Gwenore tilted her head. ‘He will not turn around and go back to Chadora if he arrives to an empty house.’

Isabel swallowed. ‘I know. I will come tomorrow, I promise.’

Ita gave her a knowing look as she passed. ‘We’ll be back before dark.’

Isabel went inside, washing and chopping the vegetables to be used in the cawl she was making. When everything was ready, she prepared the stove. She never lit it, but she was more than happy to do the work up until that point.

The light began to fade, and there was still no sign of her mother and Ita, so she went in search of her brother out front. He could light the fire for her, and she would return to cook once the flames had settled. While she was slowly getting more comfortable around fires, she had a way to go.

Outside, she looked around for Everard and Rabbit, but they were nowhere to be seen. She listened for them, certain she had heard their swords clapping away only a few minutes earlier.

‘Everard!’ she called.

There was no reply.

She wandered down to the paddock to see if they were working on the half-built stables they had committed to finishing before winter came around again. They were not there either. The horses were pacing the fence line, ears pricked forwards and tails lifted. She paused to watch them a moment, then looked over at the trees on the other side, expecting Ita and her mother to emerge with their full baskets in hand.

But no one appeared.

Taking a final look around, she retreated to the house.

It was dark now, so she closed the door behind her and slid the lock into place. The others could knock and wait for her to open it when they finally decided to show up.

She headed for the kitchen but froze a few feet from the door. There was smoke and heat coming from it, and when she listened, she heard the distinct snap and crackle of burning debris. Someone had lit the stove while she had been out of the house.

‘Everard?’ she called.

Silence.

Slowly, she walked to the kitchen door and peered inside. The stove was not only lit but roaring. Her heart sped up at the sight, at the noise, at the realisation that her brother would never leave a fire in this state for her to walk into. He would never leave it unattended to begin with. She had not been the only one in the house the day it burned down. While he got out physically unscathed, the mental trauma still lingered to some degree for all of them.

It was difficult to breathe when the fire was consuming all the oxygen in the house. She turned, ready to flee, then stopped again when she saw the front door sitting wide open. She had definitely closed it behind her—and locked it.