In the silence that followed she shivered a little.

Really she shouldn’t have come here like this.

The Crow would be even more furious when he found out.

She could feel in her bones how dangerous it was.

She was just about to turn and run back as fast as she could when the soft voice came from the leaves to her right. ‘If we do, what will you give us in return?’

Seren’s heart jumped.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, turning.

‘What we always want.’ The voice came from behind her now, silvery and close. ‘A human child.’

Seren realised that she was not surprised. She had sort of known this would happen.

‘You can’t have Tomos,’ she said, very firmly. ‘I don’t think that’s right.’

‘Then we will have you, bright Star.’

The voice was on the other side of her now. Or was it more than one voice? She turned, trying to see Them, but only the leaves quivered. Were there faces in there, and eyes, and fingers? Were those emeralds and gold glinting, or just sparkles of sunlight?

She was very scared. ‘I’m not at all sure about that. I’ll have to see…’

‘You must promise to give us what we want. Or we keep the Swan’s Egg.’

She blew out her cheeks and clutched her hands into fists. The Tylwyth Teg were clever. They knew she had no choice. Well, she did, actually, she could turn and walk away. But then the Crow would be trapped in the body of a clockwork bird for ever. And then she had a strange thought: that living with Them had to be better than the orphanage.

She wasn’t sure she believed that but suddenly she felt reckless. ‘All right. Give me the Egg and I’ll come in return. That is, if you still want me to.’

As soon as she’d said it she felt cold and shivery with dread. Around her a great excited whispering and twittering and humming broke out, and the trees stirred, as if hundreds of beings were moving in the branches. Music began playing, playful and far off.

‘That’s good. We are very pleased.’

‘So I can have the Egg?’

She wondered if it would somehow fall at her feet.

‘You have to go up and get it. It’s not far.’

A small dark opening appeared in the greenery. She saw the leaves were pulled aside by strange, silvery hands.

She walked towards the gap, and as she went through it a whisper tickled her ear.

‘At the Midsummer Ball, bright Star. We will come for you when the moon is full. When the night is shortest. When the roses are in bloom. We will not forget. You belong to us now.’

Then she was in a dark and narrow corridor of tangled branches. She hurried along, ducking down so that her hair didn’t get caught, and trying not to think at all about what she had done.

Soon the branches were so low she had to go down on hands and knees in the litter, and her fingers sank deep into it, as if thousands of years of leaves had fallen and died in here.