“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

17

Geiléis

“Ah,” she said, opening her door to meet Blackthorn’s steady gaze. “You’re here.”

“As you see.”

This healer was the kind of woman who would stick to her plans, Geiléis thought. Even when it came to being here before dawn on the sort of chilly morning when most folk would welcome the chance to stay under the covers a while longer.

“Come, then.” Geiléis led her visitor up the steps to her high chamber, where the shutters had been thrown open. Below them, the forest lay in shadow still. That was the point, of course; what Blackthorn wanted was to see dawn break over the Tower of Thorns. “Warm enough? I can lend you a shawl.”

“I’m fine.” A lengthy pause. “But thank you.”

“Your man is not with you this morning?”

Blackthorn gave her a sharp look. “I thought you might consider it inappropriate, since these are your private quarters and the rest of the household is still abed. Given the choice, he would have come with me.”

“He’s loyal.”

“As you say.”

“A loyal servant is a fine thing. We forget, sometimes, how much they do for us.”

A little frown creased the healer’s brow. “I did explain. Grim and I are friends. Traveling companions.”

Geiléis let it drop. It was of no matter what they were to each other. The plan required only that Grim be absent at the critical time on Midsummer Eve. There were many ways that could be ensured. “You wish to observe the birds,” she said. “There is a good view today. Often, mist obscures the tower almost completely. I do not know what birds can tell you.”

“Perhaps nothing,” murmured the healer. “But perhaps something. I have wondered if this creature is all alone in the tower, and how it survives. The birds might provide a clue. It’s all part of the pattern.”

So close to midsummer, the time of true dark was short indeed. Soon enough, a warm gold light washed over the land, and all at once a great cloud of birds arose from the tower, calling and crying, circling and swooping against the lightening sky. As if that were a signal, the shutters covering that other window were opened. Geiléis’s throat tightened. She clenched her hands; felt the nails digging into her palms. It never got better. It never got easier. No matter how many times she saw it. No matter how many times she heard it. Today, she must not shed tears. Not until Blackthorn was gone and the door was closed fast behind her.

The sun’s edge showed rosy-bright; below them, through the trees, the river glowed in response. As one the birds fell silent, winging their way to the shelter of the forest. She could not breathe. This time, she prayed as she always did, knowing it was useless, knowing she was thinking like a child, oh, please, this time let it not happen; make this be the time when it is different . . .