I forced myself to remember. He’d chosenher. Left because of her. Returned because of her.
You are no one.
Gently, I disentangled myself from his arms and walked out into the rain.
If I looked back at him even once, I would keep looking back at him forever. So I didn’t look back.
Dún Darragh’s great hall flared with torchlight. The massive hearth crackled with badly cured logs, spitting green sparks across the rushes.
“Corra, are you here?”
I scanned the carvings for motion. After what felt like a long time, a chiseled crow with an onyx beak ruffled indignantly to life.
“We weren’t but seem to be now,” said the sprite, with some asperity. “How may we wet your whiskers?”
“I’ll do it,” I said without preamble. “But I’ll need things. And not only for the garden.”
“Things,” Corra agreed noncommittally, scraping their crow’s feet on the ancient stone walls.
“First, a bed.” I’d made a decision on the mucky walk up from the greenhouse. I didn’t want to do any favors for the formless sprite haunting this fort. And reviving that corpse of a garden would be hard, thankless work. But if I was going to spend however many monthsnotfalling back in love with the infuriatingly handsome prince who knew me too well, I was going to need something to occupy my time. And despite my threats, I didn’t know how to knit. “And some blankets. Simple clothes, or fabric I can sew. Supplies too—tools to repair the greenhouse, and trowels and spades and dowels and dibblers. I’ll need bulbs if we want anything to grow next spring, and plenty of seeds. Pots to replace the ones Rogan broke. Compost. Burlap. And a hot, steaming, utterlyscaldingbath.”
“Will that be all,mistress?”
“Not quite. I also require…intelligence.”
“We fear only the gods can help you with that.”
“Information.” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “All I know of Tír na nÓg I learned from stories and legends. I need to know about the geography. The social and political structures. The… people.”
The crow gave me an aggrieved look. “’Twasn’t part of our bargain.”
“Name something more you want from me in return.”
For a long moment, the only sounds in the hall were the snapping of the green logs in the fireplace and the distant howl of the wind over the moor.
“You must celebrate the high holy days.” Corra’s crow gave me a sly look. “And you must promise not to tell that long-tongued canker-blossom anything about us.”
I’d never had any intention of telling Rogan about Corra, lest he think me madder than an outhouse rat. Better he believe in generous villagers than invisible sprites. So I said, “Done.”
Corra shot out of their crow, leaving it motionless on the wall, and scuttled off to disappear somewhere near the ceiling.
A row of torches flared to life against the far wall. I hefted my pack—much lighter now than when we’d left Rath na Mara, thanks to Rogan’s ravenous appetite—and followed, determined to be unsurprised by whatever trickery Corra might submit me to.
But I was surprised. Because down a long hallway, up a crumbling flight of stairs, and nestled between two molding tapestries was a small, snug bedroom. A fire crackled merrily in a hearth. A bed was mounded with coverlets and furs and—oh, glory—pillows. And a huge brass tub foamed with hot, lavender-scented water.
I undressed quickly and bathed slowly, reveling in the feeling of hot water sweeping away a week’s worth of grime. I lowered my head beneath the suds and imagined all my resentments and shames and wants melting off with the dirt. Slowly, my body relaxed; my mind calmed.
When I surfaced, I smelled food. A low table had appeared, piled with my favorites. Flaky scones, fresh butter, autumn squash, stinky cheese.
And pie.
Chapter Ten
Ngetal—Reed
Late Autumn
Tell me of the Thirteenth Gate,” I said to Corra, frustration grinding between my teeth as I fought a losing battle with a tangle of weeds. “How was it never discovered before now?”
