Laha and Bertie stood at the opening of the tent. It was made from heavily worn and patched canvas. It was the kind of tent one might expect Kengian travellers to use – wandering folk who went from town to town peddling trinkets and trades. There was no indication of what or who may be inside, but the closer they’d got to the tent, the more the glowing heat within Laha had grown.

‘I don’t think we should go inside…’ Bertie said. ‘Whoever they are, they shouldn’t be here, and they might be danger—’

But Laha already had one hand on the tent opening and was pulling it aside.

She stepped inside with a grumbling Bertie on her heels. ‘This is not a good idea,’ he whispered into the blackness as he followed Laha into the tent. It was pitch-dark except for a few shafts of light coming through unpatched holes in the canvas. ‘Not a good idea,’ Bertie repeated in a low whisper.

‘Too late now,’ Laha said as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

She could just make out the shape of a small, hooded figure seated at a table by a central post made from a roughly hewn tree trunk. On the table was a single lit candle. The tent was otherwise empty.

‘I’ve been expecting you.’

The woman spoke in a voice that was neither young nor old, and she had a strange accent. It seemed Kengian, but wasn’t a regional intonation Laha recognised.

‘Please, take a seat.’

Sure enough, there were two seats opposite the woman, as if she truly had been waiting for them.

‘I have something for you.’ It wasn’t clear which one of them the woman was speaking to.

‘What are you doing here?’ Bertie asked abruptly.

The woman laughed gaily. ‘I am here to help you.’

‘How?’ Laha asked.

‘However you need.’

‘You are on private property – my father the King’s property,’ Bertie said. ‘I demand to know your business.’

The woman took a moment’s pause, as if considering her answer. ‘I’m a traveller from Kengia. I provide herbs, tonics and natural remedies to anyone in need.’

‘What, then, do you have for us?’ Bertie demanded.

The woman leant forward in her chair, her face catching the light. A face with fine features, framed by long, raven hair. A shimmering quality to her skin. Silver eyes. It was hard to tell her age – in any case, she was beautiful. And there was something faintly familiar about her…

Her rosebud lips twitched a moment before forming a ghost of a smile. ‘You could do with learning some patience…but since you can’t wait, here it is.’

She waved a gloved hand at a parchment piece on the table – Laha could have sworn it hadn’t been there before.

Bertie snatched it up and examined both sides, frowning. ‘But there’s nothing on it.’

The woman’s smile grew. She murmured some Kengian words. ‘Isn’t there?’

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They both looked this time, and suddenly words started to appear.

Laha’s heart raced. The woman had used a Kengian protection spell. Spells could only be used by some Kengians – the most powerful…No, she thought. Laha knew every Kengian capable of such magic – knew them personally from her time at the Institute. This woman was using simple trickery, illusions.

Why, then, was Laha’s body still tingling?

She leant over Bertie’s shoulder and read what was written.

Darkness and defeat, a King is to blame;

A regime must fall for everything to change.

Heed the three signs by looking to the skies:

The first will be seen in a blood moon’s rise.

On the brink of war, the next is firesky:

Promises of destruction, many sure to die.

An empire’s fate uncertain, until comes the third:

A catcher of water. Kengia’s firstborn returned.

Hopes will be tested; some will be betrayed.

Fire or water – the choice must be made.

Bertie’s fingers tightened around the parchment. ‘It’s a prophecy!’

The woman waved her hand. ‘If you will.’

Laha snickered. A supposed ‘prophecy’ meant nothing unless it came from a highly trained Shaman or a Firemaster who had actual abilities to see the future. This woman had just jumbled together a few cryptic words in an attempt to earn some coin.

‘It’s not a prophecy, Bertie. She’s just a traveller peddling made-up fortunes.’

Bertie’s brow furrowed as he read and re-read what was written on the parchment. He looked up at Laha, his face deathly white. ‘But it says a regime will falter, that there will be darkness and defeat.’ He turned to the traveller, waving the parchment at her. ‘What does this mean? That Lamore will fall under my father?’

The woman swished her hand across the table and a crystal ball appeared.

Bertie gasped, but Laha snickered again. Sleight of hand – simple tricks anyone could learn, with time.

The woman appeared unperturbed by Laha and stared intently into the ball. ‘No…the regime will not fall under your father.’

‘Who, then?’ Bertie’s voice rose. ‘My brother?’

The woman flicked her fingers across the ball and frowned. ‘That remains to be seen.’

Bertie’s hands were shaking now as he gripped the parchment even tighter.

Laha put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t listen to her. You and I know real magic – the magic needed for divining the future – and this is not it.’

Bertie stared into her eyes, seeking reassurance.

‘The woman’s a fraud,’ Laha said with certainty.

The traveller stood up abruptly. ‘Hold your tongue,’ she hissed.

Laha stepped toward her. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

A smirk tugged at the corner of the traveller’s mouth. ‘You should be,’ she said, then flung the cloak from her shoulders.

She was dressed head-to-toe in black, from her corseted bodice with its high-necked collar and lapels to her front skirt, fitted breeches and knee-high boots. Her black gloves extended all the way to her elbows – her upper arms bare except for a band of lace. Completing the woman’s ensemble were bunches of what looked like raven feathers sprouting from her shoulders and wrists.

The traveller murmured some old Kyprian words that Laha didn’t fully recognise.

‘The post!’ Bertie pointed to the trunk supporting the centre of the tent. It had burst to life. Shoots of green sprung from the trunk, forming a vine. Leafy tendrils raced along the ground, skirting Laha’s boots and heading for Bertie.

Laha, the Prince mouthed. He appeared frozen to the spot.

‘Stop it,’ Laha ordered the woman.

The traveller kept murmuring, the vines reaching Bertie and wrapping around his ankles.

‘Enough!’ she yelled, to no avail. Laha tried to call on something in the natural world to help her, but nothing happened.

Bertie’s eyes widened in terror as the vines encircled his legs.

‘Leave him alone!’

The woman stopped murmuring and turned to Laha. ‘He’s of no importance.’

The ball of energy inside Laha flared in anger. ‘He’s important to me!’

The woman compressed her lips and started murmuring again.

‘I said, enough!’ Laha screamed. Instinctively her hands pointed to the candle on the table, and with a flick of her wrist it tipped to the floor. A ring of fire sprang up around the woman.

She crowed with laughter as the vines withered away.

Laha yanked a dazed Bertie from what was left of his leafy shackles. She ripped the parchment from his hands and threw it into the flames, then dragged him from the tent. Outside in the sunshine, Bertie blinked rapidly, as if waking from a bad dream.

‘Can you run?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘Good.’ Laha took his arm and they sprinted away from the tent, the woman’s cackling still ringing in their ears.