The hard bread she’d just swallowed turned to stone in her stomach. “He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was bluffing. Who’s going to take on the business so he can retire to the Scattered Isles? Sebastian isn’t capable.”

Cadan stared at the straight, tree lined road ahead and said nothing.

Eleanor tried to breathe. “You don’t understand. I don’t belong out here. You seem reasonable, you can see that, can’t you?”

“I guess you’re going to have to learn to belong.”

He pulled on the reins, guiding the horse off the Tradeway and onto a winding path barely wider than the cart. As the cart rounded the second bend, the clouds made good on their threat, starting with a taunting sprinkle then settling into steady, trudging rain.

Eleanor glared at the pattering leaves around them and said. “How am I supposed to tidy my hair now?”

Her new husband replied. “It’ll be dark by the time we’re home. You won’t be doing more than eating dinner and going to bed. You can tidy it well enough for both days tomorrow.”

“That’s not how it works,” Eleanor burst into tears, shocking herself. Where had they come from? She’d put that silliness behind her last night.

Cadan shuffled to put his arm and cloak round her again. She hated how warm and safe she felt when he did that but right now, pulling back was more than she could do. They plodded on, through the rain.

As her tears eased, Cadan tentatively told her. “You still look pretty, even with your hair a bit untidy.”

The laugh, small as it was, surprised her as much as the tears. “And what about now, with red, puffy eyes and nose?”

“Still pretty. You were the prettiest girl at the dance, even when the people you were with made you look pinched and sour.”

She frowned. “You were at the dance? That’s only for townsfolk.”

He flushed and stumbled. “A friend was serving and let me in for a look. Everyone was very fine and worldly.”

“No they’re not, for all they like to think so.”

Cadan asked. “What do you mean? Gandry’s a busy town with trade in and out from all over.”

Eleanor said. “It is, but most of the people in that hall have never been beyond its walls. All Mama’s friends bleat and blow whenever Papa takes me on a trading trip. It’s not the done thing, showing a girl the wider world.”

“What about a boy?”

He made her smile again. “I don’t know. Other than Sebastian, who lives in Rushmouth, none of the boys Mama wants me to be friends with have left town.”

Cadan snorted a laugh of his own. “Never tell me I’m more widely travelled than your fancy friends just for doing the village errands.”

“I do believe you are.”

The laugh was a warm tonic to Eleanor’s bruised heart. It wouldn’t mend it but eased the worst of the hurt for the moment. With the easing came a gurgle from her stomach. She felt her cheeks heat as Cadan chuckled.

He said. “I’m agreeing it’s around lunch time. We’ll stop for a moment in the next clearing, give Bashful a rest and remind our legs how to walk.”

The path wound between two ancient giants of a tree type Eleanor didn’t recognise, and emerged into a wide, grassy space that was probably delightful on a sunny summer’s day. The rain had eased back to a drizzle without Eleanor noticing, but everything was grey, gloomy and wet. “I think I might stay in the cart.”

Cadan stopped the horse, then, with a small shake of his head at her, jumped down and went to Bashful’s head. “You can do as you wish, of course.”

The cart bumped as Cadan unharnessed the horse and led it over to a stream by a long piece of rope. He called back. “There’s another length of waterproof folded under the bench. Can you bring it here? I don’t want Bashful to catch a chill.”

So much for being able to do as she wished. If she refused, and the horse got sick, he’d blame her, and no doubt tell everyone else as well.

She rummaged under the seat and pulled out the cloth, then slid to the end of the bench and eased down until she was standing, holding onto the cart. Just as well, her knees wobbled, and she nearly sat down in the mud again. Cloth over one shoulder, she sidestepped her way to the back of the cart, then tottered over to where the horse tore and munched at the grass around it.

Cadan took the waterproof and threw it over the horse’s back. “There now. And I think I need to feed you as well.”

Lunch proved to be cold meat pie from the bakery behind Market Square, a far better meal than breakfast. Fed, watered thanks to the stream and a helpful wooden mug, and exercised, Eleanor settled back onto the hard seat with a groan as they set off again. “How much longer? I’m surprised we’re not halfway up the mountain pass by now.”

Cadan said. “The pass is a good half day west.”

Eleanor gritted her teeth, why did he always pay attention to only half of her questions, and why were they always the wrong half? “I don’t care about the pass, how far is the village?”

“A bit longer again, but north.”

Eleanor pulled up a memory of the map in her father’s study and quailed. That part hadn’t even been properly drawn out, just a lot of trees with a label saying ‘Noblewood Forest’ and none of the pins Papa put in to show where his trading partners were.

She pulled the heavy cloak more tightly around her and watched the trees trundle slowly by. As the path meandered in front of them and the rain continued to weigh down, she sank into a grey fog of nothing, darkening as the day drew on. She roused when Cadan nudged her, then pointed to something in the trees.

“Are we there?”

He shook his head. “Will-o’-the-wisps. Can you hold the reins while I light the lantern?”

Eleanor swallowed, hard, watching the little balls of silver light bobbing through the trees. “Will the lantern light be enough to keep us from being moon-witched?”

She took the reins Cadan handed her and tried to concentrate on the dim lines of the path ahead. The warm orange light of the lantern flared then settled into a steady glow as Cadan said. “Sounds like someone’s been spinning stories for the townsfolk again. Will-o’-the-wisps have no interest in us. Tis silly-headed humans running off after them that cause the problems.”

Eleanor frowned. “Why would people run after them?”

Cadan gathered the reins back and replied. “You’d have to ask those who’ve done so. Some have said they thought it was people with lanterns, come to find them when they were lost; others were simply curious.”

“And that’s all?”

Cadan shrugged, then pointed again, this time ahead, to where another light, this one the same shade as the lantern, twinkled through the trees. “There’s Woodbine, we’re nearly home.”

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