“Take this.” It is the one with the sharp, emphatic voice. “Guard it well. Use it well. The time is coming when Mac Dara must be challenged. He must not continue to stir the seas with his capricious hand, or spoil a realm that once was peaceful and just. No, don’t speak”—when Cathal was ready to argue—“only listen, and take heed. You are too ready to say this is not your task, you cannot do it, you will not do it. One way or another, it must be done. Without you, it cannot be done. But a quandary vexes you; we understand that. This talisman is our Queen’s token. It will protect what you hold most dear until your task is complete. Wear it around your neck on the voyage home, and the Sea People will guard your vessel from the storm.”

Cathal has taken the tiny item in his long-fingered hand, and is examining it in the moonlight. “Thank you,” he says. Nothing more.

“Come forward, Bright Heart,” says the being.

I look at Sibeal; they must mean her.

She shakes her head. “It’s you they want, Felix. Go on.” She releases my hand.

I walk down the pebbly shore, the crunch of my footsteps an intrusion in the quiet of the night. Now I am beside them, and scarce able to breathe for the strangeness of it. The being stretches out its hand again. The hand has three fingers, and is as soft and gray as the creature’s cloak. On its palm lies something that might be a shell, or a stone, or an artifact. Such is its gleam, I think the moon has lent it some of her light.

“For you,” the being says, and, inverting its hand, drops the talisman on my palm. “Not for yourself. Not for the wise one, for she has no need of it. She carries her protection within her. This is for your daughter. Use it wisely. Guard her well.”

I am unable to ask the question that fills my heart. I cannot speak a word. I close my fingers around the talisman. I bow to each of them in turn. A silent prayer fills me, a prayer made up of hope and fear and hard choices.

By the time I am sitting beside Sibeal once more, the beings are gone. They have not vanished in a puff of smoke, simply faded back into their surroundings. Cathal has taken his talisman and gone to the other end of the shore, where he sits alone on the rocks with his hands around his knees. We will not disturb him; not tonight.

“Felix?” Sibeal asks in a low voice.

“Mm?”

She does not answer. I think perhaps she is crying. “I didn’t tell you, but I saw her. Our daughter. I saw her in visions, twice. That was the cruelest thing.” The tears flow in earnest. My wise druid is, at this moment, adrift and helpless.