‘I’m not sure of anything. Her last letter was written when she was far from home, and far from her father’s scribe, and it was in the same mode and the same hand as the others. You may think I am clutching at straws.’ This fellow’s lost his dreams, and it’s broken his heart. Doesn’t know how lucky he’s been to keep them until he was a man grown. ‘But something’s wrong,’ he goes on. ‘I feel it in my bones. Something strange has happened. So strange it seems almost . . . uncanny. I owe it to . . . I owe it to what might have been, to seek out the truth.’

‘May I look at Lady Flidais’s letters?’ Blackthorn asks, straight out.

‘I burned them.’

That’s a surprise. Blackthorn gives him a look, as if she thinks he’s a silly boy, and he says, ‘All but one.’ And fishes it out of the pouch at his belt, which is not so easy with the dog lying on his knee. ‘Don’t ask me to read it,’ Prince Oran says. He sounds as if he might cry, but he doesn’t. He’s a prince, after all. Letter looks a bit the worse for wear. He passes it over.

‘Why did you burn the others?’ Blackthorn asks.

‘There was a time . . . a moment . . . when I . . .’

‘Never mind that.’ She’s reading the letter. The look on her face says she’s interested now.

‘Long walk for a little dog,’ I say to the prince, to fill in the silence.

He manages a smile. ‘Bramble loves her walks. My aunt says that is typical of terriers.’ Bramble lifts her head and takes a good look at me. Pretty little thing. I go over and squat down beside the prince. Could be useful to find out if Bramble’s a biter, or if the only person she snaps at is Lady Flidais. When the dog doesn’t growl, I reach out a hand, slowly, and she gives my fingers a good sniff. I tickle her behind the ears. She pushes her head against my hand, almost like a cat.

‘Seems friendly enough.’

Prince Oran nods. ‘To those whom she trusts, yes.’

‘My lord,’ says Blackthorn, with the letter in her hands, ‘you know I’ll have to talk to Lady Flidais. And to her women. And to many other folk in your household. Any reasonable person will be asking questions about why I’m in and out of your house every day, even if I say I’m trying to find a cure for the lady’s headaches. Besides, that’s not going to work if Lady Flidais doesn’t want me tending to her.’