‘Do as I say! And be quick about it! This is all a monstrous mistake, and I blame that poxy wise woman for filling your head with nonsense. Now go indoors. I’ll deal with you later.’

Cara backed further away, until she felt the warmth of Willow’s shoulder against her body. I’ll deal with you. As if she were the one who had done something wrong. Lock him up. For the crime of finding his daughter after fifteen years. For telling the truth.

‘Now, Cara!’

‘Kraaa.’

She turned her head. The crow had hopped to the post, and with its beak had unhooked Willow’s reins.

‘Cara!’ Tóla was striding toward her; in a moment he would lay hands on her. Her own father. The man who had made himself her father. ‘Cara, don’t be foolish!’

She put her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up onto Willow’s back. I am the silence at the heart of an oak. I am a still pond. I am a feather on the breeze. I am a shadow, passing unseen. She touched her heels to the horse’s flanks and rode away, not looking back. The crow flew ahead.

‘Cara?’ Tóla’s voice, confused, startled. ‘Where are you?’ As if she really had become invisible. Then, ‘Cara!’ A furious shout. ‘Get back here this instant! How dare you play tricks on your father?’

‘You are not my father,’ Cara whispered, riding on. She guided Willow into the forest and away down a side path, where the cloak of leaves would shield them. She leaned forward on the horse’s neck and murmured in her ear. ‘Quick as you can! Run like the wind!’

Willow ran. Cara held on. She’d thought she could be brave. She’d thought she could speak out. But he’d been so angry, shouting, cold-eyed, yelling at her as if he hated her. He’d hurt Bardán and he would hurt him again. His loathing had been written all over him. He was going to lock Grim up too. She’d thought she could do this on her own, and now she’d messed the whole thing up, and her real father was in danger, and if she wanted to save him, she had to go for help. Brígh, he’d said with his whole heart in his eyes. So that was her true name. ‘Brígh,’ she murmured, trying it out. ‘Brígh the brave. Brígh the bold. Brígh the beautiful.’ It was a good name. She’d better start earning it. ‘Good girl, Willow,’ she said, ducking her head as they passed under some low-growing foliage. ‘Don’t stumble. Don’t fall. Carry me all the way to Dreamer’s Wood. And pray that Blackthorn will help me this time.’

Chapter Forty-one: Blackthorn

41

~Blackthorn~

‘Mistress Blackthorn?’