I’m opening my mouth to say it’s not like that with her and me, never has been, we’re friends, that’s all. But I don’t say it, because I’m thinking of those words she wrote for me, and the ones I wrote for her. She wrote, Love in his heart. Could mean love of all things, the love Jesus talks about in the scriptures. Could mean the love a man feels for a woman. Or something even deeper and bigger, that’s got both kinds of love in it. She knows. She knows about true love’s tears and what broke the curse, when she was turned into a monster and I held her and cried over her and said I’d stay by her for two hundred years if that was what it took. ‘She’s got things to do before she can think about all that,’ I say instead. ‘A mission. Something I can’t talk about.’

‘That’s wrong-headed,’ says Bardán. ‘Hold fast to family. It’s the most precious thing in the world. Wife, husband, child. Lose that and you’re broken all over again. Smashed to pieces, like the Red Giant. This time, no mending. Only . . .’

‘Only what?’ Now I’m wishing even harder that I’d stayed in Longwater. The wild man’s set my belly churning with worries.

But Bardán only shakes his head. Mutters something to himself, something not meant for my ears. We walk on. Light’s fading fast. I’m wondering if we’ll get there before it’s dark. Birds are flying back into the shelter of the woods, chirrups and coos and twitters all around. Then we come out onto the main track again, and ahead of us are the barn and the outbuildings and a bit farther off Master Tóla’s great house and the double row of beeches. Lights. A lot of lights. Folk moving around, saddling horses, setting flaming torches in sockets against the walls. Something happening, something big. Every worker Tóla’s got must be out there.

Ripple stays by me, tired out but watching for danger. Bardán keeps behind us, which is what I’ve told him to do. Want to make sure I talk to Tóla before he does. Got my words worked out, just need to stick to them and not get angry. Not let the red rise up and get the better of me. Calm. Capable. Pretend I’m somebody else. Conmael, for instance. That would make me smile if I wasn’t so jittery about the whole thing.

‘Why don’t you slip back to your quarters?’ I whisper to Bardán. With all this going on, whatever it is, he’s got a chance of getting there without being seen.

‘What about you?’