“Six,” Geiléis said. “Some folk have a long way to travel.”

“Dawn or dusk?”

“Ah,” said Geiléis. “I understand your argument on that point, but it can be neither. Both dawn and dusk would require me to accommodate everyone here for a night. People simply would not come. So close to the tower, right in the woods . . . They might be prepared to tolerate that for the duration of the ritual, but not in the dark, even if they were housed in the barn. This place terrifies them. Your ritual would be attended only by the members of my household.”

A pox on it! I wondered sometimes if she had any belief in me at all. “You’re telling me I need to do it by day, with the screaming drowning out every word I say.”

“Why not conduct the ritual farther from the tower, where the sound is not so overwhelming? In a grazing field, perhaps, beyond the forest’s edge? A place from which the tower is visible; somewhere with sufficient space for a large number of folk to gather. I’m sure the men could help you find a suitable spot. If you are not too tired, you could ride out this afternoon to do so.” When I did not reply, she added, “I am quite sure the local people would prefer that. If you want them to attend in numbers, offering a spot closer to home and farther from the tower will help.”

I could hardly object to this; it made sense. Since I did not think the ritual would work anyway, I could not argue that it was best conducted a stone’s throw from the tower, though my instincts told me that was where it should be performed. I was hardly prepared to admit, even to myself, that I wanted to do it down in the woods, where the little folk could see and hear. Where the creature in the tower might catch a consoling word or two, a scent of healing herbs, a glimpse of sacred fire, even as it wailed its despair over the forest. “Very well,” I said. “Let’s hope the weather stays dry for six days. Maybe there will be time this afternoon, after we’ve found this spot, to ride on to the nearest settlement and start spreading the word.”

“You must not exhaust yourself, Blackthorn.” She was all smiles now. “Let me pour you some ale.”

“Thank you. I’m not exhausted. Just keen to get on with what has to be done. At this rate, Midsummer Eve will be here before we know it.”

“Believe me, I understand the urgency all too well. It would save time, you realize, if my men took the message of invitation out to the community, leaving you to get on with your preparations?” Geiléis glanced at my herb-filled basket, which I had set on a chest, and I remembered belatedly that I’d intended to spend the day making salves, lotions and other cures to take with me when I visited the local folk. I frowned, eyeing the basket. Was that a tiny bunch of true love’s tears tucked in the corner next to the sage? Whoever had picked that, it certainly hadn’t been me.