If this had been an old tale, friendly birds might have come and borne us to the foot of the cliff, or a magical doorway might have opened by the roots of the willow. It wasn’t going to happen here. When I had refused the only offer of aid that had come my way in this realm, I’d probably doomed myself to die in this tree. Worse, I’d have to watch Becan die first, the child I had brought all this way in a futile attempt to do the right thing. He would look at me with that expression of utter trust and I wouldn’t even be able to give him water. “A pox on it,” I muttered. “I won’t give up. There must be a way out.”

A shout from the cliff top. I craned my neck and made out a tiny figure in a pale shirt, standing between the screening bushes and the sudden sharp edge that I had not seen until I was over it and falling. My heart soared, defying logic. “Here!” I screamed. Perhaps Cathal could fetch help—a guard post, he’d mentioned a guard post—maybe someone would have a rope or something—No, I was being stupid. There was no guard post. There were no helpful folk here. The cliff was too high, too steep, impossible . . .

Cathal jumped. It was a bold, athletic move, controlled in every particular. He used his long limbs to ensure a particular path to his fall. In the few moments it took for him to come down, I saw that he was aiming precisely for the tree in which I sat perched. He landed beside me, his weight making the branches dip and shake with some violence. I clung to a limb with one hand and held onto Becan with the other. Then I drew a shuddering breath, the first I had taken since I saw him leap.

“You utter, utter fool,” I whispered.

“You’re all right, then,” said Cathal, his tone marginally less steady than usual.

“We’re not hurt. But there’s no way down from here. Why on earth did you do that?”

“Shall I climb back up and head off home? You prefer to be alone?”

I shook my head, trying to smile.

“Clodagh,” Cathal said, “you’re right, we do have very limited choices here.” He glanced down between the branches, then back at me.

I did not have to look to see the river winking up at me, a narrow, bright strand in the green. “Don’t tell me,” I said as my heart turned to ice. “We have to jump.”

“Correct,” he said, rising precariously to his feet. “There’s only one way out: straight down. And I think we should do it before we have time to think too much. You hold onto the child and I’ll hold onto you. If we aim for the water we have a good chance.”