With effort, Constance moved to a sitting position, her thin arms straining against the cushions to push her upright. After a few bars, she started to sing, in Gaelic.

Chuir iad mise dh’eilean leam fhìn,

Chuir iad mise dh’eilean leam fhìn,

Chuir iad mise dh’eilean leam fhìn,

Dh’ eilean mara fada bho thìr.

There was something terribly sad in the sounds, in the way she sang them. Gregor stood and stared at Constance, as if seeing her for the first time. It was the way he’d looked at Ruby when she’d played for them the week before. Ruby watched him, watching the mother of his child, and wondered what had passed between these two that they should have become so distant from one another. Something powerful remained, clearly, though the nature of it was far from obvious.

When the song was over, there was a silence in which nobody breathed. Ruby lowered her bow.

Gregor said, “What’s it about?”

Constance raised her eyes to him, slowly. They never quite reached his face. “It’s about being sent to an island, far away and all alone.”

Gregor looked from Constance to Ruby and back again.

“You make such beautiful music together. I can’t quite take it in.”

“Gregor,” said Constance. “I’m thirsty. Can you …”

“Of course. I’ll get water.”

“Something hot?” she said. “Tea?”

When he left the room, Constance seemed to come to focus. She fixed Ruby with her eyes and hissed urgently across the gap between the couches. Ruby moved closer.

“He locked me in the bedroom today.”

The words were so surprising that Ruby could only stare. “He what?”

“He locks me in so he can hide my coat. My sealskin. I need it so I can go home. He’s a bad man, Ruby. You should stay away from him.”

“Your sealskin?” Ruby didn’t know what to say. It was possibly the most peculiar thing she’d ever heard. Perhaps she meant oilskin, like a rain slicker. But then Ruby remembered the conversation with Gregor, about the name Roane linking to the shapeshifters, the seal people: she thinks she’s part of the myth. Constance’s face was a tight grimace, with veins standing out on her forehead, which was shiny with sweat.

“I can’t go outside without it. That’s why I’m stuck here. It has to be with me. It has to …”

Gregor came back into the room. “It’s a yes for milk and no for sugar, right, Ruby?” he looked over at Constance, and his face changed to one of concern. “Oh, hon, you don’t look well. Much worse than earlier on—sure you want tea? I can make lemon and honey? Or cocoa?”

She waved a dismissive hand and leaned back into the cushions. “I feel fine. A bit sleepy, maybe.”

“You should probably go to bed. Do you need any help getting up?”