‘Really?’ My voice cracked. Now surely he was telling lies. ‘Crimes against ordinary folk, folk without a voice, folk without the means to stand up for themselves, weighing anything at all alongside the invasion of another man’s territory and the sacking of his household?’

‘In a council of the usual kind this might bear relatively little weight. But we are not speaking of such a council. Will you entrust these pages to me until tomorrow, Mistress Blackthorn? In the morning you and I should sit down with them and go through everything in detail. And then we will find a safer hiding place.’

Morrigan’s curse. I must have blanched, because he said, ‘Cúan, take Mistress Blackthorn to the kitchen, will you, and ask Brid to find her some food and drink.’

‘I believe I’m still capable of walking along the hallway and getting my own food,’ I said, rising to my feet and finding the room was indeed swirling around me in a distinctly odd fashion. ‘And I don’t think you said anything about needing an escort inside the house.’

‘You’re white as a sheet, Mistress Blackthorn.’ Cúan was beside me, offering an arm to steady me. ‘Let me help you, please.’

Rather than make a liar of myself by fainting away, I took his arm and let him escort me out. I sat quietly before the kitchen fire for a while, drank some ale and ate a wedge of mutton pie, then returned to the farm cottage I was sharing with Cara. I wasn’t entirely happy to leave my testament with Ségán. But if the Island men were all he had claimed, perhaps it would be safest in their custody.

Chapter Thirty-three: Cara

33

~Cara~

Mistress Blackthorn came in looking pale and tired. But bright-eyed all the same. As if something had changed; something big. Maybe she’d been to see Grim. Maybe she’d even seen Father, and Cara could ask if he was well.

She’d been lying on her shelf bed, thinking of home. She sat up, and Blackthorn started. ‘Oh. You’re here,’ the wise woman said. Her voice was cold and so, now, was her face. Cold and furious.

‘What’s wrong?’ Cara tried to ask, only the words wouldn’t come out, not properly, and Blackthorn was too angry to hear anyway. Cara got up and wrapped her shawl around herself, tightly.

Mistress Blackthorn didn’t say anything else. Only went to the storage chest and got out some clothes. The ones she was wearing were wet. It would be right to offer help. To build up their little fire. To make a brew. But Cara’s feet were putting down roots.

Blackthorn slammed the lid shut.

‘Mistress Blackthorn?’ Cara whispered.