Donal heard her lilting voice before he stepped through the door.

  “Your retinue is late, diviner,” the woman said to Brendan. “We’ve already had our breakfast—such as it was.”

  The building was primarily a barracks. Six beds extended from the far wall of the main room, each with its own storage chest at its foot. Hairline cracks in the daub cover converged into a patch of barren stone over a headboard in the middle of the wall.

  The O’Cahans had a new wall constructed to separate the left third from the rest of the building. This new section had two points of entry, one from the interior’s main room and an exterior door through which Donal entered. Both doors were twice as thick as any in the bailey, reinforced by metal rods able to drop into the timber frame to prevent those inside from leaving. A chair sat beside each door. Judging from the floor’s discoloration and gouges the guards rarely left it empty.

  Today, the door hung open to allow the visitors space to breathe. The new room’s purpose was incarceration, but its accommodations were better than those of their guards. The beds in the cell were larger, their blankets softer, and their chairs padded. There was even a small table with three books laid sideways across it.

  The last guard in the room escorted a middle-aged man out of the cell. Lines surrounded the eyes and mouth on his gaunt face. A leine hung off his pointy frame. His deep hawthorn eyes lingered on Maeve and Brigid but he said nothing.

  The woman sat on her bed, propped up from behind by her hands. Someone had patched her clothes at the knees and elbows. Her cheeks sank inward and her frame was frail. Dark rings hung under sky blue eyes. The faint lines around her mouth hinted that her face had kept a sullen expression well before her captivity. Her skinny, turned-up nose was the only outward sign of affability.

  She eyed Brendan with a lupine grin, and as her eyes slid to Donal he felt a pull in her direction.

  Don’t you dare forget what she did, Donal reminded himself. The thought must have turned his expression sour because her long, angled eyebrows twitched in surprise and forced her eyes elsewhere.

  “I see you brought guests to our reunion,” the woman said to Maeve. “Or are they protection?”

  Brigid followed Maeve into the room. “They’re tending to your hair now, geebag?” she asked, pointing to the ebony locks that ended at her shoulder.

  The woman pushed up the sides of her mouth. “That’s sweet of you to say, love, but you’re not my type.”

  “Sure look, we all know whose benefit it’s for,” Brigid said. “The only one in the room dumb enough to take you at your word.”

  The woman inverted her crossed legs that stretched on the bed and faked a pout. “I’m not sure I like you talking about him in that manner, Mrs. Porter.”

  Brigid glowered at her brother. “Muzzle your pet.”

  Brendan held up a palm to both his captive and his sister. “Let’s get it all out of our system now,” he said. He turned to the brunette on the bed. “Ciara, please.”

  “Who are your new friends?” Ciara asked, her toothy grin returning.

  “Siobhan MacSweeney, Finn and Donal MacLaughlin, this is Ciara O’Reilly.”

  Siobhan showed no signs that she had heard the introduction, making Donal’s raised eyebrows seem hospitable by comparison. Finn dipped his chin and muttered something, likely to prevent the entire exchange from utter awkwardness.

  Ciara laughed. “Even by Tyrconnell standards, that was a chilly greeting.”

  “How did you know where we were from?” Donal asked.

  “He told me a bit,” she said with a swing of her head towards Brendan.

  Maeve squared her face to Brendan. “How much?” she asked Ciara.

  Ciara’s eyes narrowed as they bounced between Brendan and Maeve. “Not as much as I would like, apparently.”

  Siobhan inserted herself between her comrades’ stare-down and pointed at Ciara. “We’re asking you to turn on your old masters,” she said. “Why should we trust you to do that?”

  “You’re talking about the people who killed my family and threatened my uncle and myself to do… unscrupulous things under threat of death,” Ciara said. “Oi! Brendan, dear! How many waves of Fomori invaders did your people beat back over the past few years in order to keep us in our cages?”

  Brendan dropped his head to avoid scrutiny from Maeve and Brigid. “None.”

  She raised a hand from the bed to punctuate her words. “Correct! The best bit is that they’re as likely to hunt us down and kill us if they get word that we’re free.” She tapped her temple. “To keep me from using this against them.”

  “So you’re saying you’re with us?” Siobhan asked.

  Ciara threw her head back and cackled. “Brendan, dear, how many years have I been captive here in the dankest, moldiest cages this side of Belfast?”

  Brendan scratched his nose. “Four,” he said.

  “Right again!” Ciara said. Her voice would have been music had it not scuffed itself on the back of her dehydrated throat. “Do you all know how many days that is? I’m asking because I lost count somewhere around 1,400.”

  “Spoken like an unrepentant criminal,” Siobhan said. “Not an ounce of regret for the people you killed.”

  Ciara dropped her chin and looked down at her bed. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “So you are sorry for what you did?” Siobhan asked, folding her arms.

  “I wouldn’t say that, either,” Ciara said. “Here, I wished no ill on those sílrad, personally. I would have left them alone if given a better choice. But I wasn’t, so I protected myself and my uncle.”

  Siobhan’s brow knitted even tighter as she considered Ciara’s words. She looked to Finn and then Donal to measure the brothers’ reaction to the situation. Finn’s mask held up well; only his eyes and hands offered any clue of his true level of unease.

  The noise in Donal’s head was almost too loud to hear the conversation in the room, but Shadow was quiet. Donal couldn’t take her eyes off of Ciara, even if Brigid and Maeve stood between them.

  Siobhan’s eyes stayed on Donal as she asked her next question. “If they gave you the choice again—”

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  “—Given the same circumstances?” Ciara asked. “I’d do it again.”

  Siobhan narrowed her eyes as she studied Donal. He didn’t have time to tell her that the struggle scrawled across his face was written by himself and not Shadow. She heaved herself at Ciara at the first twitch of his face. Maeve and Brendan restrained her.

  “You don’t care about what you’ve done!” Siobhan shouted. “About the lives you destroyed. I’d give you naught a bed, a chair or a window!”

  “I do care!” Ciara screamed as she scooted back towards the head of the bed. “I will not have you say otherwise. Morals are easy to hide behind when they’re never tested.”

  “Mine have,” Siobhan said, struggling to break free of her friends’ clutches. “I can assure you of that.”

  Ciara shook her head and smiled. “You have no idea, Little MacSweeney. Your grandfather sits in a brand-new castle and calls himself ‘Ruiri’ with no challenge or punishment. Your mother and brothers thrive and rally when one needs aid.

  “Where were any of you sílrad when Breaslin cut my family down? Where were those morals when myself and Uncle needed seein’ to? None of you down there, none of you up here. It was just my uncle and me, and I was just enough use to Breaslin for him to keep us alive.”

  “And you tore other children from their parents,” Siobhan said through clenched teeth, in a tone so low it resembled a growl.

  Finn slid around Brigid and Maeve and put himself between Siobhan and Ciara. He bent over and rested a hand on her cheek to calm her.

  “Shiv, please,” Finn said. “I love you for what you’re doing, truly, but look—”

  Finn extended an open hand in Donal’s direction. Siobhan stood straight and stepped away from Maeve and gave the younger brother another look.

  Donal saw Siobhan’s face, inflamed and lined on each side by a single tear. He saw the woman, whose even-handedness and compassion made her the foundation of the group, gasping for air through flared nostrils. In that moment Donal realized how much of the brothers’ pain she shared. He nodded at her and blinked his welling eyes.

  Finn pulled her face back to his. “We got what we came for,” he said.

  Siobhan patted Finn’s chest and sniffed. “Almost,” she said. “She needs to answer the original question: Why should we trust her?”

  Brendan stepped forward, but it was Siobhan’s turn to restrain him with an extended arm and much less force than he had needed to hold her back.

  “Stop fighting her battles,” Siobhan said, ignoring a hollow chuckle from Ciara. “I want to hear it from her. Well, O’Reilly?”

  “The agreement, of course,” Ciara said.

  “What agreement?”

  Ciara looked at Brendan with a furrowed brow and half of a grin. “You didn’t tell them?” she asked. She sat upright and placed the five fingers of her right hand on her chest and tipped her nose further in the air. “The terms of the agreement are these: I go with you, do my part, Aillil and I can go free. If I go with you and none of us return, my uncle goes free. If I come back without the twins, Aillil dies and they will hunt me down.”

  Maeve raised an eyebrow. “‘Without the twins?’ No protection for the rest of us?”

  Ciara shrugged. “Mam and Da said that they wouldn’t stop those who came from Tyrconnell looking for Aillil.”

  “Such warmth,” Maeve said. “I’m touched.”

  “Grand,” Siobhan said. “Everyone, make your preparations and rest up.” She looked at Ciara. “She eats and drinks whatever the rest of us do from now on. Get her cleaned up. Find her a horse and a pack of supplies for her.”

  Ciara winked at Brendan. “You heard the lady—”

  “—Whist!” Siobhan said. “Once we leave tomorrow, we’ll tell you about our task and destination.” With a nod to Maeve, Siobhan turned to leave the room.

  Ciara wrinkled her face and pulled her head back. “What makes you think I don’t already know those things?” she asked.

  Siobhan stopped in the doorway and eyed Ciara from the side of her face. “If you did, you wouldn’t be so smug about what we’re attempting.” She stepped onto the bailey and out of sight.

  Brendan cupped his mouth with one hand. “Spoken as someone who doesn’t know her,” he yelled after Siobhan.

  “Donal, what are you doing up?” Siobhan asked.

  Siobhan leaned to the side of the campfire that burned between them. He shielded the firelight from his eyes to get a better view of Finn.

  But it wasn’t Finn sitting next to her. Brendan sat with a raised eyebrow and a quiet mouth as he waited for Donal to respond. A third person sat on the other side of Brendan.

  Herself.

  Donal turned back to the middle tent from which he emerged. He debated crowding into a tent on either side, not that it would separate him from the thunderous sound of air dragged into Niall’s throat every five seconds. Still, a restless night next to Niall appealed to Donal more than even a few minutes spent next to Ciara.

  “Hang on,” Siobhan said. “Please come back.”

  Donal’s eyes rose to the starless sky above the tents, a deep shade of blue covering the black, featureless ground. They had stopped somewhere between Letterkenny and Kilmacrennan. There were no signs of civilization when they left the road to make camp tonight. He suspected Siobhan preferred it that way. Perhaps she was hoping to avoid the extra expense or the extra attention a large party would draw. Perhaps both.

  “It’s alright,” she said.

  Donal closed his eyes and exhaled before turning to face the group at the fire. Siobhan gestured to a bare patch of ground next to her. Donal denied her with a gentle wave of his hand. Sitting down wouldn’t make him any more comfortable in this company.

  “Is it what I suspect?” she asked.

  Donal nodded without saying a word.

  Brendan tilted his head into Siobhan’s view. “What do you suspect?” he asked.

  The question caught Siobhan unprepared. “Oh,” she said before starting to stammer. “You see, he—”

  “—I get nightmares from time to time,” Donal said.

  Brendan glanced at Ciara, who had dropped her usual disdainful smirk. “Nightmares?” he asked.

  Donal wobbled his head as his eyes darted around the space above their heads. “I get ‘em from time to time.”

  “So do we all, lad,” Brendan said. “If that makes you feel better.”

  Donal showed Siobhan a pleading look. Her hands stayed in her lap but her fingers extended as she pushed them down. Go easy on them, he was being told.

  “Mine are a bit different,” he says.

  Ciara marked Donal and Siobhan’s interactions. She dipped her chin and looked up at him from under her eyebrows. “Different… how?” she asked.

  Donal bit his lip and knitted his brow as he beat back the reflex to take her question as ridicule, as so many of her other comments over the past two days had been. “They’re more vivid than normal nightmares,” he said. “More specific. More awful.” He gauged their silence before speaking further. “I struggle with some other things. I have for years.”

  Brendan asked his next question with the same uncertain deliberation as Ciara. “What ‘things,’ may I ask?”

  The conversation had traveled in a direction Donal did not want to go. “Sure look, Siobhan,” he said, “how long have you three sat out here?”

  Her reaction differed from the confused looks her neighbors shared. “One hour and maybe a half more,” Siobhan said.

  “You, Brendan,” Donal said. “All this talking, and have you any notion of where they stashed the treasures in the Otherworlds?”

  “None at all,” Brendan said. “Why are you asking me?”

  “And you,” Donal said, pointing to Ciara, “do you know what we must do in order to step foot on Irish soil once more?”

  “I do not,” she said. For the first time in two days, a bit of softness leaked from her eyes. “In earnest, lad, we didn’t—”

  Donal extended an open hand in her direction. “You lot are in luck because I have a theory I’ve been working on,” he said. “Instead of focusing on me, work to find the answers to my questions, hai?”

  A flicker of fire replaced any softness is Ciara’s expression, though she didn’t appear half as annoyed as Siobhan. Brendan’s jaw hung open.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go beat on Niall until he stops making that noise. Should you have further questions, feel free to leave me the hell alone.”

  He intentionally avoided eye contact with Siobhan as he turned back to his tent. A misplaced feeling of satisfaction swelled within his chest as the tent flap closed behind him. He could still hear the trio speak as they sat around the fire—in between Niall’s snores, of course.

  “Is it common for yer man to speak to you all in such a manner?” Ciara asked.

  “Not as of late,” Siobhan said, “but it has been a trying week for him, and he does have his troubles.”

  “I should say so,” Brendan said. “What causes these troubles of his?”

  “His brother thinks most of it resulted from a childhood illness,” Siobhan said. She pointed at Ciara. “The rest of the blame lies with her.”