Kelewulf nodded and entered, crossing the room to a chair by the window. In the light, Erik noticed how his cousin’s forehead was damp with perspiration.

‘You look tired, Kel,’ said Erik gently. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘No, I’m fine … fine …’ murmured Kelewulf. ‘But yes, I – I am tired.’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘So very tired.’

Erik watched in alarm as Kelewulf slumped forward in a faint. He hurried over, getting to his knees before his cousin and lifting his head so he might feel at his neck for a pulse. As he did so he noticed the dark smoky tendrils beginning to escape from between Kelewulf’s lips. And, as he opened his own mouth to cry out, the smoky stuff came out in a great rush and entered him, filling first his lungs, then every part of him with its darkness.

The memories from that point on were terrible and painful ones. He walked with his own legs, looked out of his own eyes and spoke with his own lips, but it was not he who was in control of these actions. The thing – whatever it was – controlled him entirely, using his thoughts and memories to seem normal to those around him while carrying out the terrible acts Erik would later be accused of.

He remembered walking into the marketplace and shopping for the ingredients to create a deadly poison. Worse still was how Erik was made aware of the thing’s ultimate intention, and how the creature seemed to revel in the whole affair, keen that Erik should know what he would be making and why.

He had manufactured the hideous brew in his sleeping quarters, tears blurring his vision. The tears were his own, but the manic laughter that accompanied them was not.

He remembered too how he’d gone to the kitchen and doused his father’s meal with the stuff. Then he’d taken up his seat by Mirvar’s side and sat watching him spoon the food into his mouth, knowing dimly that each mouthful spelled the end for the man he loved. Except he hadn’t loved him in those moments, had he? His feelings for his father, like those for everyone and everything else, were not his. They were the spite-filled thoughts of another.

His mind wiped, he had known nothing more, except the grief and horror of finding his father dead. And then the shock of being accused. His cousin and the lich had quickly departed Stromgard and left Erik to take the blame, knowing he would be found guilty of the murder. But he knew where Kelewulf was now. He remembered: a place where they had played together as children, exploring the dark rocks along the shore while his mother watched from above.