“I can’t,” I whispered into the silence. “I can’t do it. I can’t honor your wishes. I can’t obey the gods. I can’t do anything at all.” It seemed I still had not yet wept all my tears, for they flowed now as they had the day before, helpless tears, the tears of a child lost in a maze and running out of choices. I sobbed until my nose ran and my chest hurt. There wasn’t a scrap of druidic strength to be found in me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it anyway. I buried my head in my hands and let sorrow claim me.

Much later, when the worst of it was over, I lifted my head, wiped my face on my sleeve and became aware that I was no longer alone in the cavern. Ciarán was sitting a short distance away, in his usual cross-legged, straight-backed pose, not looking at me, simply waiting, his eyes calm and clear as he gazed across the water. In a moment he would ask me what was the matter. I had no idea what to say to him.

“Perhaps it will help if I tell you I’m aware that you are struggling with your vocation, Sibeal, and that I know your young Armorican, Felix, is part of the problem. Don’t look so surprised; I had only to see him take your hand on the jetty to be aware of the bond between you.”

“I’m—I can’t—you won’t understand. Even I don’t understand.” If this was what it meant to grow up, I thought I might prefer to stay a child forever. And yet . . .

He gave a little smile. “Try me, Sibeal.”

“You won’t like it.”

“You know better than to anticipate my response. I see how unhappy you are. Tell me why.”