Now there were pale fruits half-hidden in the foliage, glowing as if each held an inner light. Or – surely that one had eyes. Not fruits at all, but creatures. Or some uncanny blend of the two. Little sounds came, hissing, humming, almost-words. Look straight ahead, Blackthorn, I reminded myself. Behind me, Ripple was whining. My horse twitched her ears, tossed her head. I stroked her neck in reassurance but held my silence. Conmael’s mount didn’t miss a step. Perhaps it was accustomed to this kind of thing.

This way, whispered the voices. Oh, this way lies wisdom beyond that of the most accomplished human healer. The knowledge to mend the most broken of bodies, to soothe the most tormented of minds. What might you accomplish, if you would only learn from us? Come, turn, look upon us!

I wondered what they were saying to Grim. How would they try to tempt him? With the spiritual life that had been snatched from him on one terrible day of blood and death? With promises of a lovely young wife and a brood of little ones? Grim would make a wonderful father, strong, sure, gentle. If not for me, he might have found that wife by now and been settling in to that kind of life. But then, I thought, if not for me Grim would be still in Mathuin’s lockup, if anyone could have survived it that long. More likely he’d be dead. If not for the need to save me Conmael would have left that vile place alone, and none of the poor souls incarcerated there would have been freed. The more a person thought about such things, the harder it became to untangle right and wrong.

‘Not far now,’ Conmael called quietly, as if to reassure us that all was well, voices or no voices.

What has your life to offer you? The voices were trying again. Weary, ageing, bitter creature that you are? Here you can be young again. You can be beautiful. You can be powerful. Get down from your horse. Step between the trees. What have you to lose?

I made myself breathe slowly. Swallowed the quick anger that welled in me. Held back the words. To those who loved me, I was beautiful. To Cass, in whose arms I had slept safe at night through the too-short years of our marriage; to Brennan, whom I had fed from my own body. To Holly, my first mentor, who had given me the love my parents could not give. And to Grim, who did not care if I was weary, ageing or bitter. Grim who was riding behind me, and who was most likely fighting his own tormenting voices.