The monk has ginger hair, thick but short, a neatly trimmed beard and an Irish accent. His face is pale, with patches of sunburn visible on his skin. He looks to be around thirty, and tall enough that I have to look up to meet his eyes. I’d prefer to say his expression was blank, but in reality, there’s a definite hint of suspicion there.
The door behind him creaks open, and another monk appears. The first one doesn’t react at all to his fellow monkapproaching, but I watch his progress. His hood is down, and he’s older, scarred where someone has slashed him across the face and down his right cheek with a knife. They’re old scars, well healed, and the diagonal one has left only a very thin stripe. The other is wider. He’s not an unattractive man– the scars might make him seem more dangerous, but his salt-and-pepper hair gives him an air of distinction that I’m not sure he’d have had as a younger man.
‘Who is this, Brother Declan?’
‘She hasn’t said, Brother Dominic,’ Declan says. ‘Yet.’
‘I… My name is Niamh.’
The two of them exchange a glance, and my heart sinks. The old woman’s words come back to me.Ask for sanctuary.And those strange words.
‘Niamh Whyte,’ I say and, feeling like I’ve just stepped into some kind of medieval fantasy realm, I add, ‘I am seeking sanctuary.’
‘Sanctuary?’ Declan says. ‘And what makes you think we would offer such a thing?’
‘This is a monastery. You’re monks…’
But Declan merely smiles. ‘That is how we appear to the… public, yes.’
‘Then it’s just a brewery and you’re just playing at dress-up? It’s not Halloween.’
Declan shrugs. ‘All part of the St Marnox branding. Such an enchanting idea, don’t you think? Wholesome. A selection of craft beers brewed in a medieval monastery by monks.’
‘Stox is far from wholesome,’ I point out.
‘We can’t control everything about our image,’ Declan says. ‘However, we don’t get many visitors and the robes make it easier than having to decide what to wear every morning.’
As Declan speaks, Dominic moves closer to me. I have to force myself not to step away from him, sure that if I show any sign of weakness that he’ll use it against me. He stops too close to me and lifts his hand as if he’s going to touch my face, but then he freezes and sniffs.
‘You smell like Cillian Hunter.’
I step back. I smell like Cillian? That’s not a weird thing to say at all. ‘He… he was hunting me.’
Dominic moves so fast, I don’t have the chance to evade him as he reaches for the strap of my dress and looks at where it has been ripped then fastened with a safety pin. Then, he grips the front of my dress and squeezes. He lifts his hand and looks at it, then shows it to Dominic. It’s covered in blood.
‘What did you do?’ Declan asks. Nothing happens for a few moments. I don’t know if I should just turn and run? But where to? I’m stuck on an island. Why did I follow the guidance of a random old woman in a forest? What was I thinking? Well, I guess I wasn’t. God, the whole thing’s ridiculous. I’m cold and tired and probably delirious, given the visions I’ve been seeing.
Declan tilts my chin up with a single finger, forcing me to look at him. ‘No woman has ever outrun the Hunter before. Did you bribe him to let you go?’
I shake my head. The Hunters’ businesses are supplied by this brewery. I can’t work out whose side these men would take, so it’s probably best not to tell them any more than I need to.
‘You don’t look like one of his…toys,’ Dominic says, sounding intrigued by the idea that Cillian might have hurt me. What sort of man– let alone a monk– refers to women as toys? Aren’t they supposed to be respectful or… I don’t know, something? But they clearly think I’m one of Cillian’s girlfriends, and despite the way he kissed me, that is one thing I am not.
I have no idea what I am to him. He’s spent the last few hours hunting me down to kill me. And while he was attempting to justify that on the basis of me having killed a man, without a proper trial surely even his Unseelie Court couldn’t justify killing me for it. Plus, he’s marrying Vittoria Riali and I’m not the kind of woman who goes about stealing other people’s men. Both Dominic and Declan continue to stare at me with near-blank expressions, clearly expecting an answer.
‘I’m not one of Cillian’s…’ I can’t bring myself to say it. ‘I’m not anything to Cillian. I’m his sister’s best friend.’
‘And why has he sent you here? To us?’
I swallow again. Should I explain that it wasn’t really Cillian who sent me here? I stare at Declan for a long moment, then shift my gaze to Dominic. Deflection, however, is something I’ve been studying for the past four years, so I answer his question with a question.
‘Will I be safe here?’
‘All who are granted sanctuary are safe within these walls.’ Declan speaks with a tired acceptance, but Dominic’s fists clench as if he is anything but happy about that fact.
‘You didn’t answer his question,’ Dominic points out. My breath catches as I wonder if they’ll take my avoidance as a lie. ‘Whatever story you’re trying to invent in your head right now, stop.Whyhas Cillian sent you here?’
But Declan puts a hand on his arm. ‘Dom,’ he says, stopping him. This time I follow my instinct and back away.
