There was no choice. I must do as he said for Finbar’s sake. But I would not leave Becan. He must be laid to rest kindly, with love and respect, not abandoned in this domain of cruel strangers. I slipped my bag off my shoulders, opened it up and laid him inside, on top of my folded garments. It was the best I could do for him. I put the bag back on and went to the bench where my brother lay. My breath was still coming in gasps; my eyes and nose were streaming. I wiped my face, and the cool, hard surface of the green glass ring brushed against the cut on my cheek. And suddenly, although I was near paralyzed with shock, although my heart was crushed and bleeding, deep inside I felt a little flame of courage. I picked Finbar up. His bright eyes were fixed on me, curiously aware. My kin; my flesh and blood. I made him a silent promise. I’ve failed Becan; I will not fail you, little brother. Then I turned to face Mac Dara.

“Don’t think this is over,” I said, and if he was a prince, in that moment I was a queen, my voice cold, hard and steady as a rock. “I’m not giving up. If you go against your word again, if harm comes to me or my brother on our way home, you will have destroyed all goodwill toward the Tuatha De Danann within the territory of Sevenwaters. Your kind will no longer have safe haven here. I swear it on the memory of my kinsman Finbar, the man with the swan’s wing, for whom this child was named. I swear it on the memory of my grandmother, Sorcha of Sevenwaters, whom the Tuatha De loved and aided. As for your son, he is more man than you can ever imagine. You will not defeat us. Nothing defeats love.”

Mac Dara’s lips twisted. After a moment he brought his hands together in slow, derisory applause.

I ignored him. The lamps seemed dimmer now; the cursed fire had died down. The others who had been with us in the pavilion, the two robed women, the all-too-obedient nursemaid, had vanished, and in their place were armed men of the Fair Folk standing in silent rank around the walls. So many. Did this prince fear his warrior son so much? I turned back to Cathal, who stood silent and pale by the fire. He had not tried to fight. He had remembered the tales better than I did; he had known all too well what it would mean if he entered his father’s hall. It was too late for resistance by arms. Set your foot inside the door, you’ll be mine forever more. If Willow’s story was accurate, he had no way out.