I’m thinking the same thing. Fact is, though Lady Geiléis is tall for a woman, and well built, she’s hardly a warrior. Monster would likely snap her in half before she got two steps inside the tower.

“I thought . . .” The lady’s struggling for words now. “I believed that once I saw the thing face-to-face I would know what to do. Kill it, yes, I was prepared to do that. Or drive it out.”

“All by yourself,” says Blackthorn.

Lady Geiléis bows her head. “I was desperate, Mistress Blackthorn. I would do the same thing again, if only I could make a way into the tower. To silence that voice, to rid my lands of the curse, I would do almost anything.”

“Mistress Blackthorn’s right,” says Donagan. “It would make more sense to send in a warrior. Or several.”

“I had two armed men with me when I attempted to hack a way through; I told you. Neither of them made any progress, and both were hurt trying to save me from the thorns. Perhaps that should tell us something. I wish I knew what.”

“That it’s a job for a woman?” suggests Blackthorn.

Lady Geiléis gives her a look. “It is suggested in the old fragments of story that only a woman can prevail against this creature. It seems I am not that woman.”

Not liking the sound of this at all. Wish the prince would tell the lady to fix her own problems and leave the rest of us out of it. Wish Blackthorn hadn’t said what she’s just said. I can see where this is going, plain as plain. So although I don’t want to, I speak up again. “This sort of thing’s trouble,” I say. “And not the kind of trouble you can fix by running at it with a weapon in your hand.”

“I’m in complete agreement with that,” says Blackthorn. “A body doesn’t meddle lightly with such matters. Even if you’re right about Midsummer Eve, Lady Geiléis, marching in to confront this creature—to destroy it—could be disastrous, whether it’s one woman doing it or a whole troop of guards. Only a fool uses human means to combat the uncanny. Besides, the thing may not be evil, only . . . misguided. Frightened, perhaps.”

“You believe the tenant of the tower is fey.”

“If it were anything else,” Blackthorn says, “you’d have solved your problem long ago, one way or another. That’s if your account of matters is full and accurate.”

“Why would I lie to you, Mistress Blackthorn?”

“I didn’t say you were lying. But the story feels incomplete. How does this thing survive up in the tower on its own? What does it eat, birds plucked from the sky in midflight? Spiders and moths?”

“Someone—something—must supply its needs. What, I cannot say.”

For a bit it’s quiet. I can see Blackthorn thinking hard, choosing the right words, the safest words.

“You could call in a druid,” she says. “If there are none in your district, I think Prince Oran could find someone for you.”