“Mm?”

“You realize that every time we get angry or muddled or frustrated while we’re here, we’ll be wondering if it’s the monster messing with our thoughts. It’s a cruel and devious kind of curse. We won’t be able to trust any decision we make. We won’t even be able to trust each other.” But then, I’d been withholding the truth from him since before we left Cahercorcan. I’d been as good as lying since the day Flannan told me about the plot.

“Rubbish.” Grim carried the kettle over and poured hot water into my cup, then his. “Team, aren’t we? That means we trust each other, no matter what. Watch each other’s back. Keep an eye out for trouble.”

A pox on it, I was on the verge of tears again. What in the name of the gods was this? I busied myself with adding honey and stirring it in, hoping he would not notice.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” A note of uncertainty had crept into Grim’s voice.

“That’s right.” I had never hated myself quite as much as I did in that moment.

19

Grim

Late in the afternoon Flannan turns up, looking serious. Here to check on Blackthorn after what happened yesterday. Keeps looking at me, waiting for me to do something crazy. See it all over his face. Senach brings everyone ale and cakes.

Lady Geiléis comes and keeps us company for a bit, and Blackthorn tells her about the trip to the tower, leaving some parts out. Shows her the stone with the drawings scratched on it. Expected the lady to be interested. Thought she might be angry we went close enough for Blackthorn to nearly get herself killed. What she does is cup the stone in her hands. Holds it as if it was some sort of rare treasure, or a baby just born. Tears rolling down her face. Three of us, that’s including Flannan, are staring at her. Lady Geiléis is off in her own little world for a bit. I fish out a handkerchief and pass it to her. She takes it without seeing me, dabs her eyes.

“I’ll be wanting to keep that for now,” says Blackthorn, breaking the spell. “Part of the investigation.”

“Yes,” says the lady, coming back from wherever she’s been. “Yes, of course.” But she doesn’t hand over the stone.

“What do you think it means?” Blackthorn asks her, not saying what we think.

Geiléis clears her throat, wipes her eyes again. Giving herself time before she answers. “It is what I suspected. A woman must cut through the thorns, using an ax. If . . . if it was indeed the creature that threw this down, I believe . . . I believe that may be what is required. On Midsummer Eve. The drawing of a sun . . .” Still struggling to be calm. Haven’t seen her so upset since the day she came to court and threw herself at Oran’s feet. “This other part, the crouching figure, I cannot interpret. It could be good news—that is, if this is a deliberate attempt to tell us something, and not just . . . accident. There is no sign of a—a confrontation here. No indication that you might need to . . .”