Gormán smiles. ‘Neither of us has the gift of a good singing voice. Not that it matters when you’re out in the forest. The birds don’t judge.’

‘So, that’s all we were doing, Bardán and me. No harm in it.’ Thing is, I don’t like the way they treat the wild man, as if he’s some kind of mad beast, not a man at all. Doesn’t matter what that sad and terrible tale is, the one Mistress Della was talking about. Nobody deserves to be treated so badly. I’ve seen the wretched little hut he sleeps in. I spend all day working next to his smell, which is the smell of a man who hasn’t had a hot bath for a long, long time. I take home a few extra fleas and creepy-crawlies every night, thanks to Bardán. Be easy enough to house him in the barn, some dry straw, a few good blankets, a proper roof over his head. Or in the foresters’ quarters, next door. But no. Nobody wants him near. Only they don’t want him too far, either. Because he’s got the magic to finish the heartwood house.

Gormán takes himself off, and I get back to work. Morrigan’s britches, even carrying one of those roof beams over from the barn would take four fit men. How does Tóla think we’re going to haul them up? By magic?

‘Stone on stone,’ says Bardán. ‘Stone on stone on stone.’

Chapter Ten: Blackthorn

10

~Blackthorn~

For a long time I’d been best alone. Not that I greatly loved my own company; I lost patience with myself almost as quickly as I did with other people. But I needed quiet, solitude, time to think things through. Time to stop myself from acting like an impulsive fool who thought she could solve the world’s injustices all by herself.

After the vile ordeal of Mathuin’s lockup, I’d acquired Grim as a travelling companion, not wanting him, not choosing him, but bound to let him tag along because of Conmael’s poxy rules. And now I was so used to having the big man around that when he was off doing his long days on the heartwood house I couldn’t help missing him. It felt as if part of me was absent.