Out in the forest, thrown down a deep hole to disappear forever. Oh gods, I would never forgive myself for being so slow. How could I have said no to Cara when she first asked me to come with her? Ripple was making a different sound now, a high-pitched squealing cry that made my flesh crawl. Grim was not out in the forest, barefoot and without his cloak. He was here. But silent. Silent as death.

‘There’s a sort of cellar,’ Cara said. ‘Where they store vegetables and things. I’ll show you.’

More noise from outside. Surely that was a bigger crowd than could be made up solely of Tóla’s own household, even with his farm workers. ‘A cellar,’ I echoed as she led us to the far end of the barn. Grim hated the dark. He only got through the nights by staying awake and keeping his body moving. Being locked up in some underground place would surely break him. I’m here. I’m here, Grim. Hold on.

‘Over here,’ said Cara. ‘There’s a trapdoor, see?’

Was I imagining the dark stains on the floor? If that was blood, there was a lot of it.

‘Might be a flesh wound,’ said keen-eyed Cúan. ‘Stand back now.’ He squatted down and heaved the trapdoor open.

Chapter Forty-two: Grim

42

~Grim~

Can’t talk. Can’t swallow. Wretched gag’s too tight. Wrists and ankles tied. Same as they did with Bardán the first time. Two of us down here together. Want to help him, but there’s not much I can do. Hard to move where I want to. Sitting against the wall now, next to him, touching so he knows I’m here. Thirsty. That’s going to get bad. Trying not to be sick. Choke on vomit, it’s all over. Waiting. Waiting for Ripple. Waiting for Blackthorn to come. Saying the words in my head, like I used to in Mathuin’s lockup. In loco pascuæ . . . ibi me collocavit . . . super aquam refectionis . . . educavit me . . . Try to see those peaceful fields, the still waters. I say the part about walking in the shadow of death, and God being there beside me. If he’s in here now, he’s keeping pretty quiet.

Wish I could speak out loud, help Bardán. Wish I could tell him to say his own words over, keep the demons away. I’m guessing it’d be that verse about the birds. Every birdling in the wood . . . and the part that makes it a charm, a sort of spell. Feather bright and feather fine, none shall harm this child of mine.