“When we ride clear of these woods,” says Lady Geiléis, “we will be on a rise, looking down over my holdings. You will see the forest, the river, the tower in the distance. And you will hear the creature’s voice. My men will ride in front and behind; I will be beside Mistress Blackthorn, with Master Flannan and Grim close after. Do not let the crying distract you. Be assured, we can reach my house without entering the area that is . . .” She trails off, not finding the words.

I don’t tell her I’ve already heard the monster. If that’s what it was.

“Enchanted?” Blackthorn says.

“It could be put that way. You will be safe if you do not break from the formation.”

The crying comes again, and Blackthorn’s face tells me she’s hearing it too. Louder here, and sadder. Fit to shake up a man’s bones and chill his blood. Like before, it brings the bad times, the sad times, the times I’ve failed, the times I haven’t matched up to the man I should be. I’m guessing Blackthorn’ll be thinking of Cass and Brennan burning and how she couldn’t save them. She’ll be thinking of standing up to Mathuin and being laughed at. Flannan—can’t tell if he can hear it. Don’t know a lot about the man. But he’ll have something in his past that he wishes was different, same as us. Doesn’t everyone? This monster, it makes a man feel like a dog kicked out the door on a winter day.

I want to say I’ll ride with Blackthorn, but I keep quiet and do as I’m told. Truth is, with all those men-at-arms she doesn’t need me right now. Deep down, though, I know I’m the only one who can really keep her safe. If that makes me a fool, then I’m a fool. Bonehead, that’s what they called me in that place of Mathuin’s. Meaning stupid. Stupid to think I can do better than a team of armed guards who know the lie of the land. But that’s just what I do think.

Up the top of the hill this bit of forest comes to an end, though not for long. We’re looking down over a river—the Bann, must be—and there’s a bigger forest between us and it, oaks mostly. Glimpse of farmland, a bit farther away. Just got time to take a breath or two and the sound comes again, loud as loud. Nobody could miss it.

“Halt!” calls Onchú, who’s in charge, and we all rein in our horses. Onchú dips into his pouch and brings out what looks like a wad of wool.

“The sound is hard to bear, even for those who are accustomed to it,” says Lady Geiléis. “For you, it will soon become intolerable. You should block your ears.”

Onchú’s pulling the wad into smaller pieces. He passes a couple to Blackthorn.

“Once dusk falls, of course,” the lady says, “the creature will be silent. Be glad of that. To hear that sound both day and night would drive you out of your wits.”