I stared up at the rafters, wondering if the memory would ever go away, or if it would add itself to the nightly parade that visited my sleep.

“Might help to get it out,” came Grim’s deep voice. “But only if you want to.”

“The gray began to show in his hair, then hers. Their faces got wrinkled and wizened, and their bodies bent and shriveled, and still they held on to each other. Near the end, Geiléis’s hair was as white as snow. Still beautiful, a shining cape over her shoulders. Then . . . he fell, and she couldn’t hold on anymore. She got onto her knees beside him—oh, Grim, she was so, so old—and lay down with her head against his heart, and died. And they . . . they crumpled and dried out and fell to bones and dust. It was so quick. So quick. By then I was . . . not myself. Only I saw. I couldn’t drag my eyes away.”

A pause. Then, “You all right?”

“I will be. Only I don’t think I’ll be up to a long ride tomorrow. There’s nothing I want more than to get out of this place. But I’m weak. Weak beyond what a day or two’s battle training and a climb up a tower could do. I’m sorry.” Telling the story had brought everything back, stark and clear. I felt a sudden need to be dry, clothed and able to see my companion when I talked to him. “Getting out now. Thank you for the bath. I feel much better.”

“Mm-hm.” Another silence, in which it was quite plain he did not believe I was better any more than I did. “No need to be sorry. Suits me to take a day or two. Roof’s not done yet. Got to put the creatures on. I was going to leave it, but Father Tomas wants me to go up and finish off. Think it might be better for the ones who’ve helped us, Ríordán and Fergal and Marcán, if I do that. Sounds like Father Tomas isn’t well pleased with everything that’s been going on. Though if you ask me, he should be happy the curse is broken. Ah, the blessed quiet, that’s what Brother Marcán said.”

Ríordán—was that the archivist Flannan had spoken of? I didn’t ask who Fergal was. I didn’t question how oddly Grim’s ease of talk about them sat with his earlier reluctance to visit St. Olcan’s at all. There was a tale there. I hoped he’d tell me sometime. “They’re being remarkably helpful, aren’t they? Christian monks generally have a low opinion of my kind.”

“They’ve been living next to Geiléis and her household,” Grim said. “And the monster in the tower. Not to speak of those little folk in the woods. They’ve had time to get used to the strange and troubling.”

“The little folk—I hope their king is safe. I hope this did free him from the hedge.”

“There was a wee fellow in there. Might’ve been him. Might’ve been a minder. I was in too much of a rush to ask.”