We finish the table, then Pátraic has to go back to the brewery. Still no sign of Blackthorn. I wonder if I should go to the prince’s place and find her, tell her the snippets I’ve heard. They don’t add up to much. Though when I think about it, Pátraic’s unlikely tale fits with what Donagan said about the prince not being worldly-wise. What doesn’t make sense is Flidais doing what he says he saw her doing. A lady who was going to be queen one day wouldn’t act like that, out in the open. Would she? The prince did tell us she wasn’t the woman he was expecting. He wouldn’t have been expecting her to do that. There’s a time and place for these things, and it’s not in the stable yard of a brewery, before you’re even properly wed.

So, head over to the prince’s now? Could be a waste of time. Blackthorn might still be out doing whatever she went out to do. If it’s a childbed, it could take all day and some of the night. If it’s on one of the faraway farms, just getting there and back would take a while. And I’ve got work to finish here.

I’m yawning. If I don’t catch some sleep I’ll be good for nothing. There’s enough of the day left for me to lie down in the outhouse for a bit, then finish the shelves and get back to Winterfalls before dusk. Plenty of time.

Got a pallet in the outhouse with a bedroll all ready. Sleep in there most afternoons. It’s pretty dark even by day, and at first when I go in I don’t spot anything different. Then I go to lie down and there it is: Blackthorn’s red kerchief, neatly folded and sitting right in the place where I’d be laying my head. My heart gives a big thump. She’s been here already. Been and gone long ago. She didn’t have a rest and leave her kerchief by accident. Not set out the way it is. The red kerchief says one thing loud and clear: Goodbye.