That was odd. Even now the men had brought Brión back, there was a light in the old tower. It glowed and moved as if someone was walking about in that high chamber with a candle or lamp in their hand. The view was impeded by the branches of the great oak. She could climb out, go higher, see more clearly. But after what had occurred earlier, she’d better not try that particular trick for a while. Might the ferryman or others of his folk have gone up there for some reason? Lily thought of the stairs winding around the tower’s interior; remembered how climbing had hurt her legs and made it hard to breathe. Such small folk surely could not manage that. Unless they could fly. She had seen no hint of wings. Could the search party have left a lamp or candle behind? It was possible. But not likely.

Should she alert someone? Her mother? The steward? As Lily stood there hesitating, the light blinked out, and the old tower fell back into darkness.

She did not see the light again that night. In the morning Brión was awake and talking sense, though much weakened by his ordeal. Or so Lily’s mother told her; their unexpected guest needed nursing back to health, and a young man’s bedchamber was no place for a well-brought-up young lady.

But then, Lily was not entirely what she seemed. Beneath the good manners and ladylike presence was a person of strength, a person who knew her own mind and was prepared to fight for what she believed in. She did not understand, then, how monstrous a fight it would prove to be.

21

Blackthorn

It rained for seven days straight. It was too wet to ride out to the settlement. Besides, I could not fix a day for the ritual until we were fairly sure of a dry spell, so there was no point in issuing invitations. It was too wet to gather herbs. It was too wet to do much at all. Cooped up indoors and unable to achieve anything, I came so close to boiling point I suspected folk might see the steam rising. The temptation to leave was strong; the more so because, even in such inclement weather, Flannan came down almost every day to talk with me in private. His argument was simple and convincing: the task Geiléis had given me sounded dangerous to the point of stupidity, and the fact that nobody really knew what was expected when, or if, I entered the tower, made it even more so. If we were talking of foolish risks, he said, which sounded more perilous—going south and working with a known group of trusted allies to bring down Mathuin of Laois or hacking through a hedge of poison thorn and climbing an old tower to confront a screaming monster? The likelihood of suffering an unpleasant death seemed significantly higher here at Bann than it would be in the south, and a great deal more immediate. Flannan reminded me that the plan was to go only as far as Mide to start with. We’d be protected there. When I pointed out that I’d need to go on to Laois if I were to find witnesses and persuade them to talk, Flannan said arrangements would be made to ensure my safety at every stage. This time around, it seemed the plot had been worked out in meticulous detail. After his visits I found it impossible to talk naturally with Grim. Most nights the two of us went to bed in uneasy silence.