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“Thank you.” There were tears on her lashes. She twisted her head so I wouldn’t see them, but it was too late.

“Don’t cry,” I said, putting my arm around her. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but she was way beyond believing that.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said between sobs. “You mustn’t blame yourself for what I’m going to do.”

What was she talking about? What was she going to do? Suddenly I had a sickening feeling she was planning to kill herself. Could living with Sir Alastair really be that bad?

I thought of him forcing himself on her. Yeah, it was that bad.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

“Don’t give up yet, Justina. Promise you won’t do anything…rash.” What a stupid euphemism. I had to do better than that. “Promise you won’t kill yourself.”

Her soft brown eyes filled with tears. “I won’t make that promise.”

“Then don’t do it yet,” I said desperately. “Give me a month to find your skin.”

She shook her head. “I can’t bear another month.”

“Two weeks,” I said. “I’m sure I can find it in two weeks.”

“One week,” she said. “That’s all I can bear.”

I thought I could hear the banshee circling. But maybe I imagined it. I hoped so.

Chapter Twenty-One

A week isn’t very long when you’re trying to save someone’s life. Every morning you awake with hope in your heart, but each hour that passes erodes it until by nightfall you’re left with nothing but despair.

For five days I wandered the countryside hoping to feel that telltale itch in my big toe. I wore out a pair of shoes, and caught a cold, but I didn’t feel so much as a tingle.

Every night the banshee howled, thumbing its nose at my attempts to save Justina’s life. One night I got so angry I rushed outside and screamed right back at it. But the banshee didn’t shut up. There was only one thing that would silence it. Another death.

More than once during those days and nights I wished for Casper’s company, but he never appeared. Not once. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. He only appeared when I was in trouble, or more precisely, when my physical wellbeing was threatened. Preventing Justina’s suicide was not in his job description.

I met with her every day—in the clearing—and tried to keep her spirits up. She did her best to remain hopeful, but each day she grew a little sadder, a little more resigned to dying.

On the sixth day, I brought Harq to the clearing. I hadn’t forewarned Justina in case something went wrong, but everything went according to plan. He even agreed to wear clothes—an old pair of pants and a sweater I had borrowed from Douglas.

The moment Justina laid eyes on him she cried out and ran into his arms. He crushed her against his chest. For a while neither of them spoke. I crept away to give them a little privacy but I didn’t dare go out of earshot. If Sir Alastair arrived unannounced I might have to put my combat skills into practice. I hoped they weren’t as rusty as I feared.

Hunkering down behind some bushes, I heard what sounded like a seal barking. It took a moment to realize Harq was speaking to Justina in their own language. I hoped he was persuading her to give me more time to find her skin. That’s what he’d promised he would do.

When he stopped speaking, Justina replied. I couldn’t guess what she was saying. I couldn’t even guess whether she was happy or sad.

I listened to them talk. First one then the other. Back and forth, back and forth. Eventually my ears must have become more attuned to their tones because I could hear pleading in his voice. Justina was another matter. Her tone remained as flat and unemotional as though she was already dead.

When at last they lapsed into silence I returned to the clearing. Harq was leaning against a tree. His back was toward me. His fists were clenched.

Justina was standing some distance away. Silent tears cascaded down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away.

“Thank you for bringing Harq,” she said.

At the sound of his name, he whirled to face me.

“It did no good,” he said. “Eark is determined to—to do