Turned out whisky wasn’t too bad, especially once you’d finished the first one. After that, a second seemed like a great idea. Madeleine picked up her glass and knocked back a swallow. Her throat stung and her eyes smarted. The ice cubes clinked against her teeth.

“You know how to find the Merryweather?” Iona looked worried. “I can ring Harry, he’d come and fetch you. Or Elliot could walk you there.”

Madeleine might be drunk, but not so drunk she’d welcome anyone else’s company right now. “I can find the hotel. I leave, hang a right, and walk two blocks.”

“Three. You’re sure you⁠—”

“I’ll just be on my way. Thank you.” There, that sounded polite. She’d enunciated every word perfectly. You’d never know she was intoxicated.

She paid for her drinks and stood up. Everything spun around her. The Kestrel was a welcoming place with old wooden tables and a bar that seemed to have been hewn from the Stone Age, like Skara Brae. It was also a little out of focus.

Nevertheless, Madeleine held her head high as she left. Was she walking in a straight line? It didn’t matter; she wasn’t driving. She just had to hang a right, walk two blocks—or three or ten or whatever—find the Werrymeather, and go to bed.

Just hang a right.

Madeleine’s feet turned to the left and started walking, with her bemused permission, toward the sound of the ocean.

At this hour, even the main thoroughfare was deserted. She had the street to herself. In fact, it seemed like she might be the only person in the world. What a lonely thought. Madeleine shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. The sea grew louder as she walked toward it. At least she wasn’t cold. That might be the whisky too. Was there anything it couldn’t do? Dull her senses, warm her up…make her brave.

Brave enough to find her beach.

She’d put it off long enough. She should have gone to the beach the same day she’d arrived on Jorsay. Why hadn’t she? It didn’t make any sense. She’d stayed away from it just because Hæra had asked her to for no reason.

Hæra.

Madeleine laughed roughly into the wind.

Hæra had asked an awful lot of her in the space of a short time. To stay away from the beach, to talk about damningly personal things, and—just recently—to go to the hotel together. To finish what they’d started. Hæra had sounded so desperate, as much as Madeleine herself had felt.

That couldn’t have been possible, though. Madeleine had been desperate enough to ask if Hæra was an angel—a sure sign of a woman losing her mind.