“Thanks.” I tried to convey with my eyes that he should come back promptly; I did not want Geiléis prodding me with her difficult questions any longer.

“Won’t be long,” Grim said, and headed off toward the kitchens, where no doubt he had already made useful friends. He’d done that with remarkable speed at the prince’s house in Winterfalls. Which was one of the many ways in which Grim was not like me.

“You are close,” Geiléis remarked. “Has he served you a long time?”

I held on to my temper, though it was fraying fast. Why couldn’t she just go away? “Grim is not my servant. He’s my friend and traveling companion.”

She smiled. Perhaps she thought she understood. But nobody could understand what Grim and I were to each other. I wasn’t sure I did myself.

“I don’t know what you came here to ask,” I said. “More than my opinion on the existence of the fey, I imagine. I’m busy, so if there’s another question, please be quick with it.”

“You are rather direct.”

“I see no reason to wrap the truth in flowery garments. Please just say whatever it is. Unless it’s a request that I travel to Bann; I’m not going to change my mind on that matter.”

“Very well,” Geiléis said. “Since you limit your answers to your knowledge of lore, I will ask you a question about that. Do you believe in happy endings?”

Lost for words, I stared at her.

“The tales are full of them, of course,” Geiléis went on. “But can such an ending exist outside the confines of a tale? Given patience and belief and endurance, do you believe true love can eventually triumph over the odds, no matter how great they may be?”

This was the last thing I had expected, and I could not think how to reply. She had revealed more of herself in that speech than perhaps she realized. Such a question deserved an honest answer. But I saw on her face, now, a naked need for that answer to be yes.

“I’m not the right person to ask,” I said.

“But?” She was gently insistent. “Is a wise woman not allowed a personal opinion?”

“There’s no rule against that. But it is wiser, surely, for such a one to do the work folk expect of her—healing, counseling, telling suitable stories, laying the dead to rest and welcoming new life into the world. Personal opinions can lead to trouble.” Now I’d said a little too much; inwardly, I kicked myself. How could I answer a question about true love? In my mind was Cass, my lovely man, blinking in the sunlight as he emerged from his workroom, his russet hair on end where he had run his fingers absently through it, his steadfast gray eyes fixed on me as if I were the loveliest woman in all Erin. In my thoughts was Brennan, my sweet baby, who would be a young man of fifteen now if he had lived. “True love breaks your heart,” I said. “If you want my opinion, there it is.” Go away. Go away without another word.