There’s a strange silence between her words, and the light filters through old windows almost like mist. There is no sniggering, no shuffling or whispering – just her warrior voice blooming through us all, speaking of the greatest bonds between trees and ancient heroes. I watch as the scenes come to life on the wall by her side, as she twists from the images to us, her hands spread, her eyes flashing.
I need to know about that legend.
‘Nan!’ I clatter into the kitchen, and she blooms through the fireplace, bright eyed. Teacake is perched on the hearth by the embers of this morning’s fire, and Peg is swinging from the copper chandelier, eating tiny fish from a little porcelain dish.
‘Yes, dear?’
‘What is this about a Lost Prince?’
Peg chokes on his fish, and the dish crashes down towards the table. Nan catches it, and then settles herself at the table, gesturing for me to join her.
‘Haven’t you worked that out?’ she asks.
‘But you’ve never told me anything about it!’
‘I needed to hide you,’ she says. ‘From your father, and from the shadows. From all of the fae, for goodness knows none of them can keep a secret. So I hid us here, and I glamoured us all . . . and I left behind me the legend of the Lost Prince. So that they would know we had not forgotten them, and so that if they should ever catch a glimpse of a small brown-haired girl playing near the forest, should my glamour fail for even a moment, they would not suspect. You are the Lost Prince they speak of. But –’ her eyes narrow – ‘how do you know about this, Estelle?’
‘It was just . . . something I picked up.’ I wince, realizing too late that I’ve given myself away. She only calls me Estelle when I’ve done something wrong.
‘Pardon?’
‘There’s lots of talk about Winterspell at school,’ I say. ‘I mean, there’s bound to be. It’s right on the doorstep of the village, and they think it’s haunted. The kids talk about the strange lights, and the sounds of battle . . . How they have to avoid the whole place. And the legend of the Lost Prince . . .’
Peg glowers, but he doesn’t say anything, and Nan seems to be satisfied with my rushed explanation.
‘People talk.’ She nods. ‘And so close to Winterspell, there has always been fae blood in the village. People with a little magic, a little faith in what they can’t see – like Mrs Mandrake. I suppose it’s no surprise the children would have heard the legend.’
‘Lost Prince,’ I say, looking down at myself. ‘Oh, Nan.’
‘You’ll see.’ She smiles. ‘Just give it time, my love.’
But she obviously doesn’t know how bad it is in there for the fae. She’s been away so long, she doesn’t know they send their children out to a human school just to give them a chance of a future. She’s spun them a lie about a Lost Prince, but he’ll never come for them. I don’t have that kind of magic, that kind of power.
I don’t belong in there at all.
14
The week rushes past in a tumble of falling autumn leaves, bitter frosty mornings, and the dash from lesson to lesson, from magic to non-magic, from ancient legends to the tinkle of glass beakers in science lessons. By Thursday morning, my head is buzzing. Assembly is fraught with tension after another bad night in the forest, and Tash is looking more venomous by the day. Yanny stays close, but he looks troubled, and I cannot keep this up.
Of course I can’t. Ever since I heard of Nan’s ridiculous legend, it’s been haunting me. How can I let them wait for something that doesn’t exist? That will never come to pass?
‘What’s going on with you?’ Yanny asks as we scramble up from our seats after a grim-faced lecture from Principal Ashworth about staying out of the forest canopy. The gathering winter, he told us, has made it more brittle than ever, and shadows are waiting to catch those who fall. Playing up in the higher branches, we were warned, is strictly forbidden. ‘I know this stuff might not seem important to you, but you should know it anyway. If you’re ever in Winterspell, it could save your life. Did you even hear a word of what he said?’
‘Of course!’ I say. ‘I was just . . . I was distracted. Sorry.’ I take a deep breath while Yanny stares at me. ‘I need to tell you something.’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘But not here.’
He pauses at the door by the charms to settle his glamour over himself. It’s a bit of a struggle, by the look of it. Tash glares at me, and he turns to talk to her in a lowered tone that sounds part angry, part reassuring.
‘Later, then,’ I say, leaving them to it, feeling guilty. I can see how it strains them all to hide their best, most magical features.
Would people really be that horrified if they saw Yanny for who he really is? Or me, for that matter? What is the difference in me? What am I, underneath Nan’s glamour? I’m starting to wonder if I’m the monster my father is. Why have I let this carry on? Why didn’t I tell Yanny right from the start?
Because I was afraid.
I dig my nails into my palms and swear to myself that I won’t waste another moment, but Zara is hovering when I get downstairs, and she spots me as soon as my feet land on the shining wood floor.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Stella!’ she says. ‘There you are. Did you get past me? I’ve been here for ages!’
‘I didn’t see you. I got swept in the tide.’
She seems to accept it easily enough, and we head off to tutorial, and for a while, I think I’m going to get away with it. But Zara is no fool. And Yanny knows now that I’ve got something to tell him, so his eyes blaze every time he looks at me.
By lunchtime, it’s clear to Zara that something is going on, and I don’t know how to steer us all back in the right direction.
‘What?’ she demands, once Yanny is done hoovering up all our food. ‘What’s up with you two?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, focusing on very neatly refolding the wax paper I’d wrapped my sandwiches in.
Zara scowls at us and folds her arms.
‘It’s fine,’ Yanny says through a yawn. ‘My mum knows Stella’s nan, and she’s invited them both for tea tonight. And Stella’s just worried that you’ll feel left out.’
‘Oh!’ says Zara. ‘How weird that they knew each other all along! Did you know, Stella?’
‘No!’ I squeak.
‘Well of course I don’t mind,’ she says, looking between us with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She packs up her lunchbox, taking a really long time to file away all the little pots. ‘Maybe we could all do tea together another time?’
‘Yes,’ I say, relief coursing through me as her face brightens. ‘Come to mine next week. I’ll check it out with Nan, but I know she’s really keen to meet you.’
It should be OK. As long as Peg stays a bird, and Nan stays in her chair . . .
After school, I head back towards home with Yanny. Zara waved us off cheerfully enough, and we live in the same direction, so the lie looks true enough. I’ve promised to talk to him, but the words won’t come, and the further we go, the harder it gets, until even my footsteps are clumsy, and the space between us is full of tension.
‘Are you waiting for a written invitation?’ he bursts out eventually, as we reach the lane by my house. His eyes are brighter, his hair glints with gold strands, and the shadow wings are just about visible against the darkening day.