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She sat in the Great Hall, enthroned above her assembled people, the visiting ambassadors and petitioners. Her heart ached for a moment and she bid a silent farewell to those ancestors who had been her comfort. Of course, all the others she wouldnt miss for a moment. But it had been one last connection with her father and that, at least, had given her some small and unexpected joy. Rowan chews his lip, unsure how to proceed. The recording device in his pocket is only picking up the sounds of the gale and the faintest muffle of conversation. He wants to get inside and get comfortable. Hes good at getting older ladies on-side. A few compliments, a few variations on the theme of youre never really 75 are you? and usually its less than half an hour before they’re giving him everything he wants over fruit scones and loose leaf tea. Evelyn Cater doesn’t seem like a standard OAP. She looks as though she’s cracked a few kneecaps with a hammer and isn’t above doing it again. He has a vision of some crook-backed East European peasant woman, carrying twice her bodyweight in hay: a cast-iron will and bloody-minded refusal to succumb to age. The Ariah paced outside Indarins tent. So strange to call her that instead of Lara, even though the change had been Jerens doing. Name and title all rolled into one, magic and an all-compelling destiny... that was what she had heaped upon her friend. Lara was no more. There was only the Ariah now. Sorry sir, she says, genuinely remorseful. I couldnt. That was the weekend of the sergeant exams. Aubrey, he says, making it sound as if this is a real treat. In truth he has been ducking calls from both his agent and his book editor for months. Hes tried to stay optimistic – to cling to the belief that something will turn up. Hes never seen a newspaper with Nothing Going On as a front page splash. There’s always a story to be found somewhere. He just hasn’t unearthed it yet. His policy to date has been to keep his new book’s subject matter a closely guarded secret. At present, and with six weeks to go, he’d dearly love to be let in on it. She emerges in a small clearing. On all sides, the trees form a tight mesh, snarled up with blackberries and thorns. She suddenly thinks of fairytales. Of Sleeping Beauty. The thought emerges as if from nowhere and is met with a screech of pain inside her skull, as if the simplicity of the memory has caused physical pain to the voice that whispers inside her. She shakes her head, angry wasps inside her skin; scratching at herself so hard that she scores red lines into the bare skin of her chest. Another Holt would have taken you in. At the edge of the clearing, a twist of darkness takes shape. Even in the swirl of her delirium, she identifies it as a yew tree, its circumference vast, its branches splayed out like the fingers of an upturned hand. There are great scars in the trunk; the bark ripped away and the wood exposed. She finds her vision blurring as she gazes into the face of the ancient tree. Sees knot-holes become eyes, a porcine snout, a hanging mouth of obsidian black. Three men bowed as Jeren stepped down from the carriage in the market square. The rest of the townspeople—ragged, emaciated—stared open-mouthed at her. Or rather, at Shan on one side and Vertigern on the other, with Elayne, Indarin and Leithen forming a guard. Vicky turns back to the barman and signals for two more drinks. Ruefully, Rowan realises hes not going anywhere yet. He watches as Vicky retrieves her phone from the pocket of her tabard and sends a quick message. She spins the screen. Theyre my boys, she mutters. “Tylers got my eyes, don’t you think? My dimples are cuter though. I can no longer teach you, said Indarin. And he is the most experienced of all here. But be wary of what hell teach you. Cluedo, or at least, the quiz version. Lilys success provided her with another roll of the dice, and their digital playing piece entered the conservatory. It allowed them to guess the murderer, no general knowledge required this time. The vicar who gave the service, reads Snowdrop, raising her finger to the screen. Reverend Marlish. I know him a bit. He comes into school sometimes, or he did when I was there last. She rolls her eyes at this, sick and tired of her on-and-off relationship with conventional education, which she sees as an unavoidable consequence of being raised a little off-the-grid. Rowan, who didnt go to school until he was nine and took his GCSEs in a Young Offenders Institute, has every sympathy. “Theres a quote here, in the article, where he talks about how Jason always put others before himself.” She reads it out loud, putting on a deep male voice. “Like so many others, I was spared grief by Jason and the team. He was a true hero– a life-saver. Every time I hug my daughter I say a prayer of thanks that he brought her home.”Snowdrop looks up, expectantly.“Could be the same friend that Jason spoke about in your article, couldnt it?” Violet Rayner, is that? asks Rowan, guilelessly. Small world. Shes a friend of Catherines, isnt she? My sister too, of course. Have you heard from her on her big adventure? He stiffened at the rebuke and then nodded, just once, dismissive and curt.Holt law, Holt traditions…do what you need to do. I will make sure you get that time, but do not take too long. Okay boss. Ask away. Youll mean Violet, yeah? I continued to stare at the hill.I loved him and trusted him. How could he lie to me all these years?.