“My grandma, aunts, their children and their husbands. My grandfather went mad and attacked the Forever King. Nobody expected him to succeed in killing him. They all forgot that he was the king’s strategist. Because he failed to keep his family safe, they thought he was defeated.” Croi reaches for Irial’s hand, and he holds hers tight. “I don’t know why their relationship broke apart, though. If my mother knows, she hasn’t told me.”

“How did she become the queen?”

“There was no one else,” Irial says. “I was only two, but I remember the chaos of the time. She simply did what no one else wanted to. No one else dared to.”

“And the HeartStone?”

Irial looks at her sharply, his face pale. “How…?”

Croi waves a hand. “Don’t ask.”

“Yeah. It’s missing. It has been missing since the happenings after the last Saol ceremony. My mother has been searching for it for the last seventeen years without any success.” He laughs a bit. “You don’t know how relieved I feel to share this with someone. I told her to just tell the court kin about the missing HeartStone, but she insists on keeping it secret, scared of the chaos that will erupt once people find out that it’s lost.”

Croi squeezes his hand, not knowing what to say or how else to comfort him.

“How far away from the Caisleán are you now?” Irial asks.

“I have no idea. Tinder says that I should join the Tine envoy because it will be safer and get me to the Caisleán faster. Do you think I should?” she asks him.

“The Tine King has arrived in Talamh quite early,” Irial muses. “There is still five days before the Saol ceremony. The monarchs of the other kingdoms usually arrive in Talamh the night before the ceremony.”

“Perhaps he has another purpose,” Croi says.

“Perhaps. I think you’ll be safe with the Tine. At least you won’t be abducted by the Redcaps again,” Irial says, a slight grin lightening the melancholy on his face. “I will be able to see you sooner.”

“I’m not much to look at,” Croi says with a twist of her lips. “But hey, I look better awake than I do as a Redcap.” She cheers up.

The rest of the melancholy melts away from Irial’s face, and he chuckles at her. “Thank you for being my friend.”

“Say that to me when we are both awake,” she counters.

“I will. Listen, I probably won’t come into your dreams anymore. I need to conserve my magick in preparation for the Saol ceremony. I reckon something big is going to happen on the day.”

“All right.”

“Be safe,” he exhorts her. “Don’t take risks.”

“I never do.” He looks like he doesn’t believe her.

“Sleep. I will see you soon,” he says, and offers her a soft smile before disappearing.

TWENTY-THREE

THE FIRST RAYS OF THE sun skim the tips of the trees, dusting them orange. A low hum, full of birdsong, is a prologue to the cacophony that will come with the ripening of the day. Croi’s body aches fiercely, and her lips have swollen to twice their usual size, or so she feels with her tongue. The only reflective surfaces around are eyes, and no one seems to want to look into hers.