He turns his attention to me. ‘Well done for getting him up here. Yanny is rather overtaxed at the moment.’ He looks down at him with a frown. ‘I’m glad he has a friend, Stella. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

I nod, and he bustles out again.

I take a deep, steadying breath, thankful there’s nobody else in the room. I don’t know what to do next, and Yanny certainly isn’t going to pass for human any time soon, but at least it’s quiet in here.

Until Zara bounces in.

‘This place is awesome. I snuck in as Tash was leaving. She didn’t even see me, she was in such a strop. What’s going on, Stella? What do you all do up here?’

‘Oh, Zara! You’re not allowed up here – there’s going to be trouble!’

She scowls at me. ‘Well. There’s already trouble, I’d say, and you’d think it would be good to have a friend here to help you. I don’t care what’s happening, so long as you let me help. What is going on with Yanny? I’ve seen him tired before, and he gets clumsy, but that was something else entirely!’

She looks down at him, and her eyes widen.

‘Stella! What . . .’

‘He’s a fairy,’ I say.

‘But –’ She sits hard on the chair next to him. ‘But –’ She stares around the room, her eyes widening at the ethereal glow of the lights in the walls, the silver charms set up high. ‘Oh. But I . . . But –’ She stares at Yanny. ‘What happened to his wings?’

‘It’s part of the shadow curse, I think . . . I don’t know. I’ll explain what I can later, we just need to get him through the afternoon, and then get him home.’

‘How can he go to lessons like this?’

‘I can’t,’ Yanny says with a grin, steam escaping from between his teeth.

Zara flinches, but she sits firm.

‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘Why are you so . . . fae?’

‘The glamouring’s a bit shaky,’ he says, his eyes still closed. ‘I was on watch last night. I thought I could manage. Then Laurel got to me when we were duelling.’

‘Did she hurt you?’

‘No! I’m just tired.’

‘I didn’t think you were allowed to go on watch,’ I say.

‘Watch?’ Zara mouths, but I shake my head.

‘Later, Zara!’

‘Did it anyway,’ he murmurs. ‘And it was fine, the fight was good, but today the . . . the stitches kept coming undone. I couldn’t keep the ends together . . .’

I shake my head. ‘What do you need?’

‘Mrs Mandrake.’

‘Mrs Mandrake? My Mrs Mandrake?’

‘I don’t know whose she is,’ he says, blinking. His pupils have filled his eyes, and Zara swallows hard as she sees it. ‘Pa said . . . I should call her, in an emergency.’ He grabs for his bag, but it falls to the floor, and steam billows from his mouth as he hisses with frustration.