There was a sudden rush of sound in Rafe’s head, so loud and clear that he looked around to see where it came from. He knew straightaway that it was personal to him—none of the others in that farmyard were aware of it—and he knew what it was. When he looked down at his feet the land spoke to him. The voices and smells and sensations calmed him, like his mother’s bedtime soothing when he was having a nightmare or his father’s hand on his shoulder as they harvested another diseased crop, telling him things were all right. And although he still did not know the language, he knew the tones well enough.

He looked up at the farmer and smiled, and as he walked toward the man who aimed a crossbow at his face, Rafe wondered if this was the first real dreg of magic. I’ve been told that things are fine, he thought. I’m being looked after.

“Stop there, turn around, kneel down,” the farmer said, not unkindly. “Don’t move, boy, and everything will be fine. I’ve no wish to hurt either of you. I do wonder what you’re doing with a witch, though.”

Rafe did as the farmer instructed. “She’s looking after me,” he said. “My parents are dead.” He felt the cool kiss of metal on the back of his neck.

“Sorry to hear that, boy.” The farmer fell quiet, watching the trade between Hope and Josie.

Hope opened her shoulder bag slowly and pulled out a jar, a wallet of some unidentifiable material and a small book. “I want two horses,” she said. “I know how precious these animals are to you, but right now they’re worth more to us. As such, not only will I pay you enough tellans for you to ride into Pavisse and buy two more horses as soon as the mood takes you, I’ll also recompense you with a trade. One of these three could be yours, over and above the going rate, which is . . . ?”

“A thousand,” Josie said quickly.

Hope smiled. “Seems fair.” She pointed at the jar. “Heart of skull raven. It never corrupts. It drains bad dreams, sucks up nightmares, gives you easy sleep—”

“Don’t taunt us with fake magic, witch!” Josie hissed. Rafe stiffened, felt the farmer stretch forward and press the sharp bolt into the base of his skull.