‘There’s one thing I did not think the fey could be, Conmael,’ I said, ‘and that was petty. I don’t want to hear anything at all about Grim. If there’s any question I want you to answer, it’s why you decided to take an interest in my fortunes in the first place, since to the best of my knowledge you were a complete stranger to me. Your kind are not exactly known for doing favours to human folk, unless it’s to play some kind of trick. As for my sleeping arrangements, they’re nobody’s concern but my own.’

He lifted his brows. ‘Human memory is a strange thing,’ he observed. ‘How it comes and goes. How sometimes folk tuck the past away so deep they forget it’s there at all. The human mind is full of byways, dead ends, locked chambers. Strongboxes guarding matters too painful to be brought into the light; dusty corners where items considered too trivial are tossed away. You’ll remember one day. And if you do not, perhaps it is no matter.’

He spoke with nonchalance, lightly, but the look on his face did not match his tone.

If there was anything that irked me, it was folk playing games of this kind. I could see no reason for him to withhold the truth, whatever it might be. ‘Why not just tell me?’ I asked.

‘I –’ began Conmael.

Light flooded out from the cottage as Grim opened the door. Almost immediately the light was blocked by his large form standing there, arms folded and legs apart. The moment was lost.

‘Good night, Conmael.’ I hastened forward, praying that he would take himself off before Grim decided on some kind of confrontation.

‘Good night, Blackthorn.’ Conmael’s words were only a murmur, drifting away into the shadows even as they were spoken. As I came up the steps to the cottage door, I was on my own.

‘What did he want?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Mm-hm.’ Grim had the sense to leave it at that, though the way he clattered bowls and spoons around as he put the supper on the table spoke louder than words.

I went out the back, used the privy, washed my face and hands in the bucket of clean water. When I came back in the food was on the table. Grim was standing by the open window, looking out into the night. ‘All right?’ I said to his back.

A grunt in response.

‘I hope that’s a yes, because I’m bone weary. I attended a deathbed today. And a burial. I didn’t think I had it in me to speak prayers, seeing as I’ve more or less stopped believing in such things. But folk thanked me afterwards so I suppose it was good enough.’

‘A deathbed? Whose?’ He came over to the table and sat down.