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  ‘Was it stuck?’ asked the woman, as she ushered Rhosmari in. ‘That’s a funny thing, it’s never done that before.’ But she spoke cheerfully, and her expression was kind. Heartened, Rhosmari showed her the necklace.

  ‘Good heavens, that’s a lovely piece,’ said the woman. ‘And antique, too. I don’t know anyone in St David’s who could give you the price of it. You’ll be better to take it to Haverfordwest at least, if not Swansea or Cardiff—’

  ‘I need the money now,’ said Rhosmari. ‘Please. I’ll take whatever you can give me for it.’

  The woman looked from the pearls to Rhosmari and back again, her brow creasing. ‘You’re in trouble, are you, dear?’

  Rhosmari bristled, but the woman held up a hand. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t mean to interfere. But it would help me to decide, if I knew why you needed the money so badly.’

  ‘I have to get to London,’ said Rhosmari. ‘It’s important. And urgent.’

  ‘Do you have friends there? Relatives who can look after you?’

  ‘Not in London,’ Rhosmari told her. ‘But…I know some people who live not far from there. In a place called Aynsbridge…’

  A bird fluttered against the window as she spoke, distracting her. But by the time she glanced around, it was gone. She turned back to the woman and finished, ‘That’s where I have to go.’

  Fortunately, those details were enough to put the shopkeeper at ease. She named a price that she could afford to pay, though she warned that it was far less than the necklace was worth, and assured Rhosmari that if she returned to the shop within six weeks she would give her the chance to buy it back again. Relieved, Rhosmari accepted the money, expressed her gratitude as best she could without actually saying thank you – for faeries did not say those sacred words unless it was a matter of life and death – and left the shop with a lighter heart.

  She was crossing the square on her way towards the City Hall – the woman had told her she could catch a bus to Haverfordwest from there – when she heard it. Cark, came the rasping cry, and when Rhosmari looked up there were two ravens perched on the tall, circle-framed cross at the centre of the square.

  There was nothing unusual about that, at first glance. But as their unblinking gaze met Rhosmari’s, apprehension shivered through her. Those were not ordinary birds – they were faeries, male faeries, in raven shape.

  Yet they were not members of the Council Guard, or anyone else she recognised. That ought to have reassured her, but she could not help feeling uneasy just the same. On their way to the Green Isles, Timothy and Linden had been pursued by two raven brothers who served the Empress. What if these were the same Blackwings, come to capture Rhosmari and take her to their mistress?

  But no, she was being ridiculous. According to Linden, few of the mainland faeries had even heard of the Children of Rhys, and still fewer believed in their existence. There was no reason that Corbin and Byrne Blackwing should be interested in Rhosmari at all, let alone pursue her.

  Just then a smaller bird flashed across the square, tiny as a flung stone, and in a shirr of black feathers the ravens launched themselves after it. In seconds all three of them had vanished, and Rhosmari was alone.

  After that unsettling experience, Rhosmari did not linger in St David’s even long enough to eat, let alone buy gloves for her cold-cramped hands. When the next bus left for Haverfordwest, she was on it.

  Crowded by humans on both sides, nose wrinkling at the meaty pungency of their smell, she sat stiffly in the back of the bus as it skirted the coast and squeezed its way through the little towns of Solva and Newgale. But she soon forgot her discomfort, as every passing mile and every curve of the highway brought new and entrancing sights before her eyes. It amazed her that the human world could be so unpleasant in some ways, yet so beautiful in others.

  At last the bus reached Haverfordwest railway station, and the door wheezed open to let them out. Most of the passengers headed straight inside, but Rhosmari hesitated. Her studies had taught her about the existence of trains and even a little of how they worked, but no faery she knew had ever ridden one.

  Still, it was the fastest way to get where she was going. Rhosmari followed the last few humans into the station, watching and listening as they paid for their journeys. Then she stepped up and did likewise, and soon emerged onto the platform with ticket in hand. But apprehension had stolen away her hunger, and when a rich smell of meat and pastry wafted out of the nearby cafe she found herself edging away from it, nauseated.

  As the crowd on the platform swelled from a few to many, the atmosphere became charged with expectation. But instead of gazing down the track like the rest of them, the human beside Rhosmari kept looking at the sky. Was it about to rain? Automatically she followed his gaze – and her heart jolted. Two ravens were flapping towards the platform, their wingbeats purposeful and sure.

  And they were angling straight for her.

  She must not panic. She must stay just where she was, and behave as though she had no reason to fear. Even if they were the same ravens she had seen in St David’s earlier, they might not mean any harm. Perhaps they only wanted to observe her a little more closely.

  The ravens swooped lower, and Rhosmari braced herself for a confrontation – but then they veered away over the rooftops, out of her sight. Had she been mistaken? Had they just been ordinary birds after all?

  A hand clamped around her arm, jerking her back beneath the station overhang. She cried out – but the sound went nowhere. Someone had cast a spell of silence over her, and there was nothing she could do to break it.

  A lean body pressed against her back, and she smelled the sharp evergreen scent of an unfamiliar faery. His lips moved beside her ear, breathing an urgent whisper:

  ‘Help me.’

  Startled, Rhosmari twisted to face the stranger. He was a wiry-built male not much taller than herself, with sharp features and pale hair slanting across his forehead. There were grey shadows beneath his greyer eyes, and his cheeks looked hollow with hunger.

  ‘Hide me from the Blackwings,’ he begged. ‘I will give you whatever you ask for, do anything in my power to repay you, but do not let them take me. Please.’

  Rhosmari’s insides went cold. So the ravens were the Empress’s servants, after all. But were they only chasing this wild-eyed stranger, or did they want her as well? It was hard to believe that they would have followed her all the way from St David’s to Haverfordwest merely by coincidence…

  She was still trying to decide what to do when the Blackwings stepped onto the platform in human shape, twin brothers with raven hair and the menacing grace of veteran hunters. With a shared glance and a nod to each other, they began to walk in opposite directions, studying each of the passengers in turn.

  There was no more time for hesitation. ‘Stay close to me,’ Rhosmari mouthed to the stranger, and cloaked them both in the most powerful invisibility glamour she could devise. The Blackwings’ eyes slid towards them… Over them…

  And past them, without so much as a pause. Rhosmari relaxed – then tensed again, struck by fresh anxiety. The Blackwings had already seen her standing on the platform when they flew in. Now that she had disappeared, how long would it be before they guessed she was hiding the stranger?

  Distracted, she did not even hear the train approaching. But then came a metallic squeal, and the space beside the platform became a blur of carriages. The strange faery nudged her elbow, and she understood: they had to get on the train as soon as it stopped, and pray that the Blackwings did not follow.

  The train slid to a halt, doors hissing open. The humans crowded forward, and Rhosmari and her companion crept invisibly after them. They slipped inside the carriage, pressing back against the wall.

  Outside, the Blackwings paced the platform, unaware that their quarry had gone. But then the shorter of the two stopped, as though struck by realisation. His nostrils flared; he turned towards the train—

  The door sang a wavering note and whirred shut,
sealing the carriage. In seconds the train had glided away, leaving the station and the Blackwings behind.

  The blonde faery let out his breath. ‘I am in your debt. My name is Martin.’

  Which was his common name, nothing more – faeries never gave away their true names if they could help it. But still, the introduction showed a measure of trust. ‘I am called Rhosmari,’ she said.

  ‘A lovely name,’ said Martin. ‘It suits you.’

  He spoke lightly, as though the words were mere courtesy. But the look in his eyes said otherwise, and Rhosmari had to drop her gaze.

  ‘I am grateful beyond words,’ Martin went on, ‘for your willingness to help a stranger. Few faeries I know would be so generous.’ He touched a button on the wall, and another door slid open to reveal a narrow-aisled compartment lined with seats. ‘Are you hungry? Let me get you something to eat.’

  ‘I have money,’ said Rhosmari, but Martin shook his head.

  ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘The debt is mine.’ He gestured to the seats. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back.’

  Inside the compartment the air smelled stale, but at least it was warm. Rhosmari took a seat by the window, as far as she could get from the humans sharing the train with them, and let her pack slide to the floor at her feet. At first she was a little unnerved by the speed with which the countryside flashed by, but soon she began to find it comforting. Surely now it would be impossible for the Blackwings to catch up with them.

  Soon Martin returned, holding two small loaves covered in filmy wrapping. He gave one to her and sat down, casually crossing one leg over the other, as though he had ridden a train many times before. Rhosmari unwrapped her loaf and pried off the top to find it stuffed with a generous portion of white meat, some surprisingly fresh-looking greens, and a scattering of dried berries. Where had it come from? She gave Martin a questioning look, but he had already bitten into his own loaf, and she was too famished to wait any longer. She spread her hands out in blessing and began to eat.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ asked Martin, and Rhosmari nearly dropped the bread before she remembered that this was not her mother’s table.

  ‘Do what?’ she answered, when her mouth was clear. She knew there was nothing actually wrong with talking during a meal, but still she could not help feeling uncomfortable and even a little guilty.

  ‘That gesture you made before you ate. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. What does it mean?’

  How could she answer, without explaining that she was one of the Children of Rhys? ‘It’s a tradition,’ she said at last, ‘that my mother taught me. A way to show gratitude that we have something to eat.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Martin, but to her relief he did not press her further. They finished their meal in silence, and Rhosmari was just brushing the last crumbs from her skirt when the door at the end of the compartment opened and a brisk-looking man stepped in. ‘Ticket, please,’ he said to the woman on his right, and began working his way down the aisle towards them.

  Martin reached into his jacket. Rhosmari stooped to look for her own ticket, but Martin was already holding out two cards for the man’s inspection.

  ‘But I—’ she began, only to be silenced by Martin’s warning look. As soon as the man handed back the tickets and moved on, Martin gave Rhosmari a conspiratorial smile and flicked the cards with a finger. At once they turned blank, and he tucked them back into his pocket.

  So he had tricked the man? Rhosmari was speechless. She knew that male faeries had a special talent for changing the shapes of things, but she had not realised it could be used so deceitfully.

  ‘Oh, come now,’ said Martin. ‘Don’t look so shocked. You ate that sandwich I gave you readily enough.’

  So he had stolen their dinner, too. Rhosmari felt as though she had swallowed a handful of dust. But what could she do? The food was gone now, and she had no idea where it had come from. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

  Martin gave a short laugh. ‘Are you really so virtuous? How it must gall you to serve the Empress. Or…do you?’

  Rhosmari glanced at him warily. ‘Do you?’

  ‘What do you think?’ He raised his brows at her. ‘Would the Blackwings be trying to kill me if I did?’

  ‘Kill you! Why?’

  ‘Because the Empress commanded it,’ he said. ‘Why else? She ordered me to kill someone. I told her I would rather not. And when she tried to force my obedience and found she could no longer do so, she declared me a traitor and a spy.’

  Rhosmari’s fingers tightened on the arms of her seat. Could no longer do so. If Martin was free of the Empress’s control, then he must have touched the Stone of Naming. But how, and when? Did she dare ask, or would that be giving too much away?

  ‘I have a question,’ said Martin. ‘Why did you help me? Are you not afraid of what the Empress would do to you if she found out?’

  ‘I have a question first,’ said Rhosmari. ‘How did you defy the Empress?’

  Martin studied her closely, as though weighing her with his gaze. At last he said, ‘Have you heard of the Stone of Naming?’

  Even if she had been capable of lying, she could not have brought herself to do so. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you must also have heard about the Battle of Sanctuary, where Rob and his fellow rebels fought the Empress. You know Rob?’

  ‘A little,’ said Rhosmari cautiously. Rob was the one who had first told Linden and Timothy about the Stone of Naming, and urged them to look for it. Though if she remembered the story correctly – and after viewing the loreseed so many times, she ought to – Rob had not known where to find the Children of Rhys, and neither did any other faery on the mainland. Timothy had figured out that part all on his own…

  No, she was not going to start thinking about Timothy again. In a firmer voice Rhosmari said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was at Sanctuary when the battle took place,’ said Martin. ‘After the Empress and her followers fled, Rob offered the Stone to anyone who wished to be free, and of course I accepted the offer. But I was not ready to join the rebellion, so I struck out on my own.’ He gave a rueful shrug. ‘You can see how well that succeeded.’

  ‘She captured you?’

  ‘In a sense. She believed that I was still loyal to her, and I decided to play along, thinking I would soon find another chance to escape. But when I refused to kill Rob, she realised her mistake…and I have been running from the Blackwings ever since.’

  Rhosmari was silent, mulling over his words. So the Stone had last been seen in London, with Rob and the rebels. But that had been days or even weeks ago. Where was it now?

  ‘I thought at first that if I could find the rebels again, I would be safe,’ said Martin reflectively. ‘And I heard a rumour that they had gone to a place called the Oak, so I decided to look for them there. But by the time I arrived…well.’ He grimaced. ‘You know the rest of that story.’

  Apprehension flickered in Rhosmari’s chest. ‘What story?’

  ‘About the Oak, and what happened to it.’ He gave her a curious look. ‘You really have not heard?’

  Her pulse was racing now. If Garan had gone to the Oak to help Linden and her people, and then Rob had followed them there with the Stone… ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  Martin spread his hands, as though to apologise for what he was about to say. ‘The Empress attacked the Oak a few days ago, and burned it to the ground. A few of the rebels and Oakenfolk escaped, but many were captured, and the rest…are dead.’

  four

  ‘No!’ The word tore out of Rhosmari before she could stop herself. ‘The Oak destroyed? That can’t be!’

  ‘I understand,’ said Martin. ‘I could hardly believe it myself. With Rob and his rebels there, I would have expected more of a battle. But when I got to the Oakenwyld, it was already over.’

  Rhosmari’s hands were shaking. She pressed them against her thighs to still them. Had Garan been killed? Her fellow scholar Broch? Or Llwyno
g, whose common name meant fox, but who was so mild-mannered that everyone called him Llinos, a harmless little bird, instead? What of Linden, and her human friends? Timothy, and Paul, and Peri – had the Empress killed them too?

  And what had become of the Stone of Naming?

  Rhosmari squeezed her eyes shut, breathing hard. She could not afford to fall apart. She had to concentrate. She had to think.

  ‘I’ve upset you,’ said Martin. ‘I apologise. But I thought every faery in Britain must have heard the news by now. Where have you been, not to know about all this?’

  She shook her head, too distracted to answer. The Oak was gone, the rebels scattered. She had no idea where the Stone had gone, or whether she had any hope of finding it in time to forestall her mother’s plan. Perhaps she should just give up now, and turn back?

  But if she returned to the Green Isles empty-handed, that would only prove to everyone that Lady Celyn had been right, and the only way to retrieve the Stone was to send the Children of Rhys out in force…

  ‘Well,’ said Martin, ‘I know at least one thing about you now: you do not serve the Empress. And I could almost swear that you have never belonged to her, unlikely as that seems.’ He leaned closer. ‘So why leave the safety of your Wyld, if you have managed to avoid the Empress until now?’

  Rhosmari kept silent, but Martin persisted. ‘You obviously wanted the Oakenfolk and the rebels to succeed. Was that why you were travelling this way? Were you hoping to join the rebellion, and fight with them?’

  ‘Fight? No!’ Of course she felt sorry for the Empress’s slaves, and would like to see them freed. But only the Stone of Naming could do that, not violence and bloodshed.

  Although, if she found the Stone and took it back to the Green Isles, the mainland faeries would never have the chance to use it…

  Rhosmari rubbed wearily at the bridge of her nose. Why did everything have to be so complicated? ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I only wanted to find someone who left our Wyld to join the rebels, and ask him for – for help.’