We worked through the lesson, the three of us. Emer was diligent, as always. Cara kept looking out the window, distracted by every bird that flew past. And I was less than a perfect teacher, for my thoughts kept going to Mathuin, and to the man he had sent to track me down before, and to Cúan with his lovely blue eyes and disarming manner. The most courteous, the most guileless-seeming of folk may carry a hidden blade, ready to strike.

It was only mid-afternoon when I told the two girls we were finished work for the day. We wouldn’t wait for Cara’s escort to arrive, but would walk over to Winterfalls together. It seemed a good opportunity to ask Flidais if she knew anything about the Swan Island men. I had seen less of her than usual recently. There was some kind of problem in the south, where her family lived. Nobody seemed prepared to say much about it, but I sensed it was serious. Both Flidais and Oran seemed preoccupied.

Not for the first time, I wished I could tell them the whole truth: who I really was, why it was so vital that I bring Mathuin of Laois to justice and what was preventing me from acting now. The reason why, even on the sunniest and most peaceful of days, part of me was full of dread. But I could not tell. They trusted me. They trusted me with their little son, the apple of their eyes. I was an escaped prisoner, scarred and damaged almost beyond repair. Maybe they would forgive me for being less than truthful up till now. Maybe they would understand that I had reasons for being bitter and angry. I did not believe for a moment that they would hand me over to Mathuin, who had threatened Flidais’s father. But they might no longer want me as their local healer. And that would mean losing the cottage, and losing the community, and being on the road again. And if I lost those things, Grim would lose them too. The truth could be perilous.