the night. But if he has a horse… I’ll rest for a few hours, I decide. And I’ll be at the gates at dawn. We’ll ride like the wind to Scarron. I can’t afford to let him beat me.
The man is walking through darkened streets, rain and wind lashing down, his cloak whipping behind him, his hood low over his face. He’s calling my name, over and over, howling it into the wind.
I don’t say anything, watching him, torn again between running to him and running from him.
Then he turns, his mouth falling open when he sees me. He stands there, immobile, while everything rages around him. Slowly he raises a hand and beckons, one gloved finger calling me to him. I watch, still undecided whether to stay or go, and he tilts his head to the side.
“Errin?” he says softly. “Please.”
Without consciously choosing to, I begin to walk towards him. His hands reach for me and he smiles. Lightning blazes above us and then I’m ten paces from him, five, then just two. I lift my own hand to take his—
Nothing. They won’t meet. There’s something between us, stopping us. We push and prod at the invisible barrier, moving up and down it, trying to find a break.
“My brother is dead,” I say. “You were right.” I drop my head, my fingers sliding down the obstacle between us.
“Where are you?” he says. “Why can’t I get to you?”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Where I’ve always been.”
“I’m in Tremayne,” I say, and immediately regret it. Now he’ll know I’m nearly there.
The pale blur of his face turns towards the dark sky. “Tremayne,” he whispers, the wind stealing the word away the moment it’s left his lips. He looks back at me. “Why?”
I turn away from the barrier between us, ignoring him as he calls after me, his voice becoming lost to the storm.
I wake to the sound of soft snores from the floor beside the bed. I roll on to my back and stretch out, sighing at the feeling of the bed beneath me. It’s the first time since we left the farm that I’ve slept in an actual bed and it’s so soft, so welcoming. It’s like being held, and I revel in it, wriggling into the centre and making a hollow with my body.
Around an hour later I’m still wide awake, staring upwards, annoyed by Lirys’s snoring and her ability to remain asleep. The bed – such a luxury after the pallets and floors I’ve been sleeping on – is too soft. I’ve tried lying in every possible position but I feel unsupported by the feathers, feel as though I’m sinking into them. I know then that I’m finished sleeping for tonight, and push back the covers, sliding my feet to the cold wooden floor. Using the bed as a guide, my fingers stretched out before me, I walk to the window and crack the shutters to peer out. Dark. Still. No sign of dawn.
Closing the shutters, I creep back across the room and pull Lirys’s robe from the back of the door, before opening it and slipping out. The cottage is silent as I pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, the slate tiles chilly beneath me. I light a taper from the stove, touching the flaming tip to the candles atop the mantelpiece and then crossing to the pantry. My stomach rumbles, horribly loud in the silence of the night; I slept through dinner.
Hoping the Dapplewoods won’t mind, I help myself to cold chicken, bread and butter, and pour myself a large tumbler of milk, drinking it in three gulps before pouring another. I take my meal to the table and sit in the seat I’ve sat in my whole life in this house, feet curled under me to keep them warm.
I am tearing chicken from the bone when I hear someone behind me.
Carys Dapplewood walks past, opening the larder and fetching herself a tumbler of milk, before sitting opposite me. I chew the meat and swallow, waiting.
“Lirys says your brother is dead,” she says after a while. “I’m so sorry, Errin. He was a special, silly, funny boy. I was very fond of him. We all were.”
I shake my head, pushing down the wave of grief. She knew Lief. Everyone here knew Lief. I can’t breathe for being reminded of him.
“Your brother, Gods keep him, was proud. You are too. I pray you’re more careful than he was.” Despite the harshness of her words they’re