Ashana smiled. “Does it ever occur to you that you’re trying too hard?”

“I know no other way godd . . . lady.”

The goddess cocked her head in exasperation. “What if I save this woman, and her survival prevents your father from reclaiming his throne, and thus you from inheriting it after his passing? Would you still plead for her life?”

Melanna looked from Ashana to the dying woman. “Are you telling me she will, lady?”

“I’m asking if that changes your request.”

A test? Or was the question as straightforward as it appeared? Was this one stranger worth the Imperial throne? It no longer mattered. Melanna had taken the decision to save the woman the moment she’d risked the mists. Otherwise, what use was honour?

“No,” she said at last, and hoped it was true. “My request stands.”

The goddess shook her head. “You’ll make a poor empress, but a good woman.”

A cloud passed overhead. Ashana faded into darkness, only to return brighter than before.

“And what do you think, old friend? I know you’re watching.”

“You are sworn not to interfere.”

A tall, antlered shadow gathered on the far side of the dell – a man’s silhouette, given form by cloak and heavy mantle. Green eyes shone beneath a shadowed helm. The newcomer’s darkness was not the blackness of death, but of angry storm clouds. It provoked no fear – only respect, and the prospect of fear if that respect went unhonoured.

“My siblings interfere,” said Ashana. “Or do you think I can’t smell the stink of Otherworld in this place? Dark days are returning, and I promised to keep the light shining.”

“Lending magic is not the same as interference,” he rumbled. “But if it is to be war, I will fight it gladly. Will you?”

Ashana folded her arms and scowled. “No. I suppose not. I’m not ready for what that will cost.” Her expression brightened. “But I don’t have to be, do I? After all, lending magic is not the same as interfering.”

The antlered helm dipped in a nod. “And what of the girl?”

Ashana’s gaze fell on Melanna for the first time since the newcomer’s arrival. “She’s ready.”

Melanna opened her mouth, but her voice deserted her. More than her voice. The world had grown muffled, as by fog, or by sleep.

“She has heard more than she should,” said the Huntsman.

“It doesn’t matter. After all, it’s only a dream, is it not? It will pass.” Ashana enfolded Melanna in a translucent embrace. “I will help you mend this woman’s harms, but you must afterward leave her to whatever fate brings. Your destiny is with your own kind, Melanna Saranal.”

A cloud plunged the dell into darkness.

Melanna started awake beside the fire, and stared down at hands that shone silver in the moonlight.