Suddenly there’s a scream from deep in the castle. More cries follow, coming from the courtyard. ‘Find the doctor!’ I hear.

All at once there’s banging at the chamber door.

‘How now?’ cries Black Fingers.

A guard steps into the room, ‘Fire!’ He nods to the Willow Tree. ‘The doctor is needed urgently.’ Then he sees me. ‘The sin eater as well.’

The Willow Tree’s voice booms. ‘There it is! She’s not our witch.’

‘What?!’ Black Fingers cries. ‘Moments ago you wished to perform a witch’s trial!’

‘Yes, when I believed her to have come to the castle without purpose. But now I see the Maker’s work in this. He drew her here with the prospect of death!’ The Willow Tree goes on. ‘Like a maggot to rotting flesh. This is why she came.’

‘Not good enough!’ says Black Fingers.

‘Then I shall perform a trial here, now. Will you act as witness?’

Black Fingers’s eyes narrow.

The Willow Tree raises up his hand, his witch pricker catching the light. It’s half the length of a finger and as thick as a coffin nail. Quicker than you’d ever guess he could, he thrusts the needle deep into the meat of my shoulder. A howl rips from my guts out of my mouth. The guard who announced the fire begins the Maker’s Prayer. The Willow Tree pulls the needle out, and I clutch at my shoulder to stop the blood.

The Willow Tree looks at Black Fingers with wide, bright eyes. ‘I am certain, my lord, you have heard enough cries of true pain to recognize that as honest. She is not our witch.’

I don’t know what Black Fingers believes, but he doesn’t want to let me go.

The Willow Tree keeps speaking. ‘The sin eater is the Maker’s servant. I believe you once said yourself that to interfere with the Maker’s will is’ – the Willow Tree clears his throat – ‘treason.’

A vein bulges from Black Fingers’s brow. Finally, finally he gestures to the guards to allow me to pass.

As we walk down the passage, the Willow Tree speaks aloud. There’s no folk but me to hear. ‘I do believe the Maker gives signs to his most trusted servants. This fire is his sign to me that you are necessary, and, therefore, I should show you mercy.’ His flat-backed head sways side to side as he goes, his words light and easy. ‘But should you prove a danger, I will use you on the altar. A sin eater’s blood would no doubt prove a most potent offering.’

He starts up a set of stairs. I follow. My shoulder throbs where the needle stuck me, but little giggles break into my breaths.

No curse can harm me. I am a curse.