‘Not at all.’ There was a frozen thing inside me, lodged in my chest. ‘You may have been foolish to go up there on your own, but you showed good judgement in leaving while you could. And we’ll help. You need someone to go back with you, a couple of men-at-arms and someone else from the prince’s household. But not me, Cara. I can’t come. I’m already late for . . . for where I need to go.’ Oh, gods, Grim. Grim who had not responded to an urgent request to come home. Grim who would always come when I really needed him. ‘Cara, did you actually see Grim?’

She shook her head. ‘I think he may be in trouble. Mistress Blackthorn, you have to come with me!’

Cionnaola folded his arms. Jerked his head at me as if to say, Now.

‘Two of the Swan Island men are here. One can take you over to the prince’s house and find you an escort, then catch us up.’ I glanced at Cionnaola.

‘If it’s quick,’ he said.

‘I never even had a chance to talk to him,’ Cara said in a wisp of a voice. ‘Not properly. But he is my father. I know it. He said Brígh, like he’d found the best thing in the world. And he said – he said, about the thatch, he said –’

‘Cara, you need to go with Cúan. Now.’

‘But . . . Grim.’ Cara turned her big eyes right on me. ‘Grim’s in trouble. How can you not come with me?’

Morrigan’s curse! I tried to think sensibly; tried to ignore the terrible ache in my chest. ‘Grim probably isn’t even there. A message went up for him yesterday, and they told the messenger he was away.’

‘He is there.’ Cara’s flat tone chilled me. ‘My father said – Tóla said – he said, Lock him up. And Grim with him.’

Dear God! This was going to break my heart.

‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ Cionnaola said, ‘please. Others are waiting for us.’

Cara would be perfectly safe with guards to protect her. Someone from the prince’s household could take her up to Wolf Glen and sort things out. Grim was a big, strong man. He could look after himself; he didn’t need rescuing. Besides, he would want me to testify. He knew how badly I needed to do it. I had to go. I had been waiting years for this.

‘Cara,’ I began.

There was a sound of barking outside, and Cúan exclaiming, ‘Dagda’s mercy!’

It was Ripple. Ripple on the point of collapse, her chest heaving, her legs wobbling, her tongue hanging out. Ripple with cuts and scratches all over her body, as if she had run a terrible race. Ripple trying to tell us something, though her voice was less of a bark now and more of a laboured rasp.