‘This is no time for jest, Frederich,’ snaps Eren.

‘No,’ yawns Frederich. ‘But it is time for bed. I have had quite the day.’

‘None of us needs to hear about it,’ says Eren. He is watching Lisbet; she feels his attention like a brand.

‘Charming,’ says Frederich lightly. ‘Good night, fair ladies, mistress of the bees.’ He makes a mock bow to Lisbet before turning to Eren. ‘Go safe, friend. The city is a sorrier spectacle still. I do not envy you the night stretch.’

He goes whistling through the house, closing the door a little too loudly. Lisbet has always marvelled at this habit in men, from her brothers to Henne. How they move through the world so loudly, so unashamedly, without thought for who hears them, or if they disturb others. Not Eren though. He seems to share her quality, the quality most women possess, to sit so still you could forget he was there.

Lisbet looks from him to Nethe, and finds her sister-in-law staring at her.

‘Now?’

Lisbet sighs. Their illicit meet. The bees had driven it from her mind. ‘So soon?’

‘I told Ida after dusk, to meet us at the river. She’ll be waiting.’

Lisbet shakes her head. It is so unlike her picture of Ida, to think of her friend leaving her children sleeping, to come through the dark forest to meet a woman Lisbet thought she despised. But then, she has learned much about Ida that was unknown before.

‘It’s safe. Mutti is taking poppy for her tooth,’ says Nethe, rising and running her hand through her short hair. ‘She will be asleep already.’

‘Are you tired, Frau Wiler?’ says Eren, gently.

She understands he means to advocate for her, but the truth is the question irritates her. Had he not seen what she did, what she is capable of? Perhaps Frederich is right – perhaps it is a sort of witchcraft, a white gift, the one good she has to give the world. Mistress of the bees.

And part of her wants to go to the tree, to see her babies’ ribbons and tell them what their mother managed, how she conjured the bees, composed them to her rhythm as easy as Eren played his lute. How many times has she gone there weeping? Wouldn’t it be good, to carry her victory to them?

‘No,’ she says. ‘I’ll come, Nethe.’

Nethe gives a low cheer, and gathers up the rest of the flask of beer, the last of the bread, wrapping it all in a sack as they had done for Henne before his journey to Heidelberg.

‘Won’t Sophey notice those gone?’

‘We can blame the drummer,’ says Nethe.

‘It’s the least he deserves,’ says Eren, amused. Lisbet returns his smile despite herself.

‘Shall I accompany you?’ he asks. ‘I am not needed in town for a few hours. I may not be a strong man, but I have my knife.’

‘Your knife does not interest me,’ says Nethe, in higher spirits by the moment. ‘But bring your lute, and you can play something more suited to women than bees.’