‘All the Queen’s requests come through the kitchen clerk, milady,’ says the cook. ‘For the Queen’s safety.’ He gives her a good look over. ‘What’s your name, milady?’

The woman turns so her coif blocks her face. ‘You would make the Queen wait upon you? She’ll have your head.’ Her words are strong, but they smell like rot.

The cook hesitates, and the woman goes hastily towards the main tent – and the Queen – the syllabub dish still in her hands. With one painful step, I reach out as she passes and knock the dish from her hands onto the floor.

She drops to her knees as if she can salvage the custard. I still haven’t seen her face, but the cook must have done because he says, ‘You’re Lady Katryna’s daughter, Maker keep her soul, aren’t you? Lady Miranda!’

The woman’s coif whips up at her name. She leaves the syllabub and makes for the door to the field. A moment later she’s gone.

The daughter of Lady Katryna and Baron Seymaur. The Painted Pig spoke of her. Katryna died in childbirth and Seymaur was executed as a traitor. Their daughter would have had her title and inheritance seized by the throne. It comes to me that this Lady Miranda has a very good reason to hate the Queen.

The head cook squats over the syllabub and spoons a bit into his mouth. He spits it out.

‘What is it?’ asks one of the lower cooks.

‘Tastes off. Could be poison,’ he answers with hard in his voice. ‘Get the Queen’s secretary.’ Black Fingers.

That’s when I follow Lady Miranda out of the tent at a run.

31. GRISTLE

MIRANDA’S BODY IS dark against the low light of the field kitchen pit fires. She’s running, but not very well. It’s dark, and the field’s uneven. And she’s no doubt accustomed to flagged stone beneath her slippered feet.

I veer away from her. I’m not running well either. My ankle keeps me stumbling. But the jakes aren’t far. They’ll give me some cover, and from there I’ll make my way across the field and towards town. All I know is, I want to stay away from Miranda. With luck, Black Fingers’ll go towards her first.

It’s as I’m rounding the corner of the jakes that I hear his voice. ‘Milady? How now? What’s happened?’ I look back to the field kitchen. His arm is still wrapped in a cloth. The Country Mouse.

I should keep going. I should break for the edge of the field before Black Fingers and his guards swarm out of the tent. But he’s alone with a killer. My breath comes fast and hard. Grass tickles against my swelling ankle.

‘What – why are you here?’ Miranda says.