As I considered what to do next, pounding feet drew up alongside me and quickly passed. It was Jamie, with another Moncrieffe Sidhe behind him. That meant Byron and the other two Moncrieffes had elected to go the same way as Tipsania. No one would be reckless enough to try the ice.

That thought brought me to a halt. As the Moncrieffes pulled further away, I gazed at the frozen loch and stepped to its edge. The surface was glassy and smooth.

‘Mirror, mirror on the wall…’ I murmured, then I turned and walked back the way I’d come.

The other competitors were closer than I’d realised and more and more appeared from the dark shadows of the woods. As each Sidhe passed me, I received an array of glares and frowns, most of them suspicious and calculating. They scanned me through the gloom, checking to see whether I had hidden my flag and was strolling past them because I wanted to make a show of being in the lead. I gave them all a happy, innocent smile. Nothing to see here, move along.

Of course, the congregation of competitors meant that the drones arrived too. The noise they made was incredible; so much for the peace and quiet I’d been enjoying earlier. Now it was dark, they were using bright lights to illuminate the area and continue filming. It made it easier for me to see others – and for them to see me.

By the time I reached the spot where Tipsania and I had spoken, I’d counted thirty-three other competitors. It stood to reason that the same number had passed out of sight on the other side of the loch. That was good: I wanted as many as possible to zoom on ahead. It wouldn’t help my cause if my new plan was broadcast. The fact that so many of the later groups had caught up did niggle, however; they must have followed the tracks made by the first Sidhe on the course, just as I had done. It was February; nobody would be surprised that there was snow on the ground. Either the Carnegies were hoping for a thrilling photo finish for the spectators back at the Cruaich or they had something else to throw at us to separate everyone out. Considering there had been little action so far, I reckoned it would be the latter. Oh goody.

It didn’t take long before the first figure – no doubt Tipsania – was silhouetted in front of the distant fires. I squinted to watch. When she reached a flag and tried unsuccessfully to pick it up, I knew I was right. More figures joined her, each one with the same result. Those flags weren’t any more real than the Carnegies concept of honour. It was a clever illusion – just not clever enough.

‘Integrity!’

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Angus MacQuarrie. Perfect. I grinned and beckoned him over.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, as he jogged up. ‘The flags are over there.’