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No elaboration followed. For a few minutes, we focused on our plucking work against the comfortable background noise of rustling grass and clucking chickens and the occasional splash of water in the distance.

I finally worked up the courage to say, ‘If the woods are linked to you, and the mountains to Orin, and the caves to Inika … is the Labyrinth in any way linked to Etele and her colour magic?’

‘Yes,’ Zera said softly.

‘But she wasn’t hiding in the Labyrinth the way you are in your sentient places.’

‘No.’

‘And yet …’ I hesitated. Could I probe this far? ‘Yet you aren’t sure whether she’s still alive.’

‘The Labyrinth is not the only one of its kind,’ Zera said, so composed that I may have believed her stoic if not for the way she avoided my gaze. ‘Although it is by far the sweetest. There are other caves on the continent. She may be hiding there, for all we know.’

‘But you never found her,’ I guessed cautiously.

‘No.’

By the tone of her voice, it was time to let go of this particular subject. I swallowed my questions and a few more blackberries, until I was sure I’d be brewing berry liquor in my stomach if I ate a single bite more. The bucket was overflowing by that time, and still the branches were heavy with fruit.

‘If you could carry our harvest, dear?’ Zera said, rising with a small groan. ‘I’ll take the grief.’

I obediently hauled the bucket of blackberries from the grass and waited for her to drag the bulging bag of the world’s grief with her, back to the cottage. Her thin arms trembled violently by the time we arrived, stringy muscles clenching and unclenching under her tanned skin.

She lowered her burden with a sigh that was almost a sob, then seemed to remember my presence behind her and forced her pale lips into a deeply unconvincing smile. ‘There’s bread inside, if you’d like some more to eat.’

It seemed almost obscene, scarfing down her food while she was running herself ragged dragging that bag around. I put down the bucket beside the front door, wiped my sticky hands on my lower arms, and said, ‘May I ask why you need to take the world’s grief with you all the time? Isn’t it safe inside the house?’

She gave me a tired smile, brushing her long grey locks from her face with purple-stained fingers. ‘It would be safe, yes. But the farther I’m away from it, the more of its weight lands on the shoulders of the rest of the world.’

I parted my lips, thought better of the remark I’d been about to utter, and instead said, ‘So now it’s on your shoulders instead?’

‘These shoulders are better equipped to deal with it,’ she said, glancing at her bony hands. ‘Admittedly, it was easier before I lost most of my powers, but the poor souls out there… They have enough to suffer without my help.’

What could I say to that? I knew the hollow faces of hunger, the tears of the mothers who’d lost yet another child to the claws of winter, the ever-present fear of the Mother’s rule looming over the islands. Knew Valter’s thin-lipped worry and Editta’s quiet sobs at night. Too many of them were ground down already. One more blow might break them like dry twigs.

‘Is there any way for you to get your powers back?’ I said helplessly. ‘If someone were to reverse the plague, for example, would that …’

I didn’t finish my sentence. A small grin had grown on her face, not the gentle goddess’s grin, but the amusement of the tough, wiry creature who’d built up this quiet life from the rubble of the world she’d reigned. ‘Did you have anyone in mind for that task, Emelin?’

I blinked, then let out a mirthless chuckle. ‘That wasn’t intended as some indirect question about the bindings.’

‘I know.’ She gestured for me to leave the bucket where it stood and follow her inside. As she dragged the bag of grief over the threshold of her home, she added, ‘And yet, if I gave you the opportunity to go after the plague, you would.’

‘It’s not that Iwantto do it,’ I said, not sure why I suddenly sounded defensive. Had it even been an attack? ‘I don’t want the bloody power to deal with those bindings, either. It’s just that I want it to happen, and so far no one else has stepped up.’

There was a sadness in her smile – not so much scepticism but rather a wistful wish that she’d be able to believe me. ‘And why do you want it to happen, dear?’

‘Because … Well …’

I faltered, realising just in time that I ought to be more careful before blurting out answers. This was not the moment for quick ripostes. This was the moment to weigh every word on my lips as if my very life depended on it.

Because it just might.

The cosy autumn air chilled to a sensation like hoarfrost. Why did I want it to happen? Because the world was suffering – that was the easy answer. Because I’d lived in the reality of the Mother’s empire, and because I couldn’t let gods knew how many more generations endure that existence of hunger and fear of death.

Was that all?

There was no lying to a goddess. I should probably not be lying to myself, either.