The river was almost in view, a glimmer between the trees. Maybe the creature would throw another stone and kill me this time. Or deliver a new set of drawings, with instructions on what to do once I came face-to-face with it at midsummer. The first stone had been short on detail, and Geiléis clearly didn’t know. No wonder Grim wasn’t happy about me going ahead with this. A monster was a monster, after all—big, strong, unpredictable. Most likely furious or crazed from being locked up so long. I was quite strong for my size, but I was no fighter. Chances were I’d be dead the moment I stepped over the threshold. A sacrifice. That was how most folk would see it. But a person with an extensive knowledge of lore—I was one such, Flannan another—understood the inevitability of a magical curse, and how it allowed the weak to overcome the strong. In an old tale, the prey could turn on the predator. The youngest son, the one everyone believed worthless, could win a kingdom. And a woman like me might just possibly battle a monster and prevail.

I stumbled over a tree root and halted abruptly. Something odd had happened. While I was mulling it all over, I had wandered off the path without realizing it, and now here I was in among the oaks, with no sign of any track, only a maze of old roots clawing at the earth and clumps of fungi sprouting here and there. In here, the creature’s voice seemed less insistent. I could hear the whirr of dragonflies in the air, the high peeping sound of a bird up in the branches, and from St. Olcan’s came the distant sound of bells. And I felt the tingle of magic; there were fey folk nearby, though I could not see them.

“Anyone there?” I called softly. “It’s Blackthorn, the healer. May I speak with you?”

No reply. But there was someone close; I was sure of it. “I mean you no harm. And I’m here on my own.”

Nothing. But wait—were those lights, deep in the shadow under the trees? I walked forward, stepping carefully over the tangle of oak roots, making sure I did not crush the tiny mushrooms. Who knew what small creatures might live in such a place? The very air breathed magic.

The lights faded and were gone, leaving me in a darkness too profound to be anything but uncanny. Cold sweat broke out on my body; my heart pounded. I could hear Geiléis’s voice saying, I told you so. This would be the time I went out too far on my own and ended up drowned or mad or worse. Just like the others, the ones the villagers had told me about—sons, cousins, friends, lost in the forest or dead by their own hands, driven to despair by the screaming. A curse that lay over every last one of them.

Deep breath, Blackthorn. You are a wise woman. If you’re going to die, make sure it doesn’t happen because of your own miscalculation. That would hardly be better than succumbing to Mathuin’s torturers. Use your wits. Use your training.