I made an inventory: copious dark hair, boldly shaped nose, rosy mouth, unusual eyes, already lighter in color than they had been at birth. A visionary’s eyes. I checked that every part of my brother was whole and undamaged. I folded the gossamer-soft shawl back around him, glancing up at the girl with a smile. If she had been looking after him, she had done a good job. She gazed back at me, not a glimmer of expression in her eyes.

“We would not harm the heir to Sevenwaters,” said Mac Dara. “He may be slightly changed. No human who spends time in our realm returns entirely the same.”

“Changed?” I echoed, recalling what Sibeal had said about this. “In what way?”

“For the better, without a doubt,” said Mac Dara, smiling. “Do not concern yourself. Such alterations are subtle indeed.”

I had no grounds on which to challenge him further. My brother was here; the Lord of the Oak was offering me exactly what I had expected, one baby for the other. But something was wrong. We had reached this point far too easily. The only one Mac Dara really wanted was Cathal; I’d stake my life on it.

“Swear to me that there is no trickery in this bargain,” I said, knowing that a lord of the Tuatha De did not make binding promises to a human woman. “You give me Finbar as a straightforward exchange for this baby. Your folk allow me to make my way safely home with my brother.” Becan’s body stiffened; his hands clawed into my gown, holding on tightly. He was staring up at me, his pebble eyes wide with anxiety. Out in the woods beyond the clearing something let out a long, mournful cry.

“Of course,” Mac Dara said. “Would I lie to you? A simple exchange—that child for this. Then take your brother and return in safety to your own realm.”

He sounded perfectly calm and businesslike. He sounded trustworthy. But I could not bring myself to put Becan into his arms. A man like this did not suddenly give up. A creature like this, who would kill in cold blood for no better reason than to amuse himself for a moment or two, did not capitulate without a fight.

“I don’t trust you,” I said in a small voice.

Mac Dara folded his arms. “Why did you come here?” he asked. “I thought it was to fetch your brother home; to stop your mother from dying of a broken heart; to give your father back the son who is more important to him than he could ever have believed possible before he held him in his arms that first time and felt a love like no other. Was not that your mission?”

“Yes,” I murmured, tears springing in my eyes. “But . . .” I bowed my head over Becan, knowing I had to do it, realizing just how difficult it was going to be.