“How soon?” he asked Donagan. “When’s the king leaving?”

“At next full moon. It’s a long journey to Tara, made more challenging by the fact that Mathuin of Laois is stirring up trouble in that region. And the king will want Prince Oran settled at court before he leaves.”

“Doesn’t give us long,” Grim said. His hands had bunched themselves into fists.

“You’ll be offered all the assistance you need for the move. Horses, help with packing up, arrangements put in place so young Emer can continue to provide a healer’s services to the community.”

“Emer’s been under my guidance for less than a year,” I protested. “She may be quite apt, but she can’t be asked to step into my place. It’s too much to expect.”

Donagan smiled. “I’m sure a solution will be found. Lady Flidais will discuss that with you. Now, I can see you are both busy, so I will make my departure.”

When he was gone, we sat staring at each other over the table, stunned into silence. After a while Grim got up and started gathering the bowls.

“Court, mm?” he said.

“Seems so. But what if Conmael says no?”

“Why would he?”

“The promise. Go to Winterfalls. Quite specific.”

“Then you tell Lady Flidais the truth,” Grim said.

“What, that the wise woman she trusts with her unborn child is actually a felon escaped from custody? That the only reason I help folk is because I have no choice in the matter? That the person I answer to is not even human?”

Grim fetched a bucket, took a cloth, wiped down the table. He spooned the leftover soup into a bowl for Dog. “Thing is,” he said, “she knows you now. She’s seen what kind of person you are. She’s seen what you can do. That’s why she trusts you; that’s why the prince trusts you. And you did get them out of a tight corner.”

“You mean we did.”

“Something else too,” said Grim. “Escaped felons. We may be that, and if we went south we might find ourselves thrown back in that place or worse. But Lady Flidais is hardly going to take Mathuin’s side. He’s her father’s enemy.”

The thought of telling Flidais the truth—of telling anyone—made me feel sick. “Trust me,” I said, “that is a really bad idea. What lies in the past should stay there. I shouldn’t need to tell you that. Let word get out about who we are and where we came from, and that word can make its way back to Mathuin.”

“Mm-hm.” He poured water from the kettle into the bucket and started to wash the dishes. After a while he said, “Why don’t you ask him, then? Conmael?”

“What, you think he’s going to appear if I go out there and click my fingers? I need to know now, Grim. Before I go and see Flidais.”

“Mm-hm.” He looked at me, the cloth in one hand and a dripping platter in the other. “What were the words of it, the promise you made to the fellow? Was it live at Winterfalls, or was it only live in Dalriada?”