We’re caught, Blackthorn and me. Caught by the promises we’ve made. Just as well we share our secrets, the two of us, or we’d be in real trouble. The girl, Cara, turned up at last. Not to see Blackthorn the way she was meant to. No, she was running away from the prince’s place, heading home on her own. Blackthorn talked some sense into her. But she can’t tell Flidais. The things folk say to a wise woman, they’re in confidence, so she keeps her mouth shut. About trust, isn’t it? If you tell a wise woman you’re sick or sad or angry, and the reasons why, you don’t expect her to spread it all around the place.

And me? I’ve made a lot of promises to Master Tóla, who’s Cara’s father. Don’t talk to anyone outside Wolf Glen about the heartwood house, or who’s building it, or anything about the work. Don’t talk to Bardán about anything but the work. Have to keep on reminding myself. Anyone I meet from the settlement, such as Scannal, I just say I’m doing a big building job up at Wolf Glen. Got to tell them something when they ask why I can’t shift flour bags or give someone a hand with some stock or help dig a drain. They’re used to me being around. Used to me saying yes. I don’t say what I’m building. Don’t want to tell lies. Not if I don’t have to.

We talk about it, Blackthorn and me. Now we’ve only got that little bit of time between me getting home and me falling asleep. Funny; never used to sleep more than a short stretch at night. Mind too full of bad things. These days, I’m out as soon as my head hits the pillow. When I dream, I dream that rhyme Bardán says while I’m working: Stone on stone. Stone on stone on stone. Woke up once, and Blackthorn told me I’d been saying it out loud. Asked me if there was more of the rhyme and where it came from. Think there must be more. Maybe when we get to the wood part of the build, I’ll hear it. Something old. Old as the trees.