All the lies, the stories. She told me I couldn’t be a mother, not to Orfantal. You can’t be allowed to love a mistake. You can’t be the one to nurture it, watch it grow into something you can’t control. Every child is a hostage. Every child is to be sent away, until the face fades from the mind. This, Mother said, is the only freedom left to me.

She reached the landing, where the water was gushing out from the rents in the massive blackwood door. The stones were glowing as if trapped in a furnace, revealing that the water was black as ink. Dorssan Ryl. It was the lord’s gift to Mother Dark, the way it changed. Draconus turned it into liquid night, into the blackness between the stars.

See how it pours!

Orfantal. I am coming. Nothing to fear, not any more.

I didn’t mean to burn the stables down, but I was angry. At Mother. I was so angry! But oh, how those horses screamed.

She could hear them again, as if the flames carried their voices in triumph, lifting them into the night amidst all the sparks and smoke. She saw poor Wreneck, so young, all covered in soot and scorch marks, his hair crisp and crumbling, his eyes filling with tears as he fought against Jinia’s grip, as he tried to run back into the stables to save the horses.

And how Orfantal stood off to one side, still in his nightclothes, staring at Wreneck with one small fist pressed up against his mouth.

Shush, Wreneck. It’s too late for them. Too late for everyone.

And Mother spinning round to glare at the stable boy. ‘This was your fault, wretch! Listen to those screams, child! You killed them all!’ And then she marched forward, raising her cane. And the blows rained down, upon Wreneck’s head, and Jinia’s forearms and shoulders, and all Sandalath could do was stand, frozen, helpless, hearing the cane striking flesh and bone, staring at Orfantal who watched it all but understood nothing.

Hush, my son. The screams are only in your head. It’s done with, now. Just the flames and their eager roar.

She reached the door. The latch was loose and almost fell away from the wood panel, and the door swung easily.

‘Lord Draconus! I knew you would return! It was the Azathanai, setting fire to the stables – can’t you hear the horses screaming? Oh, please, stop it now – stop all of this—’

He reached for her, lifted her from her feet – she’d not known him to be so tall, big as a giant. But hostages were always young. It was being young that made them precious, so Lord Anomander told her, laughing as he wheeled her through the air, and how she squealed her delight, safe for ever in his strong hands.