The most straightforward way to deal with Han Taín would be to transform him into something harmless. Diarmán could change him into an animal, as he'd changed Princess Uarria of Penrua into a shadowcat to keep her safe; he could change him into a bit of jewelry, as he had done to keep the Narrian princesses secret.

But the craft of it was the difficulty. This was what weighed on his mind as he walked through the courtyard, wandering without any true destination and letting the cool night air clear his head.

When his wife and children had escaped him, they had done so while he was away from his home. Even so, there had been a terrifying moment when they had encountered him in the woods. Seeing Moigré in the guise of an old, haggard woman, Han Taín had not recognized her. He had taken her for some kind of witch with her ragtag band of animals, and he had sent her away in a fury.

He would not be thus fooled again. Even had they the perfect plan to befuddle him, he had undertaken no errands outside of the castle, and it would raise suspicions for Diarmán to congregate anywhere with his brothers. Some of them, like Padréc, had made no secret of their distaste for Han Taín's plans; others had made no declarations of their loyalties.

Besides, this was their home. They had nowhere to flee to from here. Rather than run from Han Taín, they needed to send him away from them.

It seemed an insurmountable challenge. Diarmán mulled over the options available to him. Perhaps he could hope for nothing more than saving a few more of the nobles his father had trapped. He might be able to transform some of the pheasants and sneak them out, along with a couple of the women who had already been changed. He could—

Diarmán stopped, cold dread flooding him.

His flute.

He could do nothing without his flute, and it was missing. The day he and Uachi had quarreled about the wedding, it had not been in his cabinet. He'd intended to ask his brothers whether one of them had played some trick, but only Little Emón had been at supper, and it had not seemed worth it to raise the matter with Han Taín there.

Diarmán closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath and letting it out with a sigh.

No; he had not dared to raise the matter with Han Taín there. That was the truth of it. Because he knew what had happened to his flute.

It had been his instrument when he'd stolen his family away, and Han Taín was no fool. He'd said he had forgiven Diarmán, but forgiveness and trust were entirely different things.

"I've been such a bloody fool," he murmured, rubbing his hands over his face and thumbing his tired eyes. "I've been such a stupid fool."

Dropping his hands, Diarmán began to walk again. He had by now passed out of the castle courtyard and onto the soft dirt path. Ahead of him, it branched in two directions, one that led across the meadow toward the forest and the other that looped around the castle curtain wall to the left. With no desire to lose himself, Diarmán chose the way that would keep him closer to the building.

So he did not have his flute. That was alright. There were other instruments in the castle; he did not know them as well as his own, but he knew there was a lyre somewhere, and when they were small, Ruaraín had had a round clay whistle shaped like a fish, a traditional Narrian instrument he'd kept as a toy.

Diarmán could coax music out of a stone. He would find a way to—

"I don't like it."

He stopped, stepping deeper into the shadows of the castle wall. He was near the aviary tower, where the wall jutted out, and the speaker—a woman, whose tone suggested she was scowling—must have been just ahead on the other side. It could have been none other than Aerte.

"You'd have me flee like a coward," Aerte continued, "and leave the rest of you to manage this mess? This is my home too—why do none of you understand that?"

"I know it is," said a man, his voice deep and calm. Leán. "But we have to put our feelings aside and act with logic."

"Logic? I say again, you would have me leave you to manage?"

"We are hardly helpless. Neither are you—nor cowardly. That is why I ask this of you. They could not manage the journey on their own. They are inexperienced—when else would noblewomen have traveled anywhere alone?"

"Surely they would be better off with one of you. I cannot wield a sword with any skill. What good will I be if we are set upon on the road?"

"That brings me to my next point. Padréc will go with you to—"

"What?" This was Padréc himself, and he already sounded furious. "I will not. I will not flee and leave Mother to his mercy!"

"Keep quiet," Leán hissed. "The rest of us will stay. You must go. Take the shape of some strong beast. A shadowcat, or a dog or a wolf. Protect them as they make their escape."

"So when Father has all of your heads, I'm the last brother standing? I think not. I refuse."

"It won't come to that."

"You know that it will. If if we steal only his intended, he'll be furious—you propose we steal away with all of his playthings, too? He cannot bear to be denied. He'll punish every one of you whether all were involved or no, just to be certain he has caught the culprit."

Diarmán crept forward, his footsteps soft on the earthen path. When he saw the first shadowed figure around the bend of the wall, he called out in a whisper. "It's Diarmán. Don't stab me."

Three people turned toward him, their silhouettes tense with alarm. "Where did you come from?" Aerte demanded.

"The castle, same as you. Before you ask, yes: I heard you talking."

"Perfect," Padréc muttered. "Do not twist your ankle in your haste to run to Father, Brother. We have made no solid plans."

"Why would I run to Father?"

Padréc's snort was a bitter sound, entirely unlike the gentle-spirited young man he had always been. Aerte folded her arms, drifting a little closer to Leán's tall silhouette. "You have done nothing but follow him around since he came," she said. "Unless you mean to stop us all on your own?"

"I do not mean to stop you," said Diarmán. He was stung by their suspicion, but he pushed his feelings aside. He knew why they said what they did. Three faces stared toward him, limned by the faint moonlight filtering through the night clouds.

"You are talking about sending Aerte away with Lady Naefe?" he prompted after a moment of tense silence. "And the others?"

"We are talking about nothing with you here." Padréc stepped back. "Forget you saw us, or our fate is in your hands."

"Wait," said Leán, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Just wait. You may believe it or you may not, but I think our eldest brother has seen reason today. With my own ears I heard him confess how foolish he's been."

There was another silence. Diarmán chafed beneath the yoke of it. He was always able to fill silences with streams of words, but not now. It took him an effort to speak, pulling each word from deep within his leaden, aching heart.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I have been a fool. I simply..." He closed his eyes, biting his tongue. "I make no excuses. I see now the trouble I've caused, and I mean to fix this. I mean to try."

"How can we trust you?" Aerte asked. "After you rejected reason and pleas from every one of us?"

Diarmán shook his head. "Maybe you can't. If that's the case, I will leave you to do your plotting in peace, and I'll do my own alone. Just know that I looked into Lady Naefe's face today and it was enough. That was enough to sober me and to shame me."

She put her hands on her hips. Then she jutted her chin toward Leán. "Well, sending me off with all of those noblewomen was your brilliant brother's suggestion," she said, "but I can assure each one of you empty-headed men that I am not leaving. I've no desire to return to a castle full of red-headed pigeons."

Leán sighed. "We need to be certain that everyone is safe. That is my priority in the short term."

"Ah, yes—your priority is everyone but you," Aerte said. "This is no time for you to be brave and stupid, you great lummox."

"This isn't your fight," said Padréc to Aerte.

"I choose my own fights, thank you very much, and I'll thank you not to give me orders." Aerte's tone was crisp and brooked no argument. "If you want to send that girl and the others away, I'll not stop you, but I will not play chaperone. A far better plan than for any of us to run away is to ensure your father cannot hurt anyone else."

Diarmán said, "You're right. We cannot leave him here to have his way with the castle and the estate and everything in it. You know this, Leán: he won't stop with House Eldran. He wants the world."

"Well, what's your plan?" Leán asked, sounding exasperated.

"I've only got bits of it, but we must put Father in his place. How can we ensure he hurts no one else in the human world? We can return him to his own realm. Last time he was there, he was trapped for years upon years, and it wasn't until Little Emón opened the door that he was able to come back. He didn't hurt anyone while he was there."

"But the door is open again now," said Leán.

"For now..." Padréc sounded thoughtful. "The forest burned once. It could burn again."

"Emón can open doors. Surely that means he can close them?" Diarmán asked.

"But that doesn't help us. Father is in the castle. Do you propose to lock him in there?"

"He's here for now, yes, but we might draw him out."

"Has he intimated that he has plans to go back to his home?" Leán asked. "You have spent every waking hour with him since he arrived. You must know his plans."

"No. No, he has said as much: He does not wish to return any time soon."

"Then what are you—"

"Just because he does not wish to return does not mean that he won't. If we give him reason to go back, we can close the door behind him and ensure it will never open again." Diarmán looked at Leán. "Talk to him. Talk to Emón and tell him what we must do."