Trying to take his mind off things, he took the time to study the woman across from him. Her most striking feature – her eyes – were hidden from him, but even so, he doubted there was a more handsome woman in Stromgard. She could not know it, but the young king felt drawn to her in a way he had not been to any other female before. It was foolishness on his part; he was well aware of the vow that witches had to make if they were to engage in the Art.

Still, he told himself, there was no harm in looking at her.

Fleya had not eaten or allowed a drop of liquid to pass her lips at the feast the previous evening or indeed during the entire day. Her physical body protested at this abstinence, but she ignored the thick tongue in her dry mouth and the angry rumblings of her stomach. There would be time for eating and drinking after she’d completed what she needed to with the king. It was complicated majik. Undoing another’s work always was, and this was no backstreet dabbler’s labours she was trying to counter.

Kelewulf and the lich were a formidable force, wielding considerable talent and power. But it helped that King Erik was such a willing participant. Had he not been, she might have had no option but to force him into remembering, and that was fraught with danger. The complexities of a human mind, and the damage that could be done if the majik were botched, made things extremely complicated.

She reached out with her mind towards the swirling mass of energy that was at the heart of the Art. Having made the link with that mysterious force, she retreated back into her human body and allowed her physical and psychic forms to recombine. She slowly raised her arms, holding them out towards the king, waiting for him to take them in his own. When she felt his large hands clasp hers, she silently began to recite the sacred words.

Erik wasn’t sure what he had expected to happen when he placed his hands in the witch’s – a sudden wave of energy, or a bolt of light, perhaps? – but the silence and calm that followed felt anticlimactic. He started to wonder if the spell was working at all when something extraordinary happened.

The drinking horn had been empty when Fleya had placed it on the ground. Now, as Erik watched, it slowly filled up from the bottom with what appeared to be ale. The liquid increased and decreased in volume, sometimes draining down to nothing again before refilling.

More incredible still was the loaf of bread. As he watched, Erik witnessed the round loaf become increasingly pale until it was almost grey in colour. The uncooked dough then shrank in size, changing in appearance and texture until it eventually transformed into the flour it had originally been made from.