He was here. Cathal was here. For one blissful moment I felt relief, then I saw Mac Dara’s hand outstretched toward me, and the flame bursting forth anew from his fingers. Cathal’s cloak passed through the fire on its way to me. My boots slid wildly on the log as I snatched at it. The crow winged up out of harm’s way, and somehow I got the garment around my shoulders, the hood over my head. You’ve got the ring. Cathal’s got his necklace. We’re at the portal. Don’t you dare lose your balance.

“Oh, take off the hood.” Mac Dara’s voice, a lazy drawl now. “Let’s see that flaming hair go up.” Fire on either side of me, swirling, scorching. I shrank back inside the cloak, heart thudding, and the eldritch flames sizzled into the river. “Fool!” spat Mac Dara, the mocking tone quite gone. He was not addressing me. “You would throw away the riches I lay before you for her? She’s nothing. No great beauty even by human standards, and a meddler besides. Persist in this and I’ll be obliged to show you just how disposable your little friend is.”

“Clodagh,” Cathal said. He was standing not far along the bank, looking perfectly calm. He had his eyes fixed on his father and did not spare me a glance. “Trust me.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Mac Dara. “Just as she trusted you to hold onto her the last time she fell into deep water. The little tricks you’ve picked up since you came here are insignificant, Cathal. Against my magic they are as candle flames to a great conflagration. I had hoped my son might be made in my mold; lover, warrior, leader without peer. How long must I wait to see that promise fulfilled?”

“You will wait forever.” Cathal stood relaxed and still, his hands loose by his sides, his gaze locked with his father’s. “My future lies in the human world. It lies with Clodagh. I want nothing of what you offer. I want neither riches nor power, and I have no interest at all in the craft of magic.”

“No?” Mac Dara’s brows went up. “I find that hard to believe. Perhaps you are frustrated that your progress is so slow, but you can learn, Cathal. You just deflected those flames, didn’t you?” Was I wrong, or had a slight tinge of uncertainty entered his voice? “As for riches and power, there is no man in the world who does not desire those.”

The current pulled like a wild horse. Surely the water was deeper, almost up to my knees now, though I had advanced no further along the submerged bridge. My back hurt. My legs hurt. My head felt dizzy. You’ve got the ring, you’ve got the ring, I chanted silently to myself. Be brave. Be strong. My body was seized by convulsive shivers—cold or fear, perhaps both. Despite this, I became aware of activity above me. In the trees on either bank and in the air over the bridge there was a continuous, rustling movement, like birds’ wings or the passing of a breeze through leaves. It seemed imperative not to look up. I recognized purpose in Cathal’s stance, intent in the way he was holding his father’s gaze. I held as still as I could, willing my legs to support me just a little longer.