“What if I talk to him, and he goes straight back to Somerled? The whole thing might be set up for that. It might all be some terrible game designed to trap us. I can’t trust this man. He killed Ara’s brother. He split Taran’s head in half with his axe.”

“I know that, child.”

Nessa stared at her. “How can you know?”

“We’ve had our ways of talking, and I can put two and two together as well as anyone. What he can’t tell me, I see in the fire. And it seems to me that I’ve seen what you refuse to recognize.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nessa retorted, watching as Eyvind poured water from the pot again, mouth set tight in concentration, willing his hands to stay under control. This time he was less successful; there was a small hiss as drops spilled on the hot coals, and she could see the trembling. Perhaps that was her fault.

“I’ve seen what you saw that first night, when you told me we needed to keep the big fellow safe,” Rona said. “You’ve forgotten that, in your anger at the blood spilled. But you were right. He’s part of this, Nessa. We need him. Now sit awhile and let him talk. Ask him about Somerled. That’s what’s going through his head.”

Nessa sat. When Eyvind put the cup in her hands, it seemed to her that he took particular care not to touch her. The tea was good. Rona was filling a bag with small items from the shelves and the storage baskets: bone and ash as she had said, herbs too, and other objects—secret things that Eyvind should not see. Rona was not going to go until Nessa started talking, that much was plain.

“Rona’s preparing what I need for tonight,” she began awkwardly. “She says I must talk to you. But I don’t know where to start.”

“How is your mother?” he asked. “Is her health improved?”

Nessa had not expected that, and did not guard her answer. “Still living, but…but she’s like an empty vessel, with nothing but sorrow left in it. She’s already gone away. I don’t think she will see the spring. She forgets to eat and drink; she forgets everything but the children she lost.”

“Children?”

“My two sisters; I was the youngest. They died when the sickness came, last summer.” She had not meant to tell him this.

“No wonder you weep,” he said quietly. “What of your father?”

“Killed in a war against the Caitt. I was very young. I don’t remember him.”

“Your father was a warrior, then?”

Too many questions. “Only to defend the islands. Not for the love of killing.”

Eyvind made no response. She had hurt him again, and instead of satisfaction, she felt only confusion. She must take control of this conversation, ask what she needed to ask, and let that be an end of it. She looked straight at him, summoning her will. His hair gleamed honey-dark in the firelight; his eyes were solemn. She could not tell what he was thinking. Nessa drew a deep breath, but Eyvind spoke first.