It was not going to be easy, but Clariel knew she could do it.

She looked up at the darkening sky. There was no moon yet, but the stars were becoming visible. There, low on the horizon above the wood, was the bright red star Uallus, and three fingers left of that was north. From there she looked halfway across the sky to find the six stars that made up the great sickle, the tip of the handle a pointer to due west, or close enough. Halfway between was her best course, she thought. Northwest through the wood. If she reached the edge of the forest, or at midnight in any case, she would stop and sleep, and in the morning progress onwards from copse to small forest, though she would also have to cross open fields. Getting over the Ratterlin was going to be difficult. She couldn’t take the ferry and would have to steal a boat … but this was a problem for another day.

Unless … Clariel thought again of Aziminil. She looked back to the Paperwing, now just a dim silhouette, barely visible in the fading light. Though the bottle was hidden in the aircraft’s nose, she could almost feel the Free Magic creature’s presence, almost hear the plaintive cry to be released.

Clariel wondered if Aziminil knew that she was being sent to the Abhorsens. There could be no other reason the bottle was in the Paperwing. She wondered what they would do with it. Possibly the Abhorsens could actually kill Free Magic creatures, and Aziminil was being carried by Bel to her execution. Or maybe just to be stored, kept prisoner somewhere safer than Kargrin’s tower in the city.

Was Kilp right that Free Magic was just another kind of magic that could be used as required? It seemed that Aziminil had worked for the Governor and his son without compulsion, even making Aronzo the golden cup. That didn’t sound ‘inimical to all life’ as Free Magic was often described. Aziminil had fought on the Islet, but they had been trying to capture her; surely anyone would fight in such circumstances?

With Aziminil’s aid, the journey home would be so much easier …

Clariel shook her head, even harder than she had after almost touching the silver bottle in the Paperwing. This temptation had to be cast out of her mind.

‘No,’ she whispered. Better to stick to what she knew. She took one last look at Bel, and bit her lip. He looked so weak and defenceless lying there, and she was going to abandon him.

Bel made a whimpering sound in his sleep and his face twitched in pain. Clariel looked away and shut her eyes.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Bel. This might be my last chance.’

She did not look back after that, but struck out for the wood.