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‘We’ve done nothing to you,’ she hisses. ‘Nothing. We don’t deserve this!’

‘Nor did I deserve any of what I suffered, but here we are.’ Rowena turns her head to Linette’s cheek. ‘It is enough you are a Cadwalladr, enough you lived on Plas Helyg’s lands while I endured the cruelties of poverty and abuse.’

There is a rustle in the trees. A stick cracks in the undergrowth and Rowena scans the woodland over Henry’s shoulder. He watches her, dare not turn to see for himself – his focus is entirely on Linette and the dagger. One small movement and it could all be over …

‘I am not ignorant,’ Rowena says now, looking at Henry again, ‘that both of you have been mistreated. But neither of you can begin to compare your childhood with mine and you know it. You have never had to go cold or hungry. You’ve never slept in hedgerows, or travelled miles on foot in all weathers. You have never been beaten until your skin bruised black. You have never suffered the roughness of a man’s touch against a dirt floor. You have never—’

All of a sudden a dark shape bounds from the trees at breakneck speed, ears pressed low against its skull. It runs straight across the clearing, long legs traversing the space in seconds; its teeth are bared with intent, and it is aiming right for them.

‘Merlin!’ Henry shouts. ‘Paid! Don’t!’

It happens all too fast; he has no means to stop it. With a snarl Merlin flings himself at Rowena.

‘No! No!’

But it is too late. The dagger leaves Linette’s neck and finds the dog, and with a yelp Merlin falls to the forest floor with a hard and sickening thud.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

‘No!’ Linette cries again as Merlin shudders on the ground. She flings herself down beside him, cradles his head in her lap and the lurcher whimpers, looks up at her with pain-filled eyes. The wound is bad; a horrific fur-matted tear from Merlin’s thigh to just beneath his belly. Blood pools the earth. Henry shrugs off his shirt.

‘Here,’ he says. He bunches the material together in a tight wad, presses it onto the wound. ‘Hold it down, try to stem the bleeding.’

‘It will do little good,’ Miss Carew says from above them. The gold knife drips, beads of blood shining like rubies in the sunlight. ‘He’ll be dead soon, and so will you.’

Linette looks up at her with all the loathing that has built within her chest since the moment she woke in the mine. Nothing can stop it – it is as sure as the sun rising above the cavern wall.

‘If you wanted us dead,’ she cries, ‘then you should have done it the moment we got out of the crypt! You’ve missed your chance.’

Miss Carew’s amber eyes flash with anger. Henry rises, holds out a calming hand.

‘Linette’s right. There’s only one of you and two of us. Do you honestly think we can’t overpower you, now we know what you mean to do?’

Some of the smugness fades from Miss Carew’s face. The knife wobbles between her bloodied fingers.

‘Rowena,’ Henry says, hoarse with emotion. ‘You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t have to be this way.’

‘Yes, Henry. I’m afraid it does.’

Linette watches her in the glow of the morning sun. Miss Carew’s red hair is a halo of fire, her eyes like garnets lit from within. A sunbeam shines on the golden knife, glinting sharply bright along its vicious blade, the grooves of Berith’s symbol, and in that moment she lunges. Linette screams.

Miss Carew is quick, there can be no denying that, but Henry is quicker. The blade just misses his shoulder and he takes her roughly by the wrists, as if warding off a battering ram. They struggle against each other, a tangle of limbs. Miss Carew kicks at Henry’s knees, screeches at him with wild fury, hair flying in a mass of tangled fiery curls – as mad as Gwen Tresilian ever was during one of her terrible fits – and Miss Carew will not relinquish the knife. For such a small woman it is incredible how much strength she has in her.

Desperately Linette looks down at Merlin. Henry’s shirt is nearly soaked through; her own hands are caked with blood. She should let the dog go, let nature take its course, for she knows, knows, there is nothing she can do for him now.

Her tears are hot against her eyelids; a strangled cry rips from her throat.

‘Merlin,’ she whispers. ‘Mae’n ddrwg gen i,’ and ignoring the pain wrenching at her heart Linette rushes to stand. She means to pull Miss Carew away from Henry, means to drag her from him with all the strength she can muster but then, then, a gunshot tears through the morning sky.

The sound of it echoes through the cavern, ricochets loudly off the stone walls. A flock of birds burst from the trees with a deafening explosion of wings. It takes Linette a moment to realise what has happened, to realise the struggle above her has stopped.

She turns her head to look.

Henry stands, breathing heavily, a splatter of red spanning the plane of his cheek, staring at the ground. Linette lowers her eyes.

On the woodland floor lies Rowena Carew, red hair fanned about her like water, a bullet lodged into the side of her skull.

‘Stay there!’ a voice shouts from above. A man stands on the edge of the cavern wall, his body caught in sharp relief against the sun. ‘I’m coming down.’