“I believe I have taught you all too well,” Ciarán said. He sounded calm now, but his hands were tightly clasped together, the knuckles white. “Yes, I lost Fainne, but that was different. I know that my daughter is alive, and has a companion of the heart, and that she is doing a great work on behalf of the gods. I see her in visions; she sees me. That is not so cruel. And I have you, Sibeal. You have a wise and loving father of your own, but I have long looked upon you as my second daughter. It hurts me to see you so unhappy. There, now I have said something inappropriate to a druid, so we are even. Let me ask you a question.”

“What question?”

“You said Felix had spoken of compromise. It seems to me that there is a possible solution to your problem. It depends on how far you are prepared to compromise. This is not all or nothing, Sibeal. There is at least one other choice available to you.”

I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. I did not dare to hope.

“There’s a community in the south, in Kerry. They call themselves the Brethren of Brighid. They are stalwart in the old faith, but they are not druids, at least, not in the sense you and I understand the term. They live communally, and there are married couples and children among them. There is far less emphasis on lore and prayer than we are accustomed to in the nemetons. Less rigor, less discipline. More freedom of thought, demonstrated in robust nightly debates; they’re as fond of those as they are of their music. But principally they show their love of the gods in daily work, either on the land they farm or out in the wider world, where they teach and heal, perform hand fastings and burials, comfort the dying, and conduct the seasonal rites for farm folk and fisher folk. A very different life, Sibeal, and far away from Sevenwaters. I know several of the people who live there, and I have only good to say of them. I am convinced they would welcome you and Felix to their hearths and their hearts. In turn, you would have much to offer them, and so, I believe, would he.”

I stared at him, unable to think past the conflicting feelings that rushed through me—joy, horror, hope, shock, disbelief. “You—you—are advising me to give up my vocation?”

He smiled again, but his eyes were sad. “You know, I don’t believe I am. Yes, this choice would mean you did not make your final vows at Sevenwaters. It would mean we lost you to our own nemetons, and that would be a great loss indeed, to Conor and myself especially. But, Sibeal, my dear, you are so full of spirit, you are so rich in faith, it matters not at all what path you choose. Whether as wife and mother, or as druid, or as teacher in Kerry, or even at court in Armorica if your path should lead you there, you will live your life fully in the love of the gods. They laid their hands over you when you were a small child. You have never wavered, Sibeal; and their love for you has never weakened, even when their voices could not reach you. You should go forward in joy and confidence, knowing whatever you choose will be right.”