There was another way. She could hitch up her skirts and wade to the island. The bag was secure on her back; if she trod carefully, she should get over. If she did not spend long in the tower, she could be quickly back home and in dry clothes before anyone saw her.

Without taking time to consider the pitfalls of this plan, Lily tucked her hem into her belt and headed back along the bank toward the ford. The best approach, she judged, was to wade halfway over in that shallower water, then strike out for the island at the point where the distance was least, which meant right in the middle of the river. She must hope that she wouldn’t need to swim. Go, she ordered herself. It was easier to do alarming things if one did not think about it too much beforehand.

The ford was deeper than she had expected, and the pebbles slipped and slid underfoot as if they had minds of their own. The water was icy cold. Ash, she thought. I’m doing this for Ash. But another voice within her said, He’ll have gone home by now; why would he stay up there? You’ll have got wet and cold for nothing. And then you’ll have to wade back again.

She reached the middle of the ford; from here, the island seemed not so very far away. Its gently rising sward and bright wildflowers seemed to call to her; it was easy to imagine herself and Ash sitting there together, hand in hand, perhaps whispering such sweet remarks as those he had made to her the day before. Yes, he had told her to go away. But . . .

She took a step into deeper water. Gods, it was cold. The current tugged at her clothing with insistent fingers. A shiver ran through Lily. Perhaps she should go back. She could feel the power of the river, and it frightened her.

Birds rose suddenly from the tower, a cloud of them, and beneath the susurration of their wings came another sound. Was that a voice, calling her name? Now silence; only the river spoke. Ash, thought Lily, and took another step.

It was fast; oh, so fast. Her foot slipped, she fell, the water came over her, she could not breathe. It swept her downstream, and as she came up, gasping for air, trees and sky and bushes and riverbank rushed past in a dizzying confusion. “Help!” she shrieked in the moment before she went under again. I’m going to die, she thought. And it’s all my own fault.

Then someone was in the water with her, someone whose arms came around her, strong and sure, and she could breathe again, almost, and someone was half dragging, half carrying her out onto the bank. Onto a grassy sward dotted with flowers. She was on the island. No, she was dead and this was some sort of vision . . .

“Lily! Lily, speak to me!”