The man was wiser than he looked. When he was gone, I delivered Bramble to Aunt Sochla, then went to my bedchamber, where garments suitable for a council meeting had been laid out in readiness, though Donagan was nowhere to be seen. I sat at my writing table and prepared some notes for my discussion with Muadan and the others. I wrote a letter to my father, which Muadan could take for me, in which I made some comments on the situation at Cloud Hill and suggested we take advantage of the presence of various leaders at the hand-fasting to hold an informal council. We could discuss the matter of Mathuin of Laois. If all those who had accepted invitations attended, it would be an opportunity too good to miss. Lorcan mac Cellaig, King of Mide, had sent word that he would be there, though as yet his party had not passed Winterfalls. Lorcan was kin both to my father and, by marriage, to the High King. His influence in the matter would be critical. My letter contained little by way of domestic detail; I did not trust myself to speak of Flidais or of the hand-fasting itself. Your obedient son, Oran. There, that was done.

I turned my attention to the next open council, now only days away. I made a new document: a list of those matters I already knew would be put before me. There were several, but none was particularly serious, which was good, as I hoped to end the council by midday, feed the visitors early and send them off by mid-afternoon. The folk of my household would be busy enough getting everything ready for our departure for Cahercorcan the next day without having to cope with large numbers of folk in the house until supper time. We might, perhaps, leave one day later. Flidais would not be happy about that. Not-Flidais. False Flidais.

I scattered sand to dry the ink, then set the list to one side. I laid out a third sheet of parchment; dipped my pen once more. Flidais, I wrote, where are you? I cannot believe that you are only a dream, a woman I have conjured up from tales and songs and wild imaginings. You were so real. Lovelier than the first dew on the grass; sweeter than the song of the thrush; truer than a druid’s vow. Gentle, brave and wise. Full of love and wonder and promise. Where did you go? How can I find you?