“Well, yes, but . . .” He shrugged and turned away. “I’ll go ahead, shall I?”

I wondered whether he’d meant but men don’t swoon or but women are fuzzy-headed at the best of times. Provided the good brother had learned some kind of lesson, it didn’t matter greatly which one it was.

Outside, I said to Grim, “I really do need the privy. And you’d better stand right by the door in case I faint. But when I’m done, you’re going to tell me what’s going on with Flannan.” The plan to flee south in secret lay like a stone in my belly, along with the way I’d lied to Grim. I knew, suddenly and surely, that I couldn’t go. Knew I’d been a deluded fool ever to consider Flannan’s scheme. I had a place at Winterfalls; I had work; I had a purpose. And I had Grim. The truth had been creeping up on me for some time, not altogether welcome: I needed him as much as he needed me. Now I would have to confess everything, and that would hurt both of us. But there could be no more lies.

Grim supported me as I hobbled to the privy. Sitting inside with the door ajar, I realized it wasn’t as late as I’d thought; only dusk. The forest was all lavender and purple and gray, and birds were still awake, exchanging occasional remarks as they found their roosting places. Behind those cheeps and chirrups lay a deep and blissful quiet. Lighted torches had been placed by the house doors. And I could hear someone moving around inside, perhaps in the kitchen. “Who’s that?”

“Nothing to worry about,” says Grim from outside the privy. “There’s a few of the monks here. Didn’t want us to be on our own. Not after everything.”

“When did you organize all that? You went up there while I was asleep?”

“Didn’t need to. They came down. Knew we were in trouble, after this morning. And they heard the creature go quiet. Felt that—whatever it was.”

“The start of the end. When I cut into the hedge. Only I didn’t need to cut; it just opened up. And closed behind me, so Geiléis and the men couldn’t come through.” Tidy again, I came out and pointed to a bench in the yard, by the well. “I’m going to sit down there. And you’re going to tell me where Flannan is.”

He told me. Not where Flannan was, since he didn’t know. But a story that suggested a depth of treachery I found hard to comprehend. When he was done, Grim said, “You don’t believe me.”

“But he told me . . .” Oh, gods. The whole thing, the whole story of a plot, the intricate web of informants who were ready to step forward and raise their voices, the safe places where I could lodge with Christian sisters, the folk who would protect me until it was time . . . If what Grim said was true, then all of that must have been lies. An elaborate web of lies carefully woven to trap me. Why go to so much trouble making it all up? Why not kill me when he had the chance? Wasn’t that what Mathuin wanted?