I was at the door. A glance over my shoulder showed the hedge unbroken. I could not see Geiléis and the guards. From the tower, silence.

I stepped inside. The light from the open door illuminated the lower part of the spiral stair; I could not see any light from above, though the high window had been open. And I hadn’t brought a lantern. I’d have to feel my way up. Deep breath. I tucked my skirt into my belt and headed for the steps, only to trip over more bones—a jumble of bigger ones this time. Was that a human skull? Don’t think about it, Blackthorn. Two twists of the stair and I was in total darkness. I imagined the creature listening as I approached. Standing at the top, waiting. This was crazy. I needed both hands to feel my way; I could not unsheathe the ax until I reached the top. Gods, it was dark!

But no. There was a light now, like a tiny lantern a pace or two ahead of me, bobbing from step to step, leading me. Someone was showing me the way. Someone small, in a hooded cape. I could have wept with the relief of not being alone in here. But I gritted my teeth, reminded myself that I was a warrior, and made a steady way upward.

Just as I reached the high chamber, the little light blinked out and the small personage was gone. But there was light here, from the window that opened onto the forest. And against that light stood a figure. I could not see him clearly, but it was evident that this monster was roughly of human size and shape. Morrigan’s curse. I unsheathed the ax; weighed it in my hand. The chamber was coming into better view as my eyes adjusted to the light. A bed, a water bucket, a flask and cup, a platter. A basket with a familiar pattern along the side. A neatly folded blanket. The place was orderly.

The creature stepped forward. A man; or surely something that had once been a man. My fear vanished. I bled for him. His face was indeed monstrous, the jaws crammed with crooked teeth, the skin as rough and scaly as tree bark, the features . . . It was as if he had been beaten so hard everything was askew. No wonder he could not form words. I could not imagine how he could eat and drink. He was clad in a loose shirt that came to his knees. Every part of his exposed skin was covered with those harsh scales; his fingers were like stiff claws.

“Ash,” I said. “I am Blackthorn. I’ve come to help you.” Not knowing how this would fall out. Knowing only that it was a magical curse, and that magic was full of surprises.

He moved toward me; my grip tightened on the ax. There was a bench two strides away from me. When he reached it he knelt. Put his misshapen hands up awkwardly, as if his whole body was stiff and slow, to push his long dark hair away from his neck. Bowed his head onto the bench and closed his eyes, ready for the blow.