock. After a moment or two he stopped talking and sought to calm me with his mind.

Weep, Sorcha. Let go. What’s done cannot be undone.

Even my violets! Even my little oak tree! They could have left the oak tree!

You have survived. We are strong. And these things can grow again.

How can they grow with such evil here? How can anything grow? My herbs, my herbs are gone, all my things—how can I do my work without my things?

Weep, Sorcha. Let go. We are all here for you. Let go, little sister. The earth takes your garden to her heart. She weeps with you.

He was strong, and finally I collapsed in angry sobs, and soaked his shirt front while he held me; and then Conor came.

“This was at my lady’s orders,” he said tightly. “Very specific orders, with no detail omitted. The men cannot be blamed, they had no choice; they know now to check with me first. But it is too late for you, little owl. I’m sorry. I know how you have worked on this haven, and loved its inhabitants. I know what it means to you and those you tend.”

“Just because—just because—” I hiccupped.

“Did you offend her in some way?” asked Conor gently.

“There is no need to offend.” Finbar’s voice was as cold as I had ever heard it. He sounded like Father. “The lady Oonagh needs no provocation to take such action. She will destroy us one by one if she is not stopped.”

“She—she told me not to go to the village,” I managed, blowing my nose on the square of linen Conor produced. “But they sent for me and I never thought—I only wanted to—and she—and she—”

My brothers exchanged glances.

“Sorcha, take a few deep breaths,” said Conor, leading me over to the stone seat that was the solitary survivor in the wasteland. “Sit down now. That’s better.”

They knelt one on each side of me, and Conor took both my hands in his. “Good girl.” Down by the fire, the two gardeners were raking up debris, throwing more shattered branches on the pile. They threw nervous looks in our direction.

“Now, Sorcha. I want you to go to my quarters and I want you to remain there for the night. You must not try to see her, or Father, until we have all spoken together and decided what to do. I know you are sad; but Finbar is right. Plants can grow again, and with your skills and your love, they will flourish in the hardest of places. You are safe. That is the most important thing.”