Lilith didn’t look round as the old woman shuffled out from the back room. Her great-grandmother had arrived unannounced only an hour earlier and she hadn’t had time to process it yet. The day had been surreal enough without her. As far as Lilith knew or remembered the old woman had never left her candy cottage, and yet here she was. She had trekked across kingdoms and turned up as if she’d been just passing. She was also doing that hunched over, helpless little old lady thing that she slipped into whenever she had an agenda. The huntsman’s face crinkled in disgust at the sight of her and Lilith felt a surge of pride in her bloodline. Women put too much store in beauty as a power to wield over men. There were other powers which were just as valuable. She was learning that.

‘Yes. They’re his. He can have them back.’

‘No need to be hasty.’ The crone placed the shoes on the floor beside the wide cushioned throne, out of reach of the huntsman. ‘You were always in such a hurry. Even as a child.’ She took the pouch from Lilith’s hands and her gnarled hands pulled on the drawstrings.

‘You don’t need to look in there.’ Her heart raced slightly and she flushed, just as she’d done as a child when she’d been caught peeling a strip of liquorice from the walls, black juice smeared around her mouth. There was no need for her great-grandmother to know what she’d done. She didn’t want anyone to know what she’d done.

‘Oh, you should always check the goods before you pay, my dear.’ She tipped the heart into her hand. Glistening meat. The queen felt sick.

‘Oh my,’ the old woman said, turning it over in her hands until they were covered in redness. ‘I see.’ She slid it back into the sopping cloth and then licked her fingers, savouring the taste. Her lips smacked together and her eyes twinkled. ‘But those shoes? For a deer’s heart? It’s not much of a trade.’

‘What? It’s not . . .?’ Lilith stared at her and then at the huntsman, whose eyes darted from the pouch to the old woman and then to the queen again.

‘Did you think it was a human heart?’

‘I . . .’ Heat burned her from the inside. ‘But . . .’

‘I know the taste, dear,’ the old woman said, ‘and this is not to my taste.’ She tutted at the huntsman. ‘I fear you’ve been a little deceptive, young man.’