‘It seemed to fit, at the time,’ I say.

‘I think it’s fitting; she’s got about as much brain as a teacake,’ Peg says. ‘Caught her attacking her own tail earlier and looking surprised when it hurt.’

I sigh. ‘She’s a kitten, Peg. Playing.’

He mutters again, and I wonder if Nan is about to join us at the gate, just to make this whole experience fully surreal, but as I stare towards the house, Peg announces that she’s resting. Mrs Mandrake called in earlier with some more bits for me and tired her out. We’re on our own for tea.

‘Ah, actually,’ I say, watching as Teacake licks Yanny’s hand and makes him laugh. The sky is leaden over our heads and our house looks cold; he’s the brightest thing for miles. ‘I’m going to go to Yanny’s for tea.’

‘In the forest?’ Peg demands, lifting from my shoulder and hovering in my face, golden eyes sparking.

‘Yes.’

‘But, Stella! Nan wouldn’t like that!’

‘I won’t be late,’ I tell him, reaching out and cupping him in my hands. ‘Promise, Peg, dear.’ I lean in and kiss him.

‘I forbid you to go in,’ he says.

‘Peg! If you’re that worried, you should come too . . .’

‘Ah, no. I can’t. I told you – I’m not allowed in there now.’

I stare at him. ‘You didn’t say you weren’t allowed! Why?’

‘I’ll tell you –’ he sighs – ‘inside!’

‘Later, when I’m back,’ I say, steeling myself and setting off before he can say anything else.

I’m tired of his secrets. The sun is low in the sky, and shadows stretch across the golden plain, and when I dare to look back, he’s watching us, a darting, whirling thing among the brambles. Why can’t he come with us into the forest? I should have stayed and found out. I hesitate, full of guilt and tangled feelings, but Yanny walks on, and Teacake looks up at me with a questioning chirrup.

‘I’m going in,’ I whisper, steeling myself. ‘I need to, Teacake. You understand?’

She sits down and winds her smoky tail neatly over her front paws.

I sigh.

Yanny reaches the edge of the forest and turns, raising one eyebrow as if in challenge, as the shadows cluster behind him. It’s only tea with a friend, for goodness sake. Most kids do that all the time. I blow a kiss at Teacake and walk to Yanny, to the forest.

‘OK?’ he asks. His shoulders are set and stiff, his face drawn. ‘You don’t have to come in. I shouldn’t have pressured you.’

‘It’s fine,’ I manage.

If he can do this every day, I can do it too. They’re only shadows after all.

In the deepest dark of day, and in the starless night, there he shall be. Noble – once – and full of pride: the Stag who is the Shadow King.

He treads light upon the roots of Winterspell, and he fears nothing, for he has nothing. The shadows who surround him are his subjects, and they are borne of his own misery and malice. He surrounds himself with them for he cannot bear the light. The Stag is lonely, an angry figure of loss, but his power is dark as the antlers that twist over his brow, and so destruction follows in his wake and spreads from his every touch.