“Every day I expect it to happen,” he said to me the first time, as we stood together looking out across the vast ocean. A small flock of gulls had joined us as temporary passengers. They perched in the rigging, feathers ruffled by the breeze. “I expect my father to act. A storm; a mighty wave; a thunderbolt; an eldritch vessel crewed by uncanny warriors. If those little creatures on the serpent isle spoke true, the talisman should protect my loved ones and also keep Liadan safe on the voyage home. But it is a great deal to entrust in a tiny scrap of shell, however magical it may be. I cannot believe my father would not seize this chance to sink us. To drown me and have Clodagh and the child at his mercy. Why would he hold back when he has the power to stir the seas and conjure tempests? Why wouldn’t he meddle, when he has no scruples at all? He’s a man who kills for no better reason than to amuse himself. He’s a man who turns folk’s lives upside down without a second thought.”

I struggled to find the wise answer that would once have come so readily. “You are his only son. True, perhaps he is more interested in your child now. But he will not harm you if he need not, surely.”

“You don’t know him.”

“There is another possibility,” I said. Felix had just come up through the open hatch; he was heading to the bow to talk to Sigurd. He lifted a hand in casual greeting. The wind caught his hair and lifted it around his head like seaweed on the tide. What beautiful eyes he had, eyes of drowning blue.

“What possibility?”

I struggled to remember what I had been about to say. “Those little folk implied that someone must stand up to Mac Dara, and that the one to do it might be you. I know you have no intention of going back to Sevenwaters, Cathal. But you should consider the possibility that your father is holding back because he fears you. Because he fears your magic has the power to overcome his.”

“What about Freyja, the wreck, the losses?”

“There is no way to know if that was his doing. It was odd, yes. But there are many oddities in this tale, and not all of them are of Mac Dara’s making.”

“Mm.” Cathal fell silent for a while. Then he asked, “Sibeal, are you all right? You seem . . . not yourself.”

“I’m fine.” The sharp note of my voice made him narrow his eyes at me. “A little tired, perhaps,” I added. “This has taken a toll on all of us.”