‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ said the prince, ‘we had not realised that your friend Lord Conmael of Underhill was to be part of these proceedings. I have been advised that he rode here with you, under the protection of my guards, but chose not to be involved in the hearing itself. He has, however, offered a solution to the current difficulty. That solution fits the requirements of the law. And by its nature it will be somewhat easier to keep from public knowledge.’

So they could see him now. Lord Conmael of Underhill. It had an impressive ring. Only Prince Oran, I thought, could be approached by one of the fey under such circumstances and be prepared to listen and take notice. I’d bet a bag of silver that every other man of standing present for the hearing would have called the guards to throw the interloper out. But Oran knew about magic. He knew about the fey. So did Donagan. We had shared a very odd experience with them not long after we first came to Winterfalls, an episode all of us had kept secret. Oran was a man who loved ancient tales, a man who was open to the strange and uncanny. To most folk, the fey existed only in those tales; they were either a product of the imagination or something from the distant past, long dead and gone. As for Cúan and Cionnaola, they had travelled here by Conmael’s path. His presence would be no great shock to them. They had probably been the means of his gaining the prince’s ear.

‘Will you explain, my lord?’ I spoke to Conmael direct, using the title he’d given himself for the occasion. Or maybe he really was Lord of Underhill, who knew?

‘You know what I am, Mistress Blackthorn.’ His voice was full of authority, as if he stood so far above any human king or prince that there could be no comparison. This was not arrogance. It was an acceptance of what he was. As if, in knowing him as Cully, I had given him back his true self. ‘I have the power to exile your offending chieftain not only beyond the borders of Erin, but beyond the borders of the human world. I can take him to a place from which there can be no returning home. The choice is not mine to make; I play no part in the workings of human law. I understand exile to be an appropriate penalty for these offences. I know, perhaps better than most, what an impact exiling Lord Mathuin anywhere within your own world would have on his victims. They would be forever fearful of his return. Forever living in dread. So I offer to do this for you. I will take him away, and you will never see him again. Within my world, he will be appropriately punished.’

‘Holy Mother of God,’ murmured Grim.