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papers to prove this?’
    ‘In my saddlebag,’ Rhiannon answered. ‘Back with my mare.’
    ‘Handy.’
    ‘Where else would I keep them?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘I had to carry Roden, I couldna be groping around in my bags in the pitch-black looking for a bit o’ paper. If ye like, I will show ye when Blackthorn is here.’
    ‘How do I ken ye willna just fly off into the night again?’ Finn demanded.
    ‘Why would I do that?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘Ye have fire here, and blankets, and hot soup. I’m cold and hungry and tired. Besides, what would it matter to ye if I did? I’m no’ your prisoner. Ye have no right to tell me whether I can go or stay.’
    ‘I have no reason to trust ye,’ Finn said coldly.
    Rhiannon gritted her teeth. ‘I’m the one who rescued Roden from the mad laird, remember?’
    ‘So ye got him away from Laird Malvern?’ The sorceress’s voice was full of suspicion. ‘How?’
    ‘I will tell ye all when I have seen to my horse.’ Rhiannon was inflexible.
    There was a moment’s pause, and Finn looked to her husband. Jay nodded. The soldiers lowered their swords.
    ‘It’s as black as pitch out there, and blowing a gale. Let me walk with ye, to make sure ye do no’ get lost in the storm,’ Jay said.
    ‘No need,’ Rhiannon said tersely. ‘Blackthorn will come to me. As long as your soldiers stand back and keep their weapons low. She doesna like soldiers.’ It was clear from her tone that she shared her horse’s sentiments.
    Jay nodded and made a swift gesture to the soldiers, who all drew back. Rhiannon called her mare’s name, silently, with no more than a slight abstraction in her expression to show what she was doing. Within moments the black winged horse was hovering above them in the darkness, her powerful wings beating up a flurry of snow. Her ears were laid back, and her sharp horns were lowered. She pawed the air and neighed a challenge.
    Rhiannon reassured her silently, and the mare dropped down to the ground, pressing close to Rhiannon’s side and looking sideways at the soldiers with a white-rimmed eye and curled lip. Rhiannon stroked her damp neck. Blackthorn’s back was frosty where her sweat had frozen, and she was trembling. Rhiannon was gripped with guilt. Blackthorn had flown far that day. She should never have left her to stand in that nasty wind, all sweaty and weary as she was. Rhiannon hurried to cover her with her own cloak and, teeth chattering and extremities numb, began to rub her down with a brush she snatched out of her bag. Jay brought her some heavy blankets that she threw over the mare’s back, and one of the soldiers made up some warm mash for her.
    Only when Blackthorn was as warm and comfortable as it was possible to be when camped on the side of a road in the middle of the snow did Rhiannon turn her attention back to the others at the campsite. She saw Roden had been put to bed in a little tent made fromsome kind of oilcloth slung over a stick. He was rolled in blankets and had a skin of hot wine at his feet, and another at his back. He was still fast asleep.
    The soldiers had either gone back to guard duty or were preparing themselves to sleep. One was stoking up the fire for the night, and another was making some hot mulled wine for Finn and Jay and Rhiannon. She accepted it gratefully, warming her numb hands on the tin mug and enjoying the aroma of spices. Then they brought her more soup, and some hard black bread that she could only eat after sopping it in her bowl. She broke off a piece and crumbled it in her hand, and then coaxed a sleepy Bluey out of her pocket to eat. At the sight of the bluebird, the elven cat leapt down from Finn’s lap and crept forward, low to the ground, one paw raised. Alarmed, Rhiannon tucked the bluebird away again, and kept a close eye on the elven cat as it prowled towards her, its turquoise eyes slitted, its tail lashing.
    ‘No, Goblin,’ Finn said. ‘Leave it alone.’
    Goblin only hissed in response, then sat