But she would not need the story, because this time would be different. It had to be. Another failure simply could not be endured. What had they done to deserve this wretched penance, this endless suffering? Fallen in love, that was all. Young folk did that. It was natural. The one who had cursed them, the fey woman—Geiléis would not use her name, could not bear to speak it—could have had any man she wanted. She was the loveliest creature in all Erin. Even in her terror, even in the dark, even as she knew she had encountered a power so far beyond her own that she could never prevail, Geiléis had recognized the other’s remarkable allure. Why had the fey woman claimed Ash as hers? Why couldn’t she let him go? Why couldn’t she find someone else, someone who did not have a human girl who loved him with all her heart and would do anything, anything to keep him safe?

She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. That night, the night of the curse, was as clear in her memory as if it had been yesterday. The tower was in darkness, save for that one lonely light flickering in the high chamber. The wind howled; the trees bowed down before its chill breath. It was like winter in summertime. Clouds fled across the moon’s face; lightning split the sky and thunder growled deep. She ran, heedless of peril, ran with her heart leaping about in her chest, ran until her sides ached, ran with tears of hope and terror running down her cheeks. Ash. He’s in the tower. Find Ash. What would happen when she reached the tower, how she would rescue him, she hardly thought; only that he was there, and that if she had got him out once before, she could do it again.

“Gods,” Geiléis muttered, “I was a child. I knew nothing. Nothing.”

And then the river, and the dark swirling water, and the recognition that there was no way she could get across on her own. Was that a sound of laughter from the high chamber? Gritting her teeth. Tucking up her skirt. Trusting in the power of true love to get her over. One step, and her shoes filled with water so cold it turned her feet numb. Another step, and suddenly she was in to her knees, and the river was pulling at her, insistent, perilous. “Ash!” she shouted. “Ash, are you there? I’ve come to bring you home!”

Then the little voice in the darkness. “Try it on your own and you’ll be swallowed up as quick as the snap of a hawk’s beak. I’ll take you over. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

The ferryman. He was right beside her, holding his wee boat steady in the swirling waters, the pole dug deep. “I’m sure,” she said, and he said, “Climb in.”

The swift, uneasy passage to the island. She gasped a thank-you as she ran for the tower. Up the spiral stair, not thinking what would happen if she fell. No waiting to catch her breath. Forward. Forward into the high chamber.