“He thinks I’m imagining things,” I muttered. “But I’m not. I’m not going mad, I can’t be. What’s in there is no bundle of sticks and stones, it’s a little person with arms and legs and a voice. Maybe some people can’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” I met my sister’s gaze. “Will you come and look at it, Muirrin?” I asked. “Father won’t believe it’s a changeling, and if he can’t see that, he won’t search in the right places, and he’ll never find Finbar.”

Muirrin’s lips tightened. “Father said the nursery was to be kept locked up,” she said. “Mother wanted to go and look. He told her he’d ordered the place closed until he decides what to do.”

“I have the keys,” I said quietly. “Please, Muirrin. It will only take a moment.”

In silence, she followed me along the passageway and waited while I unlocked the nursery door. There was no sound from inside. I took a deep breath. Perhaps the sticks-and-stones baby really had been conjured from my imagination and my shock at Finbar’s sudden disappearance. The cradle was not creaking and jerking now, but completely still. We walked over and looked in.

The blanket had been kicked aside again, but the changeling was not thrashing about. It was sleeping, curled up with a twiggy thumb in its mouth. Its mossy cheeks seemed more hollow than before, its eye sockets more shadowed. I was seized with an urge to bend down, wrap the blanket around the little creature and scoop it up in my arms. I made myself stand still as Muirrin bent over, looking carefully.

“I . . .” She hesitated.

“What?” I said, knowing from her tone what was coming.

“It’s a clever copy of a child’s form,” Muirrin said, “but not real, Clodagh. Not even real in an uncanny, eldritch way. If you tried to pick it up, it would fall apart into twigs and leaves. What a cruel trick! Why on earth would someone go to such lengths? Imagine if Mother had seen this! You must make sure the door stays locked. We can’t risk her coming in here, and she will if she gets a chance; she can’t really believe that Finbar’s gone. I’ve had to put Orlagh on door duty so she can’t go out on her own.” She looked at me sharply. “You still think it’s real, don’t you? Clodagh, you’re deluding yourself. Look, this is just a bundle of bits and pieces.” She reached down and took a sliver from the changeling’s leg, a slip of birch bark the length of my little finger. “See?” she asked, and moved to throw the fragment onto the dying fire.