“Are you sure—” Brother Dufach fell silent as I gave him a slight shake of the head.

“Said something wrong,” Grim muttered. “Didn’t I? Did something bad.” And without a further word, he turned his back and strode away from us. At least he was heading in the direction of Geiléis’s house.

“I’d best go.” I attempted a calm tone. “He’s not well. Flannan, good luck with your studies. Brother Dufach, thank you for your forbearance.”

“He seemed quite—are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?” Flannan protested. “He looked as if he might . . .”

“The effect of the curse,” said Brother Dufach quietly. “I’ve seen it before. It can turn a man’s thoughts down dark pathways. It can show him the worst of himself. Will you be safe, Mistress Blackthorn?”

“I’d better come back with you,” Flannan said in the manner of a man who has decided to take charge.

“You’d better not.” I gave up pretending to be calm. “I’ll be safer without you. I understand this; you don’t.”

“Then I will walk down tomorrow. Or this afternoon. I need to know you are safe.”

“Just leave it, will you? I have to go.”

Flannan said nothing more, but I saw a question on his face, one I had no wish to think about. You’re only here to cover your tracks before we head south. Why does any of this matter?

I turned my back and walked briskly after Grim. Looked over my shoulder once, twice, three times, until Flannan and the monk were out of sight. Then picked up my skirt and ran.

16

Grim

Can’t seem to catch a breath. Eyes wet, nose running, feel like a child who’s been hit. Noise won’t go away. I put my fingers in my ears but I still hear it. Head down on my knees, arms up over my head, the words, the words, try the words . . . in medio umbræ mortis . . . non temp . . . non timb . . . non timebo mala . . . Shadow of death’s over me. All around me. Creeping inside me. Words seeping away, all away . . . Non timebo. Non timebo mala . . . I fear no evil. A lie. A big lie. Fear’s got its teeth sunk deep in me.

I’m curled up tight against a fallen tree, fighting to hold on to the words. Someone touches my shoulder and my heart near bursts out of my chest. I yelp like a stuck pig.

A little hand reaches out toward me, with a little cup in it. “Drink,” someone says in a tiny voice. “Feel better.” My jaw dropped; my eyes are most likely out on stalks. Thing’s no higher than my knee. Hooded cloak all of fur. Skinny, knobbly fingers. Long nose; eyes like black currants.

“Drink,” the creature says again. “Friend.”