Onchú was gesturing us down to the water’s edge. I began to tuck my skirts into my girdle. I wasn’t keen to walk all the way back in a sodden gown. The shore was pebbly; the sunlight made the wet stones shine. Black, white, every shade of gray and green and brown. Some speckled like eggs, some bearing a stripe, some covered with markings resembling spidery writing. If a person could read them, those would be old and strange tales indeed.

Grim was beside me, gesturing in his turn. Carry you over. If you want.

Weighing a little awkwardness against the prospect of wet shoes took only a moment. This would be an easy task for Grim, who stood head and shoulders over the tallest of Geiléis’s tall retainers, and whose strength I had seen demonstrated over and over since we were first incarcerated together. The exercises he’d performed nightly to keep him from going mad in Mathuin’s hellhole had been rigorous almost beyond belief. I’d wondered, often, where the man had acquired such self-discipline. I’d never asked.

He scooped me up in his arms, carrying me like a child, and followed Onchú into the river. Donncha came behind us. Gods, it was frustrating not to be able to hear properly! The monster’s voice was still there, muffled but insistent; if I took out the wadding, I imagined it would be deafening. Which meant that even if I did unstop my ears, most likely I would not be able to detect the softer sounds that might tell me something. Were creatures about their daily business in this part of the woods? Squirrels, voles, foxes? Did animals venture to the island, or were those birds that roosted on—or in—the tower by night the only ones bold enough to visit the place? What about the small fey folk Grim might or might not have encountered? Perhaps they too were affected by the curse. Or they might be the ones responsible for the whole thing. Who knew?

Grim moved steadily on the shifting stones; in the ford, the water was quite shallow. But the island did not stand in the ford itself. At a certain point the three men had to turn and wade into deeper water, knee-deep for Grim, deeper for the others, and the current was strong. I’d have had difficulty staying upright here. Onchú gestured to Grim to keep directly behind him; I guessed that the riverbed was uneven. My mind filled with unsettling possibilities. A sudden arrow from the cover of those trees, an eldritch surge of floodwater . . . The creature driving Grim mad, so the two of us were swept away and drowned . . .

Grim was setting me down, and we were on the island. Onchú had his knife ready in his hand; Donncha had taken his bow from his back and an arrow from his quiver. Their bearing suggested high alert. It seemed I was not the only one thinking this was an ideal spot for an attack. But save for the rippling water the place was still. The tower stood at the highest point, in the center of the island. Around it the thornbushes rose tall and dense. The wild hedge stood far above my own height, and was so thick it would surely be impossible to get anywhere near the tower’s entry. If there was an entry.