‘That doesn’t help the fae in there, though.’

‘They are fighting,’ he says. ‘And mostly, they are winning. The fae have always loved a good battle.’

I stare into the gloom.

‘Aren’t we ever going to try again, then?’

‘Oh, we will,’ he says. ‘When the time is right.’

‘So for now, we just have to wait? I don’t know what we’re waiting for, Peg. It’s stupid to live so close when we can’t go in there.’

‘It is not stupid!’ He draws himself up with indignation, a spiral of smoke escaping his nostrils. ‘Nan’s power is connected to Winterspell; that’s why we stayed so close. And one day, the time will be right, Stella. You will go in there, and you will find the palace.’

‘Well let’s just hope that’s before the shadows have spread too far to be contained,’ I say with a shiver, a little bit cross and a little bit relieved. As much as I want to march in there and find that cursed palace and stop the shadows’ sprawl, the thought of fighting through them again is terrifying, and so is the idea of my Shadow King father. I cannot imagine ever feeling ready.

Peg doesn’t say anything, because there isn’t a right thing to say. We both know it’s happening. Young ash trees encroach further every season, their grey bark catching the moonlight and making stripes across the ever-diminishing moorland that stretches between the forest and our perimeter. And with them, come the shadows.

I hit the dusty old books over the rest of the weekend, while storms rage about the house. There’s little else to do. Nan is recovering from Mrs Mandrake’s visit and only really emerges at mealtimes to make sure I’m eating my greens, and the rain drives down into the soil and makes a swamp of the garden.

I want to know more about fae curses, and the grief of kings, and how we’re going to fight the shadows. Something like this must have happened before, somewhere. But the books that line the study shelves aren’t exactly organized, and many of the covers are so worn, it’s impossible to make out the writing along the spine.

Peg pretends he’s scandalized by the turn of my study. He thinks I should leave the whole thing alone, but I can tell he’s not really that cross. He loves the old books – a little too much, actually.

‘Peg!’

‘It just smelt so good,’ he manages around a mouthful of paper. It smokes a bit in his mouth.

‘I might need that page!’ I stare at him. ‘What’s got into you?’

‘Change,’ he says. His eyes glow. ‘It’s uncomfortable – good for the soul, I always thought.’

‘Well I don’t know about that, I’m trying to find some actual solutions here. What if you’ve just eaten the spell I need?’

‘It was a diary entry about tatting lace,’ he says, smacking his lips. ‘Was that how you were planning to wage war against the forest?’