We took the route by the river. Dusk had fallen by the time we came in sight of the Tower of Thorns, and the creature was silent. We were tired and so were the horses.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress Blackthorn,” Donncha said as we rode up the forest path toward Geiléis’s house. “I did not intend this.”

“A mudslide could hardly be your fault,” I said. “And neither is my ill temper. I have enjoyed your company today. Just when I was starting to believe all people were selfish bastards, you proved me wrong.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, clearly taken aback.

“I’ll honor your two requests. You have my word. As for Midsummer Eve, let’s hope Flannan has all the answers we need.”

34

Grim

“What?” Head fills up with pictures. Spurting blood, shattered bone. I can hear it. Smell it. Makes my gut churn. Can’t have heard right.

“That’s what it says.” Flannan sounds calm, like the scholar he is. He can’t keep still, though. Twisting his fingers, folding his arms, unfolding them, shifting around. Blackthorn’s got her fists clenched and her jaw tight. Look in her eyes tells me she’s working herself up to be brave, to say, Cut off his head? All right, why not? As if she did that sort of thing every day. As if it’s easy. Which it isn’t. Not without a very good weapon, a lot of strength and plenty of practice. Geiléis is strung up tight, has been since I got here. Even Senach’s looking nervy, though his hands are steady on the mead flask.

“Tell us that last part again.” Blackthorn sounds stern. She’s got a look about her that scares me. Don’t try to argue with me, that look says, plain as plain.

“The woman must cut the thorn hedge,” Flannan goes on, “which will give way to her blade. As soon as she passes through, the thorns will close behind her. She must enter the tower alone and willingly. If these conditions are not met, the curse cannot be undone.” He pauses. “I suppose the fey woman who pronounced the curse wanted to rule out the possibility of someone taking an army to slay the monster. That would be far too easy.”

Blackthorn clears her throat. “If this account is accurate,” she says, “it’s not a monster. It’s a young man ensorcelled into a monstrous shape. I can’t decide if that will make it harder or easier to do it.”

“The scribe writes that she must climb the steps to the high chamber, and there she will find the monster—Lily’s sweetheart, Ash,” Flannan says. Which he’s told us already, but Blackthorn did say she wanted to hear it again. “She must use her blade to cut off his head. Then the curse will be broken.”

For a bit nobody says a word. Then I speak up. “You can’t ask Blackthorn to do that. It’s a job for a trained warrior. Needs strength and skill with a weapon. Ask any of your men-at-arms, they’ll tell you the same. This creature would kill her before she could strike her first blow.”