‘It’s just necessary,’ he says. ‘It’s not against her; it’s just not anything to do with her either. Some humans have magic – you know that, apparently. If she has any in her, she hasn’t worked it out yet. Most people never do.’

Miss Capaldi is the languages and history teacher. She has pale, wiry hair that spirals down over narrow shoulders, and silver eyes that flash, and she welcomes me with a hungry grin that sends jagged splinters down my spine.

‘New blood, I see,’ she hisses, tilting her head as she studies me. ‘Have you all met Stella Brigg, my dears?’ She glances around at the rest of the class. Everybody is here – all staring, as usual. ‘Isn’t she quite the enigma? Neither fae nor fully human . . . And what a name! A star and a bridge. What do you bridge, little star?’

If I ever knew words, I do not know them now. They have left me entirely. I barely remember how to breathe.

‘Well, we shall see,’ she says, releasing me from her stare. I stumble to the nearest seat and fall into it, ignoring Yanny and everybody else. My heart is thumping like a drum through my body. ‘For now, our studies turn to darker things than stars, my dears.’

Miss Capaldi turns to the blank wall at one end of the room and raises an arm. A map of what I suppose must be Winterspell rolls out across the white space.

‘We come to the place where few stars now shine. You have all heard of our generations of peace under the Cloudfell Mountain. That was before the Shadow King; before the stag came upon us and brought ruin in his wake. Who can tell me how such a thing occurred?’

Nobody stirs.

‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t suppose you want to. However, we must. Through history, we learn. Through mistakes. What were the mistakes?’

‘They thought they were safe!’ Tash calls out from somewhere behind me.

‘Yes. Under the king and queen, they thought they were safe, all those fae folk. They knew that danger may come from humanity, and so that is where they fixed their eyes. The danger came from the wilderness itself. From the Shadow King, fae through and through. Our own king, torn asunder by sickness and grief. Who hides in the cursed palace that none can find, and who has blighted our own Winterspell with shadows, thick and fast as the cruellest beast. And so we fight, especially in the night, when they obscure the moon and all the stars. The days are hard; the nights are harder. That is why your parents take such care. Why so many of them spend their nights out in Winterspell. Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose. But you already know that much . . .’

She is quiet for a moment, and the class is silent before her. Yanny’s eyes are lowered, his hands clasped tight on the desk. Sorrow shudders through the room and makes my eyes sting.