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I’m not sure he believes I am correct, still caught by the idea that any blood is bad. So when I have a wander around the castle, I have a Fenrother-shaped shadow who follows and says little.

He’s been alone so long, he doesn’t know what to do with some other sentient, visible creature in his space, and I need to get used to my new reality. Without knowing it, I welcome this transition period, where we warily exist together.

The day the bleeding stops, around midday, he goes missing. Or at least he isn’t in my part of the castle. I hear noises elsewhere as I walk down the long gallery on the top floor. Mist swirls through the inner courtyard. I’ve been out on thebattlements without incident since the queen came calling, but there was nothing to see, and the dampness wasn’t pleasant. Instead I’m spending some time studying the tapestries which hang in the gallery which continue to intrigue me.

They are intricately woven, and many of them are of landscape scenes, possibly inspired by the Yeavering itself. There’s one of the coast and a sea shore. Rolling dunes which disappear into the distance around a long crescent bay. Clouds roll through the sky, and I can almost smell the ozone.

Another is of a high bluff, a sheer cliff on one side and along the top is what appears to be a wall, stretching out into the distance filled with greens, browns, and the purples of heather.

On the opposite wall is a castle, maybe even the one I’m stood in, sat high on a fell. Beneath it are massing an army of creatures I cannot quite make out as the stitching is dark and worn.

The only other one which features figures is at the very bottom of the gallery, half hidden by a large carved dresser, the wood a coal colour with age.

From what I can see, there is a human female in a long cream dress, in a style similar to the ones I’ve seen in medieval drawings. She has a kind face, and the dress billows out from her, making her look almost pregnant. She is putting her hand out to something I can’t see because it’s tucked tight behind the dresser. Above her, the sky is dark and behind her, in the woodland, I’m sure I can see eyes.

There’s something about it which makes me shiver. If anything, perhaps it’s worse than the one in the great hall.

That tapestry is blatant about the threat a Lambton Wyrm poses. This one is far more subtle and exudes far more danger.

“Alice,” Fenrother growls from behind me.

I spin around, feeling guilty as if I’ve been caught looking through someone’s underwear drawer. (And I know Fenrother does not wear underwear.)

“Yes,” I squeak.

“I have something for you,” he says cagily. “If you will come with me.”

This is not the first time he has said he has something for me. The first time it was a rather large spider which he was quite proud of.

I was not impressed. Although it was probably worse when he released it to scuttle off into a corner and presumably plot its arachnid revenge.

This place is magic after all.

The second time it was a large chunk of stone in the courtyard which he happily informed me had fallen from the battlements. It didn’t much fill me with confidence. But Fenrother seemed quite excited about it.

So, this time, I’m not holding my breath, and also I’m preparing myself for another spider when he leads me into the great hall.

It’s not a place I go to, if I can help it. So far, I’ve managed to persuade Fenrother to eat with me in the bedroom, and it seems to have been a plan the Duegar have been happy enough to go along with, given food has appeared on a daily basis.

I let him tow me through the stone archway, and I brace myself for the tapestry. Fenrother stops dead, and I nearly trip over his lashing tail. He turns and gives me one of his sharp-toothed grins.

I can smell cooking meat, which means I have little option but to look down to the far end of the hall where the fireplace is situated. For a short while, I concentrate on the table and the fire before my eyes are inexorably drawn upwards to the tapestry.

Which has gone.

In its place is stonework and a large carved relief of a Wyrm coiled around a hill multiple times until, its head comes torest on the summit, which is topped with a columned temple. Underneath in heavy script words are carved.

Fyr-bæth - Here-Wulf - Wuldres Thegn - Gast-Bona - Sund-Hengest

“What does it mean?” I ask, my words wondrous whispers.

“They are the bringers of the light.”

“They?”

“There is a legend, one which I found in my text, of the five who will release the Yeavering from the Faerie,” Fenrother says, then he snorts. “I doubt very much if it is true, given it talks ofisern-scurand the war to end all wars.” A growl rips through him. “I have had my fill of war.”

I see the silvery scar which runs down one side of his scaled body, and not for the first time, I wonder how he received it, although now doesn’t seem a good time to ask.