‘Most unlikely, I’m afraid,’ Blackthorn said. ‘I understand your father’s set new limits on your freedom. He did say he was happy for you to visit me. But I’m sure he’d want you safely within these walls at night.’ She went quiet for a bit, then said, ‘I didn’t get the chance to speak to Lady Flidais before she left. But she left me a message. An invitation to come and stay here for a while. She had in mind that I might be company for you, I think. Or that my presence might deter you from trying to run away.’ She grimaced.

‘Or that you might be safer,’ Cara said. ‘They have those other guards here now, did you know? Those men with the . . .’ She waved a hand around her face.

‘They do? Men from Swan Island?’

‘Them, yes. I’ve seen four of them today already. Standing watch with the ordinary guards or patrolling the boundaries.’

Blackthorn had gone ashen white. She was not behaving like herself today at all.

‘It’s probably nothing much,’ Cara said. ‘It’s just because some of the prince’s guards have gone to court.’

‘What? Oh. Yes, I suppose so.’ Blackthorn sounded shaken.

There was a knock at the door, and a maidservant came in with a tray. A jug of something, two cups, a small platter of honey cakes. Since Blackthorn didn’t seem to have seen the woman, Cara said, ‘Thank you. Please put it on the table.’ There was probably a rule about valuable books and sticky fingers, but nobody had said anything, and she had enough common sense to keep the two apart. She realised she had just spoken aloud to a stranger and managed to make herself understood.

The maidservant went out. Cara poured what proved to be ale, passed Blackthorn a cake, considered what came next. She had hoped for an explanation of those strange voices; some wise guidance, maybe, for dealing with her father and the odd story of the heartwood house. But Blackthorn was just sitting there. She’d taken one bite of her food and one drink from her cup, and she hadn’t said anything for ages. And she was shivering. It was as if there was a storm all around her, but nobody else could see it.

Cara got up. Took off her shawl, walked around the table and draped it over Blackthorn’s shoulders. ‘Something’s wrong,’ she said. ‘You can tell me, if it’ll help.’

Blackthorn gave a kind of snorting sound. Cara could hear words in that sound: You, help me? How could you help? You’re only a child.