It’s a puzzle. There are pieces missing and he doesn’t know where to start looking. His father’s gone, his mother’s gone, he’s out of that fey place and wild horses couldn’t drag him back in. The master won’t talk, Gormán won’t talk, Conn’s too young to know anything. One thing Bardán understands. He can’t leave Wolf Glen. Because the only part he’s sure about, the only part that’s certain, is that he must finish the heartwood house. He knows how it should be done in every particular. He knows the consequences of making even the slightest error, knows them in ways Master Tóla could never understand. Grim might understand. Grim likes tales, and he’s open to the strange and uncanny. But though there are things he might tell Grim, this one is his own, most carefully guarded secret. His plan. His vengeance.

Chapter Twelve: Grim

12

~Grim~

Season’s been unusually dry, just a light shower or two. Long run of good working days. Been wondering when we’d get some solid rain. It comes at last, pelting down, one day when I’m halfway home. Riding through the forest I keep dryish, but going across the open fields I get wet through. Ripple’s a sorry sight, head drooping, tail down, plodding along at Mercy’s heels. Mercy just keeps going, steady as steady. Can’t say I’m keen to ride her to Scannal’s and walk back, which is what I do most nights. Be good to get warm again first, have a word with Blackthorn and a bite of supper. Worst of the downpour might have passed by then. Doubt it, though. My bet is, it’ll be wet again tomorrow and I won’t be going up to Wolf Glen.

That’s good and bad. I’d love a day off, to tell the truth. Get time for a proper talk with Blackthorn, watch her working, do a few jobs around the house. Maybe meet Cara at last. Cook supper so Blackthorn doesn’t need to. All good. Truth is, though, even one day off and I’d be worrying about Bardán. What’ll he do with himself if I’m not there? Huddle in that useless little shelter, getting colder and damper and sadder all the time? One thing’s sure, the master won’t be inviting him in for a hot supper and a night’s rest in a proper bed. Gormán might soften. Give him a corner in the barn. Funny, how I keep thinking the wild man won’t be all right without me there to keep an eye on him. Foolish. But I do think that. Feels like right now I’m the only friend Bardán’s got.