And so,” I said later, to the hushed audience in the dining hall, “Osgar drew his sword and gave battle, and he slew the Gray Man; and at the sight of her brother lying in his blood, Ailne fell stone dead from grief. And as for the Fianna, they feasted long into the night on the fine food and drink they found in that place, and slept late into the morning. But when they awoke, all was gone: the dun, the rich tapestries, the fine accoutrements, even the grim cell in which their captor had immured them. There was only the grass and the trees and the sun rising in the sky, telling them it was time to move on. You’d have thought nothing at all had happened to them, save for the sheepskin Conan wore on his back, as if it were part of his own body. In all the years of his life, that skin stayed with him, and when his wife cut his hair for him, she had to shear his wool as well. As she was a practical woman like my sister here,” I gave a nod in Clodagh’s direction, “she kept it until she had enough, then spun and wove it into all manner of useful items. And that is the end of my tale.”

Uproarious applause told me I had chosen it well—it was a story they would all know already, concerning the great warrior Finn and his band, and how they fell foul of Ailne and her fey brother. Such tales made good entertainment without sparking debate or touching the heart too deeply; it was suitable for tonight. Knut was shouting approval with the rest of them. Svala was absent. Perhaps she was all alone down in the fisherman’s cottage, huddled over a small fire, or sitting by a single, guttering candle. No, that was wrong. I imagined her on the shore, staring out into the west in the dark; or walking, her bare feet steady and sure across the pebbles of the beach. Or sitting on the rocks under the rising moon, waiting for the seals to swim by. Her heart aching, aching for a loss that could never be made good . . .

Someone thrust a cup of mead into my hand. I almost dropped it into my lap, so startled was I—for a moment, the wave of sorrow had borne me to another place.

“All right, Sibeal?” Gareth came to take the cup from me and set it on the table close by.

“I’m fine, but—”