It was raining now, steadily, which did make me wonder. The rain fell on the thatch that Grim had restored so lovingly, and on the stone pathways he’d laid in place, making special patterns of his own devising, and into the water barrel he’d set up outside the back door. It fell on the little straw creatures he’d fashioned to guard the roof, and on the garden with its new planting of winter vegetables. And it fell over Dreamer’s Wood, where tonight the strangest of scenes had played itself out. I listened to the rain, and to the snuffling sounds from the little dog under my bed, and felt myself drifting into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The dog barked, jolting me sharply awake. I cursed. If the wretched creature planned to keep that up, I’d be tempted to do as Grim had suggested and put her outside to fend for herself. ‘Mongrel!’ I muttered, glancing across in the hope that Grim had slept through the noise.

He wasn’t there. His blanket was in a tangle, his boots were on the floor, his cloak still hung on its peg. Gone to the privy, no doubt. Without that cloak, he’d get soaking wet. Fool.

I lay on my back, staring up at the rafters. Thinking over the day, wondering how the prince and his lady would cope with life at court, wondering how they would do as king and queen of Dalriada when the time came. From what I’d seen of her, Flidais matched perfectly the woman Oran had fallen in love with after reading her letters: sweet, courteous, scholarly, a little shy. But he was going to find that she was far more than that. That leap down into the dark water of Dreamer’s Pool had been an act of true courage. And her measured treatment of Mhairi, after all that had befallen her, had been the response of a leader. They would, I suspected, do very well indeed. I found myself almost looking forward to watching them grow and learn together.

As for Ciar, the price she had paid for her actions had indeed been high; perhaps too high. That day in Dreamer’s Wood she’d been scared – anyone would have been scared – and she’d made a quick decision. That decision had become, in time, simply too much for her to handle. An error. Reprehensible. But not a crime.

But I did not see, truly, what else we could have done. To deny Flidais the chance of a future would have been wrong. But to condemn Ciar to life as a dog, a short life most likely, when that first transformation had been beyond her control . . . it was hard. I had complied with Conmael’s requirements. Oran had asked me for help, and I had helped him. I wished I could be sure that what I had done was right.