“You speak of nightmares,” said Cathal. “I must tell you that the ill dreams that have plagued me ever since the ship was wrecked on our reef were full of monstrous seas, howling gales, snapping jaws, screaming men. I have seen this island in my sleep. It is a place of towering rocks, treeless and gray amid its shawl of white water. A grim place. A place of death.” He fell silent for a moment before continuing. “I know you must take time to consider this, Johnny. I know you will not make any decisions tonight. But I wish to say to you, Felix, that I believe your story. I offer you an apology. I misjudged you.”

I had no idea what Cathal meant, but I saw Felix incline his head courteously, as if accepting the apology, and I saw the warmth in his eyes as he met Cathal’s dark gaze. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“It’s late,” Johnny said, rising to his feet. “We all need sleep. I will call a meeting in the morning. I will consider what’s been said and come to a decision. Felix, you look like a ghost. You must rest. You, too, Sibeal.” He looked at Knut, who had risen and stood flanked by the taller Kalev and Gareth. A sheen of sweat covered the Norseman’s fair skin. His eyes were restless; his fingers twisted the strip of hide that held the runic talisman around his neck. “Gareth, Kalev, take Knut to the small chamber at the end of the men’s quarters,” Johnny said. “He’ll sleep there tonight, and I want a guard on his door. Wake Niall. You two need your sleep. Knut, you’ll have one of my men with you at all times during daylight hours until this is sorted out. Stay away from Felix and from Sibeal. Is that understood?”

Knut shifted his feet. He muttered something.

Kalev stifled a yawn as he translated. “He says, perhaps the story is not quite as he told it.”

I was still on the mat by the fire, my hand in Felix’s. I felt him start, as if a shock had gone through his body.

“Be quick.” Johnny’s face was like stone.

“In part, his story was true,” Knut said. “There was another island, far north. The storm, the bay, the monster . . . it is accurate enough. I did not think you would believe it, so I said nothing of it. No man likes to be called a liar.”

These words hung in the air, a judgment he had brought on himself.

“Anything further?” Johnny’s tone was even and quiet. He gave no indication of what he was thinking.

“Svala,” Knut said, looking down at his boots. “She is not my wife, not in the way folk mean the term, but . . . ”

“But what?” Gareth asked, an edge in his voice. Everyone was weary, and whatever transpired, tomorrow would be full of fresh demands.