As astonishing as these sights were, filling him with wonder and setting his heart racing, it was the bird’s transformation that was truly miraculous. When he’d first sat before it, he’d wrinkled his nose at the creature. It cannot have been long dead, but its body was already brittle and hardened by exposure to the elements. Its eyes had gone, taken by insects or some other feathered creatures, and the bluish-black plumage on its body had lost the shine of vitality. But as he watched, Erik saw both eyes and feathers restored. Blood, too, appeared to fill the creature’s body once more, plumping it out as he stared in disbelief. When it first moved, the king gasped; then the creature pushed itself up with its wings to awkwardly regain its feet.

It was then that he noticed how charged the air was, like the atmosphere before an electrical storm. The hair on the witch’s head had started to lift, sticking out on all sides, and he felt his own hair do the same. The heat and oppressive air became too much for him, and he was suddenly unable to fill his lungs. He gasped silently for air, like a fish removed from its watery world. Forgetting all about the miracles he had just witnessed, he felt himself quickly slide into a state of panic. His heart raced, hammering a frantic rhythm that demanded oxygen he was unable to feed it. Bright spots of light danced in front of his eyes, and he felt the world slide away from him as unconsciousness threatened. He managed to wrench one hand free, feeling the grip on the other intensify in response. He wanted to get to his feet, but knew it was useless. A terrible rasping croak, like the sound a crow might make, escaped him.

Eyes still closed, Fleya groped beside her for the knot in the rope. Expertly, only using one hand, she shook the knot free and opened the circle.

Air rushed in and the pair sucked it in greedily, the world returning with each subsequent breath. The sudden dissipation of the heat sent a cold shiver running through Erik and he looked down at the trio of objects again. The loaf, the drinking horn and the dead bird were exactly as they’d been at the start, and he wondered what sort of trickery had made him imagine he’d seen them otherwise.

Fleya finally opened her eyes and looked across at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her eyes full of compassion.

Erik let out a sob.

He remembered everything.

The loud knock on his door roused Prince Erik from his sleep. Pulling on a robe against the cold, he crossed the room and opened it.

‘Cousin,’ Kelewulf said, standing in the threshold. ‘As promised.’ He held out a small phial. ‘To help you sleep.’

‘Thank you.’ Erik took the little bottle and hesitated. ‘Would you like to come in, cousin?’