Geiléis looks at me again, not so chilly. “Indeed.”

The horses are restless, picking up their feet, twitching their ears, ready for the home stable and a good feed. Even Blackthorn, with her eyes fixed on the tower, can’t miss it. “Very well,” she says, and turns her horse. “Either here, or somewhere else with a good view of the top.”

“Ah,” says the lady. “For that, there is no need to venture so far. The tower is clearly visible from a certain spot in my house. Now come. The power of that place and its inhabitant is far greater than you imagine. We must not linger here.”

Turns out Lady Geiléis’s house has its own tower. Small one, on the corner. Built all of stone, like those old fortifications you find here and there. The rest of her house is stone too, big dressed blocks that would have been hard to lift. Looks as if it’s been there a few generations. Moss growing all over; thatch darkened with the wet. Forest all around, couple of old oaks growing up right beside the house. Someone’s lit torches by the entry to show us the way in. Monster’s stopped its wailing. I’m guessing it went quiet right when the sun dipped out of sight. Couldn’t see, riding through the woods. The birds—there’s no knowing what they did, though there are birds in the trees around the house, making the little chirps, peeps and hoots that mean good night. Could do with a sleep myself. Blackthorn’s got a look in her eyes that says her temper’s holding by a thread. She needs food, quiet, rest. Soon. Hope Lady Geiléis can see that.

We go in through a gate in the wall and stop in a courtyard, nothing grand. I make sure I’m down quick enough to give Blackthorn a hand. She looks like she might have trouble standing on her own. That’s when I remember Flannan isn’t meant to be staying here at all. But here he is, with his dog, and it’s almost night.

“Master Flannan,” says the lady. Her men-at-arms are leading the horses away. The house door’s open and a fellow with a lamp is waiting to see us in. “It is too late for you to ride on to St. Olcan’s tonight. Please accept my hospitality until the morning; one of my folk will take you there after breakfast.”

Makes sense. Trouble is, if he’s around, I’ll get no chance to talk to Blackthorn on her own until bedtime. Maybe not even then.

Flannan thanks her and we go indoors. The fellow at the door is Geiléis’s steward. Name of Senach. There are other serving folk around, waiting to be told what to do.

“Grim and I need our own chamber, with two beds,” says Blackthorn. “I imagine Master Flannan will be happy with a place in your men’s quarters.” She’s trying not to let everyone see how the journey’s worn her out.

“You’ll be weary, all of you,” Lady Geiléis says. “Senach will arrange for a light supper to be sent to your quarters; we don’t stand on ceremony here. Time enough to talk again in the morning.” She gives Blackthorn a direct sort of look. Blackthorn meets it, as steady as a rock, though I know she’s dropping with tiredness. “You’re sure you would not prefer a chamber all to yourself, Mistress Blackthorn?”