I don’t ask her and she doesn’t say what she thinks either way. When everyone heads off to the village, we just go with them. Fraoch feeds us again, then he has to get back to his work. His mother gives us blankets and clothing and shows us where everything is. We settle into a little chamber off the yard. It’s where Emer sleeps when she’s home, with another sister who’s been moved out to make room for us.

Blackthorn’s worrying me. She’s hardly said a word. Got that faraway look about her, as if the smallest thing might break her in pieces. I put the blankets on the two pallets, smooth them out, sit down on mine. Remember that it’s a long time since we got any sleep. She sits down on the other bed. Looks over at me. Her face is white, her eyes are red, her hair’s straggling all over the place. Reminds me of when we were locked up together. Outside, people are moving around, doing things, and it’s still afternoon. Feels like a hundred years since we went over to Branoc’s bakery and found the girl, and it’s only been one day.

‘Look at us,’ she says.

‘Way I see it, we’ve got a roof over our heads. Folk wanting to help. And that bastard’s shut up where he can’t hurt anyone else.’

She’s got her hands twisted up together, tight as tight. ‘Grim. I was shouting, wasn’t I? When . . .’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘What was I saying?’

I wonder if I should say, nothing much. Kinder, maybe. But what she wants is the truth. ‘You were calling out, Cass, Brennan, no! Over and over. Right next to me, only you weren’t seeing me.’ I don’t ask who Cass and Brennan are, or were. I don’t ask anything at all.

‘Sleep,’ she mutters, and lies down on her pallet, pulling the blanket up over her.

I’m all aches and pains, and sleep sounds good, so I do the same. Might not drop off for a while, though. Head’s got a lot churning around in it. Old stuff, new stuff. Good stuff, bad stuff. Wish I was better at forgetting.

Blackthorn’s lying still and quiet. Be good if she slept through till tomorrow. Hurts to see her looking that way, as if she’s lost a fight. As if she’s . . . lost.

The light fades; it’s evening outside. I’m falling asleep when Blackthorn starts talking.

‘Are you still awake, Grim?’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘I can’t do it. The seven years. I can’t let Mathuin go on doing what he does. It’s all very well to catch Branoc and bring him to justice. Mathuin’s crimes are ten times worse than Branoc’s. A hundred times worse. Who’s going to bring him to justice, unless I do?’