“To do what?” asks Lady Geiléis.

“To cleanse and bless the land. To ask for the goodwill of whatever spirits dwell in that place.”

“Could not you fulfill that same task, Mistress Blackthorn?”

That’s come sooner than I thought it would. The lady hasn’t quite asked for Blackthorn’s help. But she’s come close; too close for comfort.

“A wise woman could do it, yes,” says Blackthorn. “But not this wise woman. I have work here. I can’t travel.” She waits a bit, then says, “When I suggest a ritual of that kind, Lady Geiléis, it doesn’t mean I’m certain it would achieve the end you desire. The fey don’t see the world in the same way as you or I might. To deal with them is to walk a perilous path, full of twists and turns, byways and dead ends. The fey have little comprehension of human feelings: love, friendship, loyalty, selflessness. That makes it hard for their kind and our kind to work in true cooperation. But the fey understand nature in ways humankind cannot; every part of their being is attuned to it. To bless the woods that lie under the curse, to cleanse the isle where the tower stands . . . I do not believe the ancient inhabitants of Bann would look unkindly on such a ritual.” She takes a breath, then says, “It is for that reason that I do not suggest something that might seem obvious: the use of fire.”

Things go quiet again for a bit; then Prince Oran says, “Astonishing.” Could be talking about what Blackthorn just said. Could mean the whole thing. Unbelievable would be another word.

“You’re very wise, Blackthorn,” says Lady Flidais with a smile. “Lady Geiléis, I understand why you might want Mistress Blackthorn to do this for you in person. But we need her here at Cahercorcan. Or, to be more precise, I do. She’s acting as my personal healer until our child is born. And after that, she has work at Winterfalls. An entire community depends on her skill.”

“If you believe it might help, Lady Geiléis,” says the prince, “I could certainly summon a druid to assist you. But it would take some time; we’d need to send a message south. I believe Master Oisín would oblige, provided we can find him. I could not promise he would be at Bann by midsummer.”

Lady Geiléis bows her head. “I see,” she says. Her voice is wobbly, like she’s holding back tears. I start to feel sorry for her, though I don’t want to. She’s trouble for us, for Blackthorn and me. I knew it as soon as I clapped eyes on her.

“It is so hard, I don’t know if I can go on,” she whispers. “And yet I must.”

Donagan’s been pretty quiet. He gets up now, pours more ale for everyone. Deirdre, who’s been even quieter, hands around the platter of cakes. But nobody’s eating.

“Why not send for Master Oisín anyway?” Donagan says. “The wait would give Lady Geiléis the opportunity for a well-needed rest—you and your escort could be easily accommodated here, my lady—and in the meantime we could apply our minds to other solutions for you. As Grim pointed out, this isn’t a problem that can be solved by a show of force.”