As Claire slipped through corridors, she nodded at those she passed, though many ignored her in their rush. In the afternoon, a messenger had turned up to Claire’s class on the balcony with Maen. Eidan had arrived early from Kelnariat and had called an immediate meeting with Lord Dorran and the Dream Mages over light refreshments in the dining hall. Maen had dismissed her and now the manor was in uproar. No one had invited her, but Claire had decided to find a way to listen in on the meeting anyway. Grandfather wanted her to learn about the history, politics and culture of this place, so she’d show him what she was made of. Besides, she’d been excited about him taking her to see the salamanders and the Saura. Now, their trip was delayed until tomorrow thanks to Kelnarium’s political leader. Well, Claire wasn’t going to let her evening stay ruined thanks to him.

As she tip-toed past the great doors that led into the dining hall she scarcely breathed. This was the trickiest part of her plan. Right outside the hall was a set of stairs that led to another landing. If Claire could creep up them unseen, there was a little door in the side wall that led to a cramped storage room where the candles for chandeliers were kept. Just off that was a narrow walkway which led out over the dining hall so the servitors could replace candles in the chandeliers. If Claire could get inside, she could eavesdrop on her grandfather and Eidan.

She glanced in every direction. She couldn’t see anyone. She hurried to the top of the dark stairwell and tested the door. Sure enough, in their haste to light the hall in preparation for Eidan’s sudden arrival, someone had left it unlocked. With one quick glance around to check no one was about to spot her, Claire slipped inside and hurried along the narrow thoroughfare, ducking to avoid hitting her head against the cartwheel-like chandeliers ranged above her.

She stopped in the middle of the walkway and peered out over the side, clutching at the wooden handrails as her head spun. It was a long drop if she lost her balance. She tightened her grip as a servitor carried a platter of cheeses, crisps and fruits into the room, glad she blended in with the shadows of the vaulted timber ceiling. He and the other servitors all left the room, closing the door behind them.

Looking down into the dining hall, Claire could see that her grandfather wasn’t at the centre of the high table. Instead, he sat a place to the right. Gwenivere was to his left. Of the other six at the table, she recognised Rinn, Maen, Rael and her great-uncle, Aed. A third Dream Mage, a man, sat by Rinn’s side. Another man Claire didn’t know sat in Lord Dorran’s usual place.

She squinted, trying to get a clearer view of him. She wasn’t directly above him so she could just make out his dark brown hair and blue eyes, which reminded her of Marcus. His plain black shirt contrasted with the gold armband on his right arm and the brooch that glittered at his breast. His skin was tanned and weather-beaten, his beard was well-trimmed and there was a scar on his right cheek. The party around the table hung onto his every word.

“It’s a shame I arrived so late,” the man said, his voice smoothly confident. “I would have liked to meet your granddaughter. If she’s half as delightful as Marcus, we’ll get along.”

Claire dug her nails into the wooden handrail. So, this was Eidan. She liked him already; his affection for Marcus was obvious.

“Indeed.” Lord Dorran wouldn’t meet Eidan’s gaze and Claire wondered if he felt guilty about his lack of familial affection for his grandson. He cleared his throat and Claire knew that he was nervous. “What brings you in such haste, Councilman Eidan?”

“A week ago, on the outskirts of Kelnariat, raiders set fire to villages and farmland.” He produced a piece of torn red and black fabric out of a fold in his clothing and slapped it on the tabletop.

Claire couldn’t make it out from her distance, but Gwenivere pulled back, her chair scraping. Lord Dorran kept his gaze on Eidan’s trophy, lost in thought.

“This was found in one village and I smelt the lingering crackle of magic at another.” Eidan paused meaningfully but Dorran said nothing. “Come, my friend, what is this about? If some of your people have gone rogue, as this piece of a Dorran guard’s tunic seems to indicate, I understand, but you must be honest with me.” He sighed, placing his hands flat on the table. “I want to keep the peace. That’s all.”

Lord Dorran exchanged a glance with Maen, but Claire couldn’t interpret it. She didn’t like his furtiveness, like he was in the wrong, and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing either. Dorrans harming innocent people? Why? Nothing made sense.

“I know nothing of this,” her grandfather said at last. “But evidence can be planted and perhaps your mind played tricks on you.”

Eidan’s expression didn’t change as he reached for his wine goblet. “There was no mistake. I have my sources.” He turned the goblet by the stem. “Still, I want to trust you. Dismiss your men. The Dream Mages stay.”

“What?” Lord Dorran was just as confused as Claire was.

“You heard me. I doubt you want anyone else hearing what I’m about to say.”

“You can’t order me about in my own home,” Lord Dorran said with a hint of ice in his tone. “It’s most irregular.”

“I can and I have,” Eidan replied quietly. “You elected me Councillor, so trust me. Besides, I did not tell you to bring along your retinue. That was your own doing.”

Lord Dorran considered for a moment then nodded sharply at his men. Aed, Maen and Rael stood and filed out of the hall.

As soon as they’d gone, Dorran cleared his throat. “Well?”

Eidan laced his fingers into a steeple as he leant forward, addressing Gwenivere. “Can you look into the past, try to see what happened? Perhaps the priests …”

“Yes,” Dorran broke in eagerly. “Have you spoken to the temples in Kelnariat, Eidan?” Claire knew from one of her many history lessons that slowly but surely the priests were returning to Kelnariat, though they were meeker and less involved in public life than in the past, but Claire didn’t care about that. She couldn’t help but notice how Lord Dorran latched onto Eidan’s words. Her unease grew. Was it possible her grandfather knew something about the destroyed villages after all?

Eidan stared into his wine. “Yes, but they swear they knew nothing about it.” He frowned and looked straight at Lord Dorran. “This is a sensitive question, but I must ask it … Where did Lady Claire arrive in Kelnarium? Is it possible she used magic before you got to her? People use the familiar to paper over what they don’t understand, thus one confused girl using magic to wreak untold destruction easily becomes a horde of raiders.”

Claire had to bite her tongue to stop herself from protesting out aloud. What a ridiculous idea! She wasn’t capable of hurting anyone.

“She didn’t know a thing about it until Maen showed her,” her grandfather said, springing to her defence.

“Yes, but you would say that. According to Gwenivere’s vision, she is Kelnarium’s saviour after all, and how awkward it would be if our saviour caused such terrible injury. An honest mistake, but one hard to explain away to those who’ve lost their livelihoods.”

Pandemonium ensued. Dorran and Gwenivere began to shout at once, as Rinn and the other Dream Mage whispered to each other, both twisting at their napkins.

“How dare you call me a liar?” Dorran cried, abandoning all attempts to keep his voice low. “I’ve stuck by you from the first, believed in you, and now you imply I’d mislead about a monstrous crime?”

“I accuse no one,” Eidan said. He threw up a hand before Dorran could protest further. “This conjecture is pointless.” He locked eyes with Dorran. “Let Gwenivere and her people determine the truth.”

Lord Dorran broke the stare, looking away in defeat. “Fine.”

Eidan turned to the Dream Mages, motioning for them to stand. They did so gracefully and descended from the dais to begin pulling some tables and chairs to the side of the dining hall. Claire winced as they scraped furniture against the floor. Suranne was always telling her off for doing that back home.

“We must be careful, Tarn,” Gwenivere said to the man Claire hadn’t recognised. “The Rift is unstable and ...” She glanced over her shoulder at Eidan, who looked on from the high table with arms crossed. Claire wondered what he was thinking. The Dream Mage named Tarn muttered something to Gwenivere that Claire couldn’t hear, and Gwenivere shook her head in response. “I don’t need to lecture you,” she said. “You’ve as much experience in these matters as Rinn and I.” Returning to the high table, she bent forward and reached beneath it, surfacing with her wooden bowl, then descended once more to seat herself on the floor cross-legged. The other two followed suit, creating a circle.

They placed their bowls at their feet and Gwenivere and Rinn arranged their dresses so that the fabric billowed out on the floor. Tarn tied each of his loose silk shirt sleeves in a knot at the elbow.

They closed their eyes in concentration, as Claire gazed down, fascinated. Training with Rinn and Gwenivere was one thing, watching them bring forth a vision was another.

Gwenivere started to sway gently, and soon the others moved in tandem. Gwenivere’s head jerked, and she opened her eyes wide, staring intently into her bowl of water.

In the same moment, Rinn let out an agonised cry. She began to writhe where she sat, bending forward and now back, her arms flailing as if at some unseen creature. Her arm struck at the bowl with such force that Claire’s heart leapt with fright. With a crack, the wood split.

In a confused babble, Rinn described images of Pennarth Village, men, women and children screaming, brandishing pitchforks at their magical attackers who wielded fire. “And they lift the helmet … they lift …” She gasped for air. “It’s watching me. It’s laughing at us.”

Eidan lent forward, his voice steady. “Who’s laughing?”

“It’s the silent creature, the unnatural product of the Rift,” Rinn cried, her voice itself high and unnatural. “It warns me of Claire, of the betrayer! Beware the betrayer!”

Claire clutched the handrail so tightly that splinters were driven into her fingers. Could it be that the creature Gwenivere said disrupted spells and visions was also the creature Rinn described now and the creature of Claire’s nightmares? She’d suspected it but hadn’t wanted to think through the ramifications either. What was the significance of the creature, and how was she going to betray everyone? Perhaps, as she’d suspected, Grandfather had needed Marcus to close the Rift and Claire wasn’t the important one.

Claire’s stomach plummeted. Over the last week she’d stupidly convinced herself she was Kelnarium’s hero after all. No such luck, she thought, apparently I’m the “betrayer”, just like in my nightmare, and now Grandfather knows it.

Rinn was still talking. Claire took a few deep and steadying breaths to calm herself and better overhear what was going on.

Mid-sentence, Rinn froze, her body stiff. She choked on her own saliva, coughing, gasping for air.

Surely this isn’t right, Claire thought. Somebody help her! But nobody did, as both Eidan and Dorran looked on with inscrutable expressions and Gwenivere and Tarn stared straight ahead, eyes vacant.

And then Rinn began to scream, high and sharp, and this time Gwenivere grimaced with pain. Claire bit her tongue to prevent a gasp as Rinn flung herself in odder and odder contortions. It was clear that something was wrong, because Lord Dorran had started forward and was being restrained by Eidan. “We can’t interfere. No one of Rinn’s power has ever been lost to this creature,” he said, but as he released Dorran and resumed stroking his beard his gaze was one of alarm.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of Rinn’s blotched face and jerking muscles. Rinn was nice and so few people were nice to Claire that … that … Oh, this isn’t one of Dad’s fairy tales, she told herself firmly. Bad things could happen to good people. She knew that. This was no time for cowardice. She made herself open her eyes.

Rinn’s mouth was wide, contorted with pain, like some invisible hand pressed down on her. The sudden snap sounded like a gunshot from a war film. As Claire watched in horror, Rinn slid to the ground in a boneless heap.

Eidan leapt from the dais, falling to his knees beside Rinn. “Help the others,” he yelled as he put two fingers against Rinn’s neck.

Lord Dorran hesitated for a moment, face white, then got to his knees and clasped Gwenivere’s hand, rubbing it with vigour. Gwenivere moaned, looking around her with confusion. Dorran helped her to take a sip of from his goblet. Beside them, Tarn stirred, then groaned, hands massaging his temples.

Eidan caught Dorran’s questioning look and shook his head. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.” His voice turned hard. “Rinn Taccala is dead.”

Claire felt sick. She’d seen magic as a game and closing the Rift as an irritation blocking her way back to her family. She hadn’t seriously imagined people she cared about dying.

Gwenivere pushed Dorran away, flinging herself at Rinn. She cradled the dead woman, rocking backwards and forwards, face blanched.

“I’m so sorry,” Eidan said, his voice breaking. “I’ll arrange a state funeral and you’ll be paid compensation.”

Gwenivere looked up, somehow shrunken and pitiful. “Compensation … Why?” Her voice was thin yet steady. “Rinn Taccala died performing her duty.”

Dorran got up unsteadily. “I must ask you, Gwenivere, what was all that about my granddaughter?”

“This beast disrupted our vision and singled Rinn out,” Tarn said, wincing with pain. “It told us that Lady Claire is Kelnarium’s scourge, not our saviour.”

Claire’s cheeks were wet. This was so unfair. A moment later, she felt like someone had slammed the wind out of her as she realised something far, far worse. Lord Dorran, Gwenivere and Eidan would interrogate her. How could they not? She could claim that she intended to do her best for the people of Kelnarium all she liked, but it was her word against the Dream Mages. Not only that, she couldn’t deny that she had dreamt of this Rift creature.

She had to get help – but from whom? Once this story got out, no one would protect her. She’d be an outcast, just like she was in Shale. She had to get out of the Manor right now.

She could manage it. Even if someone saw her, she could run. She had to if she wanted to see Marcus again. She’d run to a village and beg for help to get to Kelnariat and once she was with her brother, everything would go right, like it normally did back home. By the time Lord Dorran began searching for her, she’d be long gone.

It was now or never. Claire dashed back to the storage room, ignoring the sound her feet made as they pounded against the wood.