“Danu save us,” murmured Gull. “So when he saw Svala on the shore he thought he’d found himself the perfect replacement for his wife. Not only was she beauteous beyond compare, but once he’d helped himself to a piece of her skin, she was biddable and silent, too. No wonder he was so keen to win a place on Inis Eala, where folk valued his skills and nobody knew about his past. It must have seemed perfect. And no wonder he was so desperate to keep Felix quiet.”

“That sea monster,” mused Sigurd, “the other one, I mean—if Svala could shed her skin and become human, does that mean it could, too? That thing would make quite a figure of a man.”

Felix kept busy, as I did. He talked to Gareth, to Cathal, to Sigurd, to Gull. He plied a fishing line and even on occasion helped with sailing the boat. He turned his hand to any task he was given. The crew treated him as a friend. And I watched him, seeing the fit, healthy man of my vision emerge from the shaken invalid by whose side I had kept so many anxious vigils. I had new vision now; I saw the strong shoulders, the proud carriage, the long legs and grace of movement. I saw him laughing, somber, reflective, purposeful. When I thought of the time ahead, I wondered how long it would be until I forgot these fine things; how long before he faded to a beloved memory, and then to nothing. Or would I keep his image in my mind forever, a piercing reminder of what I had sacrificed to follow my destined path? An alternative, he had said. How could he understand? There was no alternative.

Cathal made it his habit to take me up on deck at least once a day. Too much time in the hold was bad for anyone, he said. No doubt this was true, but he had another reason: he wanted to talk.