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to be scorned and laughed at. It brought back Mathuin and the way he had scoffed at my attempt to challenge him; how he had mocked me when I spoke the truth. I willed myself not to feel sympathy for Geiléis. My decision was already made. Whoever went to help her, it wouldn’t be me. Couldn’t be. I returned my attention to knife and chopping board, attacking the bunch of comfrey leaves with more violence than was strictly necessary.
    â€œYou know of the Tower of Thorns,” Geiléis said. “And yet I’m told you are not from these parts.”
    Told? By whom? She’d been snooping around, asking questions about me. Why, when I’d already made it clear I would not go? “I find your dilemma interesting, my lady, but it’s for someone else to deal with. I don’t understand why you’ve come to see me. I’ve heard the story already. I’ve given you what wisdom I have to offer.”
    Grim loomed suddenly in the doorway. He gave Geiléis a look, then turned his attention to me. “Fetch you something to eat?”
    â€œThanks.” I tried to convey with my eyes that he should come back promptly; I did not want Geiléis prodding me with her difficult questions any longer.
    â€œWon’t be long,” Grim said, and headed off toward the kitchens, where no doubt he had already made useful friends. He’d done thatwith remarkable speed at the prince’s house in Winterfalls. Which was one of the many ways in which Grim was not like me.
    â€œYou are close,” Geiléis remarked. “Has he served you a long time?”
    I held on to my temper, though it was fraying fast. Why couldn’t she just go away? “Grim is not my servant. He’s my friend and traveling companion.”
    She smiled. Perhaps she thought she understood. But nobody could understand what Grim and I were to each other. I wasn’t sure I did myself.
    â€œI don’t know what you came here to ask,” I said. “More than my opinion on the existence of the fey, I imagine. I’m busy, so if there’s another question, please be quick with it.”
    â€œYou are rather direct.”
    â€œI see no reason to wrap the truth in flowery garments. Please just say whatever it is. Unless it’s a request that I travel to Bann; I’m not going to change my mind on that matter.”
    â€œVery well,” Geiléis said. “Since you limit your answers to your knowledge of lore, I will ask you a question about that. Do you believe in happy endings?”
    Lost for words, I stared at her.
    â€œThe tales are full of them, of course,” Geiléis went on. “But can such an ending exist outside the confines of a tale? Given patience and belief and endurance, do you believe true love can eventually triumph over the odds, no matter how great they may be?”
    This was the last thing I had expected, and I could not think how to reply. She had revealed more of herself in that speech than perhaps she realized. Such a question deserved an honest answer. But I saw on her face, now, a naked need for that answer to be
yes
.
    â€œI’m not the right person to ask,” I said.
    â€œBut?” She was gently insistent. “Is a wise woman not allowed a personal opinion?”
    â€œThere’s no rule against that. But it is wiser, surely, for such a oneto do the work folk expect of her—healing, counseling, telling suitable stories, laying the dead to rest and welcoming new life into the world. Personal opinions can lead to trouble.” Now I’d said a little too much; inwardly, I kicked myself. How could I answer a question about true love? In my mind was Cass, my lovely man, blinking in the sunlight as he emerged from his workroom, his russet hair on end where he had run his fingers absently through it, his steadfast gray eyes fixed on me as if I were the loveliest woman in all Erin. In my thoughts was Brennan, my sweet baby, who