I thought about calling out to him, but doubted he would believe his own ears. He would assume I was another of Olesca’s conjurations sent to trick him. Perhaps I was.

‘You were always needed. From the beginning of days, until the end of nights, needed,’ Olesca said. ‘Even before St Leonars prison, where an unfaithful boy lost sight of themselves. You were chosen because of your visions. Visions we sent you, and chosen by a weak and feeble king bent to our will.’

‘Lies of a forked tongue,’ Christophor whispered, though I heard him as clear as if he were right at my ear.

‘The Esteberg horizon ablaze, the four horsemen in all their guises, the Eder’s banquet hall…’

That stopped my brother in his tracks. I recognised the truth of Olesca’s claims, from my memories of Christophor’s visions. And I had had my own visions, had I not? The pages of certain books rearranged themselves, and voices called me to action. Nothing so significant as my brother’s, but I understood how we’d been manipulated and manoeuvred.

Christophor stood, head hanging low under the burden of what he had done, what he’d been a part of. My heart ached for him then, despite our differences.

Ahead of him, two yellow eyes appeared high in the canopy. They glanced at me, before gazing down at my brother. Around those eyes the shadow formed again. The impression of huge wings, mostly lost behind the foliage, clawed hands reaching down…

‘Christophor!’

He looked around, as if trying to find me, but instead saw the beast. He ran deeper, ever deeper, into the jungle. I did my best to follow. But still we were hounded by the shadowy demon, and the voice of the fallen angel.

‘The sword shrivels to flakes of snow. A pox sent by me, but guided by you, Christophor.’

‘Lies.’

‘The law devours its history, but only did so once you had spoken to him.’

‘Lies,’ my brother said, though he sounded less sure of himself now.

‘The stone moves on water, thrown there by your own hand.’

‘L—’

‘The broken heart bleeds gold. Whose heart? You have both wondered. But he knows. You weren’t the only ones sent for.’

I cried out. I didn’t mean to, but the understanding hit me like a blow to the stomach. The withered heart I made into a crucible was that of Second Lieutenant Matherson, Rebecca’s former lover.

‘Alexsander?’ my brother said. He ducked through the hanging vines, trying to see me properly.

‘I didn’t know,’ I said.

‘Lies,’ Olesca thundered.

Christophor tried to come closer, but the jungle defied him, turned him around, sent him on its own path. Until he came to another clearing. In a grotesque mirroring, I found myself stepping into my own clearing.

Stepping towards another inverted crucifix.

I knew him as Patrik, Christophor knew him as Victor. The little scientist from a wealthy family, who shared so much with his brother. The boy Christophor wished he had been. Wished we had been.