It was easy enough to reach the tree. She took off her shoes and walked barefoot, and her feet found the way in the dark. When a guard seemed to be moving in her general direction, she whispered, Don’t see me, and imagined herself to be invisible, just a part of the night and the wind and the grasses whispering their own secrets. Whether it was real magic or just luck she didn’t know, but the guard passed by as if she were not there. Once under the shelter of the big yew she hauled herself up, settled in her favourite spot, wrapped her cloak around herself and tried to do what the druid had suggested: consider the two paths ahead of her so she could do what was right. Master Oisin had seemed to think she was a brave person like Blackthorn, a person who could make hard decisions. But this was worse than hard. Losing your father, your home, your whole life up till now, having that all ripped away was like dying. And it hurt. Having a knife stuck in her belly and twisted around might feel something like this. She wouldn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Maybe she should have woken Blackthorn and told her the story. But that wouldn’t have been fair.

She leaned her cheek against the yew. Closed her eyes. I have something to tell you, she said in the voice only a tree could hear. A strange story. There was once a rich man, and on his land there was a bridge . . .

Chapter Thirty-seven: Blackthorn

37

~Blackthorn~

My sleep had been fitful at best. The moment I’d dropped off I’d been trapped in my familiar nightmares: Mathuin laughing, the torture chamber and the lockup, my family burning. I’d woken drenched in cold sweat with my heart hammering. I’d built up the fire. Made brew after brew until I was awash. Paced the floor of the small cottage until my legs ached. I’d conducted long conversations with Grim and invented his replies, trying to calm my restless thoughts.

Dawn came at last, as welcome to me as air to a drowning woman. With it came Cara, looking pale and dishevelled. Wherever she’d slept, I was pretty sure it hadn’t been the women’s quarters.

‘Brew?’ I suggested, deciding not to ask questions. She was here, she was safe, that was all that mattered.

‘What?’ She hadn’t heard me. She was in some other place, not here in front of me.

‘Sit down, Cara.’ Gods, she was freezing cold. I steered her to the fire. Found a blanket and passed it to her. She didn’t speak until I had the brew half-made.

‘Master Oisin told me the story. About the monster’s child and the heartwood house.’

‘Ah. And was it what you were expecting?’ Whatever she’d heard had shaken her badly. A monster’s child?