Sitting at the edge of the bed, lost in his thoughts, it occurred to Lann that somebody was knocking at the door to his room.

‘Lann? May I come in?’

It was a woman’s voice. But not his aunt’s. Dimly he remembered that Fleya had knocked earlier. He had not answered and she eventually left.

How long had he been sitting here like this? He stared down at his bare feet resting on the stone floor. They were blue-tinged and numb with cold. Raising his head, he noticed the untouched plate of food on the small table a short distance away.

‘Who is it?’ he asked in a voice he hardly recognised as his own.

‘Astrid.’

Astrid? The princess. He recalled her face: beautiful and fierce, with large, grey eyes and a determined chin.

He wanted her to go away. Why wouldn’t they all just go away?

He sighed and lowered his head again. A small beetle had appeared from a crack between the flagstones. Having squeezed its chitin-covered body out of the tight space, the shiny black thing proceeded to make its way through the gap made between his feet. What must that colossal, flesh-coloured valley look like to the little insect? And did it know the precarious nature of its journey – how, at any instant, those vast walls could simply lift up into the air and come down again, crushing it to death?

Another knock. ‘Please?’

‘Go away,’ he whispered under his breath, but he heard the door creak open.

She didn’t come in immediately, and Lann guessed she must be standing on the threshold, looking in at him. Then he heard the tread of her brisk steps. There was a scrape of wood on stone as she moved the small table and used it as a seat, so she could sit directly in front of him. Leaning forward, she dipped her head, making it impossible for him to avoid her face as she peered up at him.

When he sat up she mirrored the movement.

‘I wanted to come earlier, but your aunt said you wanted to be alone.’

He gave a small shrug in response.

She paused before going on. ‘I wanted to thank you. What you did—’

‘What I did was kill a man.’

‘I understand how you feel.’

Her response lit a hot spark of anger inside Lann.

‘Do you?’ He held her eyes with his own. ‘Have you ever killed anybody?’

‘No.’

‘Then you don’t know how I feel.’

‘I can’t …’ she started to talk, then stopped.

He looked down at the floor again, but the beetle was gone, disappeared under the bed.

‘Then tell me.’

‘What?’

‘Tell me how you feel.’ She paused. ‘Tell me. Because I need to know. Please.’