I am fae. Truly fae: half moon sprite and half wood sprite.

‘Do you like the look of yourself?’ says Rory, her eyes laughing.

‘I think I do,’ I say.

Nan nods. ‘As you should. I’d forgotten how lovely your wings are. Rather unusual to have such elements combined.’

‘She’s rather unusual all round, I should say,’ says Rory. ‘I may have underestimated her. She broke her father’s curse, legend or no legend.’

It’s late, and my eyes are scratchy with tiredness, but I can’t make myself move. Rory said her goodbyes hours ago, and so it’s just me and Nan, and Peg and Teacake. Home. Safe. Everything the same, and yet . . . everything different.

‘I thought he would help, Nan,’ I say, looking into the fire.

‘I know you did.’ She sighs. ‘Of course you did.’

‘You warned me he wouldn’t. You said he was lost, but I thought . . . I thought that if he just saw me, he would find himself. But he didn’t even really see me. He just stood there . . . and I had to go and do it myself.’

‘But Stella – you did do it.’ She wedges herself next to me on the bench and puts her hand over mine. ‘You went in there, and you came back out again, and you fought. And you won.’

‘It doesn’t feel like we won,’ I say.

‘Give it time,’ she says. ‘This is just the start, Stella.’

‘What will happen to him? And the palace – will we go back there, Nan?’

‘If we want to, in time,’ she says. And then she sneezes.

‘Nan!’

‘Bother that cat.’ She frowns, glaring at Teacake, who rolls over to show us her pale belly.

‘She was in the palace, Nan,’ I say, reaching out to tickle Teacake. ‘My mother brought her home for me, before she died.’

‘I knew there was something about her,’ Nan says, staring more closely. ‘Rory has a theory about her too.’

‘What’s that?’

‘She thinks she may be a sphynx. Future-seeing, wise, you know. A creature of legend.’

Peg cackles from the mantelpiece.

‘A creature of legend.’ I smile. ‘That sounds about right. She spoke to me in Winterspell – and I understood.’

‘She’s been speaking to you for longer than that,’ says Peg, propping himself up on one arm. ‘Going on all the time – only you couldn’t hear it through that glamour of Nan’s. She’s still just a silly kitten though.’

‘From tiny acorns . . .’ teases Nan with a smile. ‘They aren’t born old and wise, after all. Nothing is.’ She puts an arm around me. Her cardigan is worn and thin, her white hair tickles my nose.

‘Nan! I can feel you!’ I say. ‘You’re all solid!’

Peg grins. ‘It’s taken you long enough to figure that out!’

‘Oh!’ Nan says, holding out her hands and examining them. ‘Well so I am!’

‘How did that happen?’

‘I don’t rightly know,’ she says, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.