‘Nethe,’ says Lisbet warningly. ‘You forget yourself.’

‘That,’ says Nethe, her eyes blazing, ‘is precisely the point.’

•

Lisbet has not forgotten the first time she went through the dark to the dance tree with a baby in her belly. How she felt its strings coming loose, its delicate assemblance scattering, but she lets herself not dwell on it, not draw a line from that, to this. Tonight, she decides, she will forget all her sadnesses, all her trespasses, even as she steals through the forest on a sinner’s errand. Nethe’s giddiness is infectious, she feels it filling her own blood.

Eren’s lute strings jangle as he walks with it strung across his back like a bow. She senses him keeping close behind, but not so close she can hear anything but the discordant chiming. They go without a light, with a flint and a bundle of candles Nethe insisted Sophey wouldn’t miss, scenting their way through the hushed forest. They should be afraid, and maybe that is the edge of what she feels under her delight, her elation, but it makes those all the more delicious.

Ida is already at the river, a small, slight figure wreathed in the glow from her torch. Though Nethe runs towards her it is Lisbet Ida embraces first, tightly and for longer than usual, and Lisbet understands and accepts it as an apology.

Lisbet leads the way through the trees. She can hear Nethe telling Ida about the theft, about Lisbet’s mastery of the bees, and revels in Ida’s exclamations.

She feels untouchable, forged by the feel of the bees all around her, the king cracking beneath her fingers. Her worries about Daniel Lehmann and Plater are forgotten. The brambles part, the light from Ida’s torch washes over the clearing, and there is her dance tree, and her babies’ ribbons, and she feels at peace.

Nethe whoops and breaks away from Ida, spinning with her arms outstretched, as though she is drunk again.

‘Can we go up there?’ she asks, pointing at the platform. Lisbet nods, eyeing Nethe’s feet, coming perilously close to disarraying the carefully laid tokens.

‘It’s steady enough,’ she says.

‘Are you all right climbing?’ asks Eren. He has come to stand at her shoulder. She imagines she can feel the heat from his body. In answer, she leads the way to the ladder, haphazard but strong, and begins to climb. In truth, she has never attempted it so large, never in such darkness. But her glee carries her, and with her breath coming sharply she clambers across the platform to wave down at him, laughing at his astonished face.

Nethe and Ida follow close behind, and Eren comes carefully after, until they sit cross-legged across from each other, as they had with Sophey and Frederich at the table, in a disbelieving silence. Then Ida starts to laugh; Nethe follows suit, and pulls the flask of beer from her sack, her queasiness seemingly forgotten.

‘You really made this?’ asks Nethe, wiping her mouth and passing the flask to Ida.