‘Mmph,’ she says, closing her eyes. ‘So good . . .’

‘I don’t have much to share,’ I say, looking down at my meagre spread. I wish I’d thought to bring more. I could have made a cake . . . or brought some of the good cheese.

Zara shakes her head and charges off, returning quickly with a knife. She smooths out my paper bag and lays everything out, sausage and pear neatly divided. The pastries collapse into layers of buttery goodness in my mouth, and Zara’s salty crisps are delicious, too. The pear from our orchard is smooth and tastes of summer. One of Nan’s favourite stories is the one where her human grandfather built our home and planted the orchard, and of how he’d trade with the creatures in Winterspell Forest: golden pears for the rich, dark berries that made his favourite wine.

Of course, that was before he met the fae queen and became a part of their world. Long before even Nan was born, and an age before the Shadow King – my father – began to destroy all the goodness there . . .

I stare at Yanny. His food tastes incredible, but the way it dissolves makes me wonder if there’s magic in it. If he lives in Winterspell, he must know all of its secrets. He doesn’t look much like a fae warrior to me. Especially not with pear juice all over his chin.

‘So,’ begins Zara, scrunching up the crumb-festooned bag and throwing it with an expert flick of her wrist into the nearest bin. ‘Are you going to tell Stella about your secret lessons?’ She grins as she says it, but there’s an edge to her voice, and Yanny’s dark eyes glint.

‘They’re not secret,’ he says. ‘Just extra languages – that sort of thing.’

I think it’s meant to fend me off, but it doesn’t, because a lot of magic is about language. Many spells are written in Latin or Ancient Elvish, and there are books full of Greek and Norse in our library. One of Nan’s favourite lectures is about the study of language being the most powerful there is.

‘I like languages,’ I say. ‘Who’s your teacher?’

‘Miss Capaldi,’ he says. He closes his lunch tin and shoves it back in his bag, just as the bell rings. ‘Come on. We have art together.’

‘If you find out,’ hisses Zara as we head off through the corridors in his wake, ‘you will tell me, right? I’ve been trying to get it out of him for weeks, but he’s immune to my questions. You already have him rattled. Maybe he can see you’re on to him. Are you on to him? Do you know what’s going on?’

‘No idea!’ I manage. And it’s true, but this whole thing is disconcerting. If Yanny is a creature from the forest, if there’s some kind of magic going on up there, I can’t share that with her. The fae and the human worlds don’t mix. Or at least, I didn’t think they did. Here, anything seems possible, and it’s not what I wanted on my first day. I wanted a normal school, not one with magic on the top floor, and secrets that seem to make awkward spaces between friends.