Finbar was asleep. He had recently been fed and now lay rolled tightly in a shawl, tucked into his basket of willow. The chamber was warm; a little fire burned on the hearth. I had scattered dried berries of rowan and juniper on the flames, for these herbs had a power to clarify the mind. It was the first time I had felt the need for such aids.

Deirdre?

She did not answer. I sat very still, concentrating all my thoughts on her. She would hear me; I had no doubt of that. When we were younger, we had been so closely in tune with each other that the least whisper in the mind had been enough to alert us to a query, a feeling, a plan to be shared. As we had grown older, each of us had learned the skill of closing that portal between our minds, slipping a shutter over it to conceal our own thoughts. One did not always want to share what was in one’s mind, even with a beloved twin. I wished I had spoken to Father more about this bond, since he still used the same link with his own twin, Liadan. No doubt his sister had already heard about the birth of a son and had passed the news on to the household at Harrowfield, including my sister Maeve. Mother was right. It wasn’t fair that Deirdre be kept in ignorance.

Deirdre? I have some news for you.

I could feel nothing of her; nothing at all.

Good news. Let me in, Deirdre. It’s a message from Mother.

And then, abruptly, she was with me. I told you, Clodagh! I told you I wouldn’t do this—

We have a baby brother, Deirdre. And Mother is well.

Nothing for a little, though I could sense that she was bursting with feelings, a swirl of emotions in which relief and pleasure formed only part of the picture.

This is true? I thought she hardly dared believe it.

Of course it’s true! The baby came early. Everything seems to be all right. His name’s Finbar. Mother asked me to tell you. I wouldn’t have broken our agreement otherwise.

Another silence, then I felt her say, Are you sure, Clodagh? This is . . . It’s hard to take in. I don’t know what to say.