Odd, how soon she lost a sense of time passing. The voice kept on, wheedling, coaxing, cajoling. She held her silence. Her back was aching. Had she stood here for an hour, two hours? Or was time playing cruel tricks? Her nose itched but she dared not lift a hand to touch it. Her mouth was so dry; she was longing for a drink. And as if it knew exactly what was in her mind, the voice whispered, ‘Fresh water in a little shining jug. Clear as a mountain stream. Wouldn’t you like some? And fruit such as you’ve never seen in your whole life, round and red and full of sweet juices. Crisp to the teeth, delicious on the tongue. Cheeses, oh, such cheeses, golden and salty and flavoursome! Soft wheaten bread to eat them with. Such a meal, and all ready for you, Bird Girl. Why would you stand there in the dark, muzzy head, aching body, thirsty mouth, empty belly? Why, oh why? Who will come for you? Who will find you? How will you call for help? You have no voice.’

Stop it. Just stop it. What would Mistress Blackthorn do? To start with, Blackthorn would never be in this situation, she was much too sensible. She wouldn’t rush off on a whim and not tell anybody where she was going. But if this did happen to her, Blackthorn would know what to do now. Cara tried to think what the wise woman might suggest. She hadn’t talked about the fey much, apart from telling those old tales. But Cara had heard her and Emer talking about magic, not the fey kind, changing people into animals or appearing in a puff of smoke, but what Blackthorn called natural magic, which was something to do with using what was already there. Cara had liked the sound of that. Knowing rain was near, for instance, and using the right words to make it come sooner or hold off until later. Making the fire on the hearth flare up suddenly or setting the candles flickering if you needed a distraction. That sort of thing. She probably hadn’t been meant to hear that; it had sounded like secret wise woman learning. But she’d been sitting on the front steps working on her squirrel carving, and they had probably forgotten her.

So, use what was already here. All very well if she could see anything at all. Not impossible even in total darkness, provided she could move around and feel things. But if twitching a muscle or whispering a word might give her away, what was she supposed to do? Stand still, she told herself. Breathe. Wait. The answer will come.

‘I know a secret,’ chimed the little voice, sing-song, teasing. ‘I bet you can’t guess it.’

Cara stood quiet. This was nonsense. She’d be a fool if she let it trouble her. Be still. Wait.