Lot of rules in this place; who eats when and where, who has to step back to let who pass, who’s allowed to go into some parts of the fortress and so on. Apart from that it’s like the prince’s place at Winterfalls, only bigger. Too full and too noisy. Food’s good.

Blackthorn’s soon busy. Caillín should be happy. She’s doing half his job for him. Lady Flidais doesn’t need her much, just wants to know she’s close by, Blackthorn says. And me—I keep an eye on Blackthorn, make sure she’s safe, make sure she remembers to eat. I keep our quarters clean and tidy. And work comes my way without being asked for. When something needs doing, I do it. This and that. Unblock a clogged drain, fix a few tiles back in place, load a cart, help muck out a stable. May as well be useful—why not?

One good thing. The prince must have known I couldn’t be in the same place as that godforsaken bastard Branoc without doing him violence. He’s sent the wretch away somewhere. Not coming back until we’ve gone home to Winterfalls. Good choice. Otherwise Prince Oran would have had a murder to explain to his father when the king got back. I’ll never forget seeing that girl chained up. Branoc didn’t even understand that what he’d done to her was wrong. I’ve seen a lot of bad things in my time. Done some too, and been sorry for it. But a man like that never comes good. Doesn’t have it in him.

Feel like I’m waiting for something, don’t know what. After all that’s happened to us, to Blackthorn and me, seems like our path’s never going to be simple and straight. Be good if it was—the two of us staying in our cottage, getting on with our work and minding our own business. Peaceful, that’d be. Don’t think it’s going to happen, somehow.

I’m up on the wall one day, talking to a few of the lads, when some riders come into view—we’re on the landward side, looking roughly west.

“Nobody expected. At least, nobody I’ve been told about,” says Domnall, narrowing his eyes as he looks down. He was chief guard at Cloud Hill, where Lady Flidais came from to marry the prince. Led her escort. Good man. “Eoin, go down and find Lochlan, will you? Tell him there are folk coming, and ask someone to alert the steward. Is that a lady riding in front there?”

“Escort’s armed to the teeth,” I say as Eoin heads off down the steps. Can’t tell if the rider in the lead is a lady or not; big cloak covering most of her. Or him. If it’s a lady, she’s tall. Blue tunics on the men-at-arms, some kind of emblem on them, too far away to see what. They’re hung about with swords and clubs and knives and bows like they’ve been expecting trouble. “Thought the roads were pretty safe in these parts.”

“They are,” says Domnall. “Could be they’ve come from farther afield. Beyond the border.” Meaning the border with Tirconnell, which has its own king and maybe isn’t as peaceful as Dalriada.