The door opened and the scowling female demon entered, carrying something on a tray. She thrust it at me and muttered a string of incomprehensible Fomori sentences.

‘You’re to take the food,’ the pixie said. ‘It’ll help you in the arena.’

I blinked and stared. That was food? It looked like ‒ fungus. The demon glared and yelled something. Helplessly, I took the tray.

‘She doesn’t like you,’ the pixie offered.

‘I kinda got that.’

‘You killed her niece.’

I almost dropped the tray. ‘Excuse me?’

She shrugged. ‘That’s what she says.’

I looked wide-eyed at the demon. I’d never killed anyone; I was never going to kill anyone. She spat at me and backed away, not taking her eyes from me until the door was closed again.

‘The more dead Fomori the better,’ the pixie said.

I didn’t have a response to that. I huddled down with the tray, sniffing cautiously at the brown and grey lumps.

‘We are lucky. They feed us well before the arena. They want us to be strong enough to give them a good show.’

I grinned, thinking she was making a joke then I realised she was being serious. Sobering up, I avoided looking at her, lifted the crude cup and took a sip. It was definitely water. It tasted even fouler than the stuff I’d been given when I’d been held at the Steward’s pleasure. I tried not to think too hard about where it had come from and steeled myself to try the food. It helped that I was ravenously hungry.

I picked up the oddly carved spoon and gingerly tasted. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared – just mildly salty – but the texture was off-putting, something between the sludge that collects underneath drainpipes and wallpaper paste. I had serious doubts whether it had any nutritional value. Then again, the same could be said for my normal diet of Irn Bru and salt-and-vinegar crisps. One day I’d learn to eat my greens but apparently not today.

I forced down the lot. As soon as I put down the eating utensil, the door was opened again. I was expecting the same angry demon as before but this time it was a different face. Two different faces, in fact.

‘Watch out,’ the pixie muttered. ‘This one can tell truth from lies.’

Interesting. That was at least one other Gift which had transferred to the Fomori.

The other demon, a pockmarked male with a sunken chest, kept his distance. He barked something at me. Unable to understand, I shook my head. He hissed and pointed at the pixie. She sighed. ‘He wants to know how much magic you have,’ she said.

Nonplussed, I frowned. ‘Er … quite a bit?’

She translated for me. The demon glowered and clenched his fists. He shouted at her. ‘How many magics,’ she corrected.

‘Oh. You mean how many Gifts?’ I considered. I supposed I had just the one: stealing. I said as much, holding up a single finger for emphasis. The pixie translated.