As soon as I got back to the house I would make sure my younger sisters had their gowns ready for tonight’s feast. I’d find an opportunity to speak with Father alone so I could see how he was; I knew Mother’s tiredness was troubling him. I hoped I could reassure him. And I’d ease Mother’s mind by letting her know that everything was under control. I should speak to my two druid uncles as soon as they arrived. Conor needed to be asked if the plans for tomorrow’s spring ritual and hand-fasting suited him. Ciarán would want a place to retreat to. He came to our home quite often to work with Sibeal on druidic lore, for she would almost certainly join that community herself in a few years’ time. Tutoring his young student in the garden or in the peace and quiet of an isolated chamber was one thing; facing a house full of visitors was quite another. Ciarán was acutely uncomfortable with crowds. Besides, he sometimes brought his raven with him. Folk found the bird unsettling.

The path narrowed, snaking between groves of closely growing elders whose narrow trunks formed graceful, bending shapes like those of leaning dryads. The foliage stirred in the breeze and I felt suddenly cold. Someone was watching me; I sensed it. I glanced around but could see nobody. “Who’s there?” I called. There was no reply, only the whisper of the leaves and the cry of a bird passing overhead. My flesh rose in goose bumps. Our home was extremely well guarded; Father’s men-at-arms were expert. Besides, the forest protected its own. Nobody came in by stealth. If a member of our household was out there, why hadn’t anyone answered when I called?

Something moved under a stand of massive oaks about a hundred paces from the track. I froze, eyes narrowed. Now nothing was stirring. I took three more steps along the path and halted again, my skin prickling with unease. Something was there. Not a deer or a wild pig—something else.