I clatter at it with Nan’s old lantern, and the fox fragments into a dozen pieces, which begin to crawl and slither as soon as they hit the ground.

‘OK?’ I manage, as the next thing is upon us.

Yanny winces. ‘I’ll be fine . . . I’m not sure about your fighting methods though.’ He watches as I swing the lantern again, this time into a swooping shadow owl.

‘I didn’t bring any other weapons!’

‘Some Lost Prince you are.’

‘Not a Lost Prince!’ I huff, swirling the lantern through the shadow snakes that now gather by our ankles. ‘Just me. Stella Brigg.’

I flail and batter with my lantern, aware of its absurdity. It does seem to be working, though. The air around us starts to clear, and the shadows that get hit by the lantern are slow to re-form; some of them disappear entirely.

‘You’re pretty handy with that!’ yells Zara, swiping up with her spear to catch a small spine-covered shadow that has launched itself from the nearest tree.

I grin. ‘Could say the same for you!’

‘Mrs Mandrake gave it to me,’ she says, wielding the spear with a flourish and accidentally catching a shadow bat that was coming close in behind her. ‘She said if I heard the horn, it would be time. I don’t think she thought it would happen so soon . . .’

Her voice drifts off, and she looks with horror over my shoulder into the distance.

I turn slowly, and my stomach fills with icy dread.

He is here, approaching slowly through the frigid reaches of the forest where the palace hides. The Stag. And behind him, a horde of terrible shadows I’ve not seen before, all of them gruesome monsters nearly ten feet tall.

‘You must’ve made him angry,’ Yanny says. His whip is smouldering, his eyes no longer ablaze.

I gasp. ‘It wasn’t just a scratch!’ I pull him away from the shadows to take a closer look at his shoulder. The cloth of his shirt is torn, and beneath is what looks like an ugly burn. ‘Yanny, you need to get this seen to!’

‘Get your father seen to first!’

‘This is more important right now, Yanny! Where are your parents? Who’s the healer around here? Quickly!’

‘Hang on!’ says Zara, dipping into the pocket of her yellow mac. Camouflaged, she is not. ‘Don’t panic, Mrs Mandrake gave me this . . .’

She brings out a small glass jar, the label of which reads Mrs M’s Best Blackcurrant Jam.

‘What is that?’ Yanny scowls, wrinkling his nose as she unscrews the lid. ‘I don’t think this is the time for Mrs M’s Best Blackcurrant Jam!’

‘It’s not jam.’ Zara rolls her eyes. ‘It’s mer-fae nest, mixed with some other bits and bobs. Have you ever seen Mrs Mandrake’s house? It’s amazing – shelf after shelf of jars and rocks and potions. This is a new thing – she made it up after she fixed you that day . . . Anyway, she said it might help if anyone was injured.’ Zara dips a finger into the jar, and leans over Yanny, smearing it on his shoulder before he has a chance to move away.