The ritual had made up my mind for me at last. Curious; while it had unfolded I’d almost felt I was outside it, looking down at myself, watching myself go through the invocations, the prayers, the blessings, as if I had the power to make the rite real, potent, full of meaning and power. My own duplicity had sickened me. Who was I to call upon the spirits? Who was I to ask them for help when I didn’t even believe anymore? Who was I to stand in front of a community and pretend I had any kind of spiritual authority? A liar, that was what I was. A liar in every corner of my being, for conducting this ritual when I did not believe for a moment that it would achieve its purpose. A bitter, angry woman with no room in her for the little flame my mentor had spoken of, the flame of spirit we all had within us, the light that never truly went out, even in our times of deepest despair. So I’d been taught. So I’d once believed. But my light had been snuffed out years ago. The last of it had died with Cass and Brennan. All that was left was anger and bitterness. Wise woman? Hah!

Yet I’d finished the cleansing ritual. I’d spoken nicely to people, and smiled, and thanked them for taking the trouble to be there. I’d held myself together, and all the time a tide of loathing had been rising in me, a wave of disgust at the worthless creature I’d become. So I’d made my decision. I would go to Laois. I would see Mathuin brought to justice or die in the attempt. Because, deep down, I knew that unless I did that, unless I stood up to him, I would stay wretched and furious and bitter for the rest of my life.

Four days left until I dealt with the thing in the tower. It had been awkward talking to Geiléis about Grim. Of course I’d said nothing to her about what I planned for afterward. I only told her, on the quiet, that it would be better if Grim were not present when I went to the tower on Midsummer Eve, since he would be anxious, maybe angry, and that would be a distraction I’d do better without. She had understood immediately and suggested, with a sympathetic smile, that I should tell Grim I intended to make the attempt in the late afternoon. He should be happy enough to go up to St. Olcan’s as usual, for the morning at least. By the time he got back it would all be over. One way or the other, I thought, but did not say it. I didn’t like the lie, but there seemed no choice about it.

I couldn’t pack for the journey south, though I planned that Flannan and I would leave that same day, before Grim returned from the monastery. As soon as the creature was gone, or dead, or whatever had to happen, I could gather my belongings and we’d head off. I would tell Flannan tonight, when he came with his translation. He would be pleased with me. Proud of me for being the woman who always spoke out against injustice. The one who always stood up to be counted, even if it got her in trouble. Funny. I didn’t feel proud myself. I felt sad. Sad that I had to do this at the cost of Grim’s friendship. I felt like a traitor. And it didn’t help to repeat the familiar arguments to myself, about how people liked him and he had a house and work and so on. Because I knew, deep inside, that if I asked him to come with me, the big fool would throw all that away in a heartbeat.