I closed the door, stood completely still and made myself count up to ten, then commenced preparations for the most complex distillation I could think of, something so tricky it would take all my concentration. I willed the memory of that long-ago day into the locked compartment of my mind where I had kept it secure until the fire at our cottage at Winterfalls had seen it burst from its safe confines. Cass. Brennan. They’d been dead for close on thirteen years and they still tore at my heart. Grim had told me once that Cass was watching over me, cheering me on, admiring my courage. But I had seen the pitiful mass of bone and ash that was all the fire had left of my husband. Cass had died crouched over our baby, trying to shield Brennan from the flames. I wanted to believe that his spirit was still here with me; I wanted to believe that the two of them were together, and that they forgave me for not saving them, and for not dying alongside them, and for not bringing their killer to justice. But wanting something was not enough to make it real. Needing something to happen didn’t mean it ever would. Instead of letting herself be eaten up with longing, a person should just get on with things. As for Flannan, he’d hardly lived the life of a questing hero himself. How dared he accuse me of cowardice?

My hands were shaking; the mixture slopped over the side of the flask onto the worktable. Old friends, trusted and true friends, did not lie to each other. Perhaps I really was a coward. Perhaps I should have done what I’d intended when I first agreed to Conmael’s terms—told him I would keep my side of the bargain, then broken it as soon as his back was turned, and headed south to face up to Mathuin, despite what Conmael had threatened. Perhaps I should have died fighting.

A knock on the door. The flask fell from my hands and shattered on the floor, splashing its contents all over my skirt. I swore, loudly, as Grim pulled the door open. A pungent smell filled the little chamber. As he came in, I picked up an earthenware vessel and hurled it at the wall. It broke with a satisfying smash, making Grim wince.

“Came to see how you were.” He squatted down and began to gather up the pieces.

“Leave that! You’re not my servant! I’ll clean up my own mess.”

He went on calmly tidying, leaving me no choice but to get down and help him. “Put them in the bucket, over there,” I said. “Then you’d better go.” After a moment, I added, “I’m not fit for company. As you see.”

He dropped the shards into the bucket. “Want to tell me what made you so angry?” he asked.

“No. I want you to stop being so understanding and leave me on my own. I just said so.”