“Your job’s washing the dishes,” I told him, though I suspected Geiléis’s men would do that as efficiently as they had made camp.

One thing they didn’t do much of, and that was talking. There was no storytelling around the fire. They didn’t share jokes and songs. They fed and watered the horses, cleared away the meal, laid out their bedrolls and organized a watch with hardly a word exchanged even among themselves. Lady Geiléis retired to her tent as soon as she had eaten; before dusk. Somewhat later, the men who were not taking first watch settled to sleep. I had thought that the awkwardness of lying between Grim and Flannan, even at a discreet distance, might lead to a restless night, but I was so exhausted from the long ride that I fell asleep quickly and did not wake until the first birds began to announce the new day’s dawn.

The weather stayed fair. We made good speed across farmland and through woodland, encountering few folk on the road. Some of the way was high ground, giving fine views north over the sea and south over hills and valleys fading into distant blue and brown and purple. Somewhere in that shadowy realm was Laois, and my enemy. Somewhere in that haze was the place where my man and my baby lay under the earth, still holding each other close. What would you want me to do, Cass? See justice done, or get on with my life in peace? Try to stamp out evil whatever the cost, or simply do good and keep out of trouble? The shade of my husband had nothing to say, which was entirely as I’d expected. Grim had once suggested Cass was watching over me, proud of my achievements. I was more inclined to think that on the day he died, my husband’s spirit was snuffed out forever, leaving no more than the pitiful pile of bone and ash the flames had reduced him to. I had buried him—buried them—with my own hands. That day, I had sworn that I would never shed tears again. The promise had been beyond me to keep.

With Geiléis and her men close by, not to speak of Grim, I had no opportunity to talk to Flannan privately along the way. That was probably just as well. For all my good intentions—of taking time to decide, of weighing all the arguments—the secret still burned hot inside me. So I limited my conversation to the everyday. Grim, not a talkative man at the best of times, had become almost as silent as Geiléis’s retainers.

So four days passed, and on the afternoon of the fifth, Lady Geiléis informed us that we should reach her holdings just before nightfall. “The creature will be growing quieter as the sun sets,” she said, “but you may still hear its voice. I should warn you. It can be . . . disturbing.”