Claire didn’t remember much of the journey except whiteness, fog and an icy clutch in her lungs. She found herself, seemingly seconds later, lying on rough ground. Lotte sat beside her with the Crian nowhere in sight. She looked up, amazed to find they were on the path that led to Dorran Manor. She saw the outer palisades, the gates … and smoke rising from inside the compound.

She twisted to face Lotte. “Something’s wrong.” Claire blinked. Lotte’s skin had healed on the journey; it was now clean and white instead of scarred and covered in burns, though her clothes were still filthy and ragged.

“Where’re we?” Lotte touched Claire’s arm, which was also clean and unblemished.

“The Crian spirited me home,” Claire said, shocked. “She must have sent you too, because she thought you’d be safe with me.” She heard clashes and strained to listen. It sounded like metal striking metal, like people training on a battlefield in a movie or … Screams punctuated the air. Claire sat up straight. “My family needs help. Can’t you hear it? I’m going in.”

“Wha— but I can’t follow ya there. They’ll finish me off.” Lotte sounded on the verge of tears. “Them’s the one’s that murdered my family.”

Claire stood up as a new theory formed. “I don’t think it was Dorran House that attacked you,” she said. “It’s easy to dress up as someone else, and when I think about it, I didn’t smell Dorran magic at the village or the camp. Whoever got you is after my people now. That must be what the Crian meant by danger and death. I have to help them!”

She turned and ran up the hill, all her aches and pains gone, all her energy miraculously returned. The gates were open with no one standing guard. The sound of fighting was louder; from this proximity, the screams and the wailing became more urgent. Claire pressed herself against the wall inside the gateway, peering in. Tears prickled as she thought of her grandfather, Aed, Meghan, Rael and Kiera.

From behind her came the sound of footsteps, and she turned as a hand slipped into hers. “If I help ya, will yer people reward me? A handful of coins would gimme a chance to start again,” Lotte whispered with a sniff, her face scared and pinched, but also determined.

“Yes, whatever you want. I have to get closer. People I care about are in there.”

“Careful,” Lotte said, but she edged alongside Claire through the gateway, past the smouldering buildings, the horses bolting this way and that, past the granary, past the dye vats, past the storage sheds, past the dead servitors, past the stamped earth and flattened grass.

The sound of battle grew louder the closer they got to the entrance of the Manor itself. Claire’s mind filled with images of metal piercing and tearing flesh, the sound of fists striking skin, of the sickening crunch and snap as someone was thrust against stone or fell on the rosy flagstones. Maen can blast any intruder, and Rael trains his soldiers every day for something like this, she told herself. So why, a doubting voice insisted, are people dead in the outer compound and Dorran buildings in ruins?

Panic gripped as she ran for the great doors, but Lotte pulled her wrist out of Claire’s grasp, forcing Claire to slow. Lotte pointed at a bush to their left, pressed against the Manor wall, then hurried over to it.

She waited for Claire to join her. “This gives us a bit of cover while we talk. We can’t just barge through those doors. We ain’t got no weapons and no idea of what’s really goin’ on.” She wiped her nose. “Do ya wanna end up like Jan, my mam and da?”

“My grandfather,” Claire began through clenched teeth, “I can’t leave him. Not when I know he’s in trouble.” She paused, in her mind adding, and his people are my best chance of finding Marcus.

Lotte blocked Claire’s way. “Calm yerself, stop and think. Let’s move up the side of the building an’ find a place to scale a wall or a quieter entrance. We need to know what’s goin’ on. If we walk in the front door whoever’s attacking will catch us right away.” She gripped Claire’s wrist. “I’ve survived when the rest of my family hasn’t. I gotta make that count for something, an’ walking into a death trap ain’t my idea of it.”

“I don’t have time to chat. My family are getting killed in there,” Claire hissed, then immediately wished she could take it back. At least Mum and Dad were safe in Shale. Lotte had lost everyone.

The exile looked like she’d been slapped. “Claire, listen. We gotta be sensible. I can’t lose ya now.” She flushed and looked away. “Yer right; yer all I’ve got.”

A fireball the size of a soccer ball illuminated the sky, coming from one of the outhouse buildings. New cries punctuated the sound of weapons clashing.

What the heck is going on? Claire closed her eyes, trying to formulate a plan. “We should head to our right. There’s a walled garden the kitchens use. We can scale the wall and get inside the Manor that way.”

Lotte tugged at Claire’s scarf. “Lemme tie this about your hair; bright as a flame, it is. That way if people are killing Dorrans they won’t recognise ya,” she said as she tied the silken fabric around Claire’s head. “The granddaughter of Lord Dorran would be a grand prize.” Then Lotte picked at her own undyed woollen tunic. “Gimme your cloak so yer people won’t know I’m an exile.” She waited as Claire did as she asked, then bent down and rubbed her palms in the dirt, drawing upright to rub it into Claire’s cheeks and forehead. She bent a second time and did the same for herself.

“Right. This way,” Claire said. She took an uncertain step forward as a second smaller fireball missed her by inches.

She threw herself to the ground, mouth half full of dirt, as a third landed right in front of her. Her heart pounded as she extinguished another with magic before it could land on her head. Someone must have spotted them. They had to move. Fast.

Lotte flung herself beside Claire as new bursts of light flickered above them.

“Hurry,” Claire whispered, scrambling back to her feet, her hand outstretched as she shifted fire magic away from them both. Lotte let herself be hauled upright and dragged along the side of the Manor. At last, they reached the right-hand side of the building, where creepers draped against a stone balustrade concealed the kitchen garden from view. “You go first. I’ll cover for you,” Claire said.

Lotte climbed up the vines in a flash, her feet and hands rustling against the leaves. Soon, Claire could barely see her. The exile summoned Claire with a soft hoot, like an owl. It must be safe wherever Lotte was inside, or at least it was for the time being. Muscles straining, Claire gripped the vines with her hands and crept up slowly using her feet and knees to climb as well. With agonizing care, she clambered from the vines onto the edge of the walled garden and swung both legs over, jumping onto the soft grass below.

Lotte waved from where she waited a few feet away. “I think most of the noise is comin’ from the entrance. Mebbe yer people are tryin’ to get out? If we can get to their attackers from behind, we might be able to stop them with yer magic.” She paused. “What will ya do if the people attacking are farmers upset about what we saw yesterday, if Dorran House were responsible and this is the result?”

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Claire hadn’t thought of that. “I have to help them anyway. They’re my relations, but then when it’s all over, I’ll demand the truth and decide what to do next.” She gripped Lotte’s hand. “Either way, I’ll make sure you get your money. It’s the least I can do. Let’s go. We should hurry. Try to stay in the shadows.”

They tiptoed through the Manor, diving behind alcoves whenever they saw a man or woman with a sword scurrying past wearing browns and greys and blues. Claire remembered the colour scheme from lessons with her grandfather and Eidan’s visit; they were Eidan’s people from Kelnariat. Claire didn’t know what to think. They were allies of Dorran House, so maybe they were trying to help her grandfather and Lotte was correct about angry villagers. She didn’t want to believe it.

Raised voices echoed down the passageway. They were almost at the Throne Room. Claire pushed herself into a dark corner, dragging Lotte beside her.

“Don’t kill him!” a voice, Gwenivere’s, called out, firm and commanding.

“Be silent,” a man answered. Claire recognised his voice immediately. It was Eidan.

“The Council does not harm a man who has surrendered,” Gwenivere insisted. “Think, Councillor.”

“Dorran has betrayed us,” Eidan replied. “He helped his granddaughter escape, knowing that it was her who would betray us all. It was a Dorran who began the Rift and a Dorran who is continuing to let it destroy my world and yours.”

Claire put a shaking hand to her chest, breath catching. What a mess. Eidan’s misunderstanding could destroy Dorran House and it will be my fault for running away. She sidled closer to the door, a single salamander suddenly appearing overhead to point frantically towards the Throne Room. I know, little fellow, she thought. I’ll do my best to help everyone inside.

“Take him back to Kelnariat, Councillor,” Gwenivere was reasoning. “Let the Council hear his case in a fair trial. Fairness is what your government is about. That’s what makes you different from the corrupt days of Selk.” Her voice softened. “I know you are upset, but don’t let emotion cloud your judgement. Give him a chance to explain.”

Claire was filled with a sudden warmth for the usually distant Dream Mage. She prayed Eidan would listen. She edged closer to the doorway, holding up a hand to signal that Lotte should remain in hiding, hoping at the same time that no one would turn the corner and find her eavesdropping.

Eidan’s tone brooked no argument. “Don’t question me, Gwenivere.”

Someone, probably Eidan, made a kind of clicking sound, like fingers snapping. Something else banged against the flagstones. Boots, Claire realised.

“Seize her,” Eidan commanded, “while I kill him.”

The blood rushed to Claire’s head. She couldn’t just stand by as Eidan murdered a member of her family.

“No,” she shrieked, running towards the Throne Room doors before Lotte could reach out and stop her. “You can’t.”

She stumbled into the Throne Room to see two guards restraining Gwenivere while Eidan perched on her grandfather’s throne, a sword sitting lazily across his lap. Lord Dorran slumped before him, face to the ground. Blood trickled out of one ear. Another salamander, unseen by everyone in the room but Claire, patted at the sticky substance in confusion, then dug webbed toes into her grandfather’s arms. There was no response. Claire wanted to run and fling her arms around her grandfather, but something stopped her. His hair wasn’t quite dark enough and his ears were too wide and long. It wasn’t Lord Dorran before her, but her great-uncle, Aed.

Hope surged. Had Lord Dorran escaped after all? But new grief washed over her. Aed had been kind to her. His life was just as important. She flung herself at his side, careful to avoid squashing the salamander now curled against his neck.

Eidan looked at Claire lazily. “And which scullery lass are you?”

Claire’s hair was still covered beneath the tightly wound scarf Lotte had arranged before they’d mounted their rescue effort. Her face was covered in the dirt and soot of her recent adventures. Her own mother would be hard put to recognise her without a second glance. No wonder Eidan thought her a servant.

She opened her mouth to introduce herself and start explaining, but something in his too-hungry expression stopped her. In spite of his lazy voice, he had a madness to his eyes that reminded her of a wild dog. Maybe he didn’t need to know who she was just yet. “I beg you, Lord Eidan, let Lord Dorran go free. He’s not guilty of whatever crime you think. Someone’s been telling lies.”

He sneered. “How can you be sure?”

“I saw Lady Claire run away,” she half lied. “She had no help.”

He considered her for a moment. “A convenient tale,” he said, getting to his feet with sword in hand. “How much money did Lord Dorran pay you to spread it?”

“None,” she said, tears threatening to overwhelm her. “Please believe me, Sir.”

Eidan grinned as he neared Aed. She froze as he roughly flipped her great-uncle onto his back, the salamander scuttling along the floor as Eidan bent, sword pointing over his stomach. Behind him, Gwenivere screamed. Claire had to do something and fast. She reached within for fire, aiming for Eidan’s cloak. As smoke unfurled from its end, she heard his sword plunge, Aed grunt and then a wet squelching sound as the metal blade came back into view dripping red, breaking Claire’s concentration.

“Kill Gwenivere and the girl,” Eidan said, turning away from Aed’s body and striding towards the door.

There was no time to lose – Claire estimated the distance between herself and the two men holding Gwenivere. “Dodge!” she screamed at the dazed Dream Mage, as she hurled flames a metre in front of their feet.

One of the guards shoved Gwenivere to her knees as he ran through the door after Eidan. The other dropped to the ground, rolling sparks out of his shirt sleeve, then he too was up and out through the doorway. Gwenivere crawled along the ground, coughing, to escape from the flames. Claire raced forward, gripping Gwenivere under the arms and hauling her to her feet. “Let’s go!” she screamed.

She raced out of the Throne Room to the corner where she’d left Lotte. The exile had slid to the flagstones, tears staining her cheeks.

“It’s OK. They didn’t get me,” Claire said, “but we have to move. Eidan’s mad! There’s no way he’ll listen to reason.”

“Hurry!” came an urgent voice came from around the corner. “There are at least five of his men to every one of ours.” Then the owner of the voice appeared: Rael.

Claire simply stared as a small group in Dorran colours followed him. Her breath came out in a rush of recognition. Kiera, Maen and Meghan were among them; at least they had survived the initial attack. Seven salamanders swam through the air in their wake, sparking orange-red and gold.

Rael gestured to one of his guards and the pair peeled away to peer through the door of the Throne Room.

“Eidan’s already gone,” Claire called out. “The body on the floor is Aed. I don’t know where Lord Dorran is.”

Rael spun around, then acknowledged her with a brief nod. “Follow us! Move!” he said, as he led the way down a hall, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

Claire tried to ignore the dead bodies littering the corridor, bewildered salamanders crawling everywhere. Rael led them through an arched doorway that led outside. They picked their way through overturned carts, discarded baskets and yet more bodies, stopping when they reached the fortification wall.

“Blast on my count,” Maen shouted, taking Rael’s place at the head of the group.

Heavy boots clattered behind them. There was no time to ask questions.

Claire stepped forward with Rael, Kiera and Meghan. Maen held up fingers as he counted, “One, two, three.”

She closed her eyes and called up the biggest fireball she could manage in unison with the others. Boom. The impact pushed her backward as sudden heat flushed her face, arms, legs.

“Help move the wreckage,” Maen called. He stood to one side, working a new spell.

Claire guessed he was cooling the fire-blasted bricks. She rushed forward with everyone else, eagerly throwing debris out of their way alongside Lotte. Within seconds, they’d made a hole big enough for people to clamber through.

“Go,” Maen said, waving Gwenivere forward.

Claire helped Gwenivere and then Kiera through the gap in the wall. She choked on smoke as she dived through herself, eyes smarting from fumes, but she made it to the other side with little more than a graze.

They were at the back of the Manor enclosure. Many of the escapees were already descending the hill through a field of flame-red poppies that only ended at the edge of the thick forest. Embers from the blast flickered around them, but she and Maen quickly had them out.

So much fire in two days, she thought. If I ever get home, I’ll get an instant job as a firefighter. Giggles escaped before she could stop them.

Maen glanced at her as he directed the last of the party down the slope. “Head for the forest,” he instructed.

Claire swallowed, anxious to know about her grandfather. “Is Lord Dorran—”

But Maen shook his head, taking her arm and guiding her hurriedly after the rest of the group. “He’s no longer with us.”