‘He could get you in trouble. He might have you and Grim sent away.’ Mistress Blackthorn had taken a big risk telling her the story. She had trusted her with it, knowing how dangerous it might be. Even after what had happened with the secret document.

‘I doubt he has the authority to do that, though he might attempt to influence Prince Oran on the matter,’ Blackthorn said. ‘Don’t let that part of it bother you. It’s the least of my worries right now.’

‘The thing with the document . . . those men . . . Are you in serious trouble, Mistress Blackthorn?’

‘Let’s just say that matter is very pressing for both me and Grim. But extremely private, Cara. Not to be mentioned anywhere.’

Cara nodded. Her thoughts were whirling about, trying to add up the passing of time between her mother leaving Wolf Glen and coming back, trying not to remember the look in the wild man’s eyes that day when he spotted her up in the tree. ‘I can’t be his daughter,’ she said. ‘I can’t be. He’s a sort of . . . He . . .’ She fell silent. What was it Gormán had said to the wild man that day, while she was being ushered quickly away? In the name of all the gods. You’re alive.

‘Bardán and his wife lived in Longwater, up on the hill. He worked as a builder long before your father hired him. His wife had kinsfolk in the district. But . . . his mother was half-fey. And his father was raised in the Otherworld, though he was human.’

‘How do you know so much? Who told you that? And why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘That part of the story is not a secret. It’s well known in Longwater.’

‘But . . . he’s crazy.’

‘He’s different,’ said Blackthorn. She didn’t need to add, and so are you.

Then there was a long silence. A long, long silence. Outside it was getting dark; it must be supper time, and they were supposed to go over to the main house for it. Over there everyone would be getting on with their own business. It made no difference to them that Cara’s world had been turned upside down. Father. Gormán. Wolf Glen and the forest. If this was true, none of it was hers. None of it. Your whole life is a lie.

‘When you showed me your talisman,’ Blackthorn said quietly, ‘you gave me a list of birds, for the feathers you’d used. I believe that list of birds may be part of a lullaby Bardán learned from his mother. The song was a charm of protection he used to sing to his baby daughter. He would visit her in the evenings, after his day’s work was done. Feather bright and feather fine, none shall harm this child of mine.’

Cara felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks.