‘It was just . . . something I picked up.’ I wince, realizing too late that I’ve given myself away. She only calls me Estelle when I’ve done something wrong.

‘Pardon?’

‘There’s lots of talk about Winterspell at school,’ I say. ‘I mean, there’s bound to be. It’s right on the doorstep of the village, and they think it’s haunted. The kids talk about the strange lights, and the sounds of battle . . . How they have to avoid the whole place. And the legend of the Lost Prince . . .’

Peg glowers, but he doesn’t say anything, and Nan seems to be satisfied with my rushed explanation.

‘People talk.’ She nods. ‘And so close to Winterspell, there has always been fae blood in the village. People with a little magic, a little faith in what they can’t see – like Mrs Mandrake. I suppose it’s no surprise the children would have heard the legend.’

‘Lost Prince,’ I say, looking down at myself. ‘Oh, Nan.’

‘You’ll see.’ She smiles. ‘Just give it time, my love.’

But she obviously doesn’t know how bad it is in there for the fae. She’s been away so long, she doesn’t know they send their children out to a human school just to give them a chance of a future. She’s spun them a lie about a Lost Prince, but he’ll never come for them. I don’t have that kind of magic, that kind of power.

I don’t belong in there at all.

The week rushes past in a tumble of falling autumn leaves, bitter frosty mornings, and the dash from lesson to lesson, from magic to non-magic, from ancient legends to the tinkle of glass beakers in science lessons. By Thursday morning, my head is buzzing. Assembly is fraught with tension after another bad night in the forest, and Tash is looking more venomous by the day. Yanny stays close, but he looks troubled, and I cannot keep this up.

Of course I can’t. Ever since I heard of Nan’s ridiculous legend, it’s been haunting me. How can I let them wait for something that doesn’t exist? That will never come to pass?

‘What’s going on with you?’ Yanny asks as we scramble up from our seats after a grim-faced lecture from Principal Ashworth about staying out of the forest canopy. The gathering winter, he told us, has made it more brittle than ever, and shadows are waiting to catch those who fall. Playing up in the higher branches, we were warned, is strictly forbidden. ‘I know this stuff might not seem important to you, but you should know it anyway. If you’re ever in Winterspell, it could save your life. Did you even hear a word of what he said?’

‘Of course!’ I say. ‘I was just . . . I was distracted. Sorry.’ I take a deep breath while Yanny stares at me. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘OK,’ he says. ‘But not here.’