The Hunter gets up and walks around me, eyeing me. He’s taller than me, but not by much, and he’s solid. His chest is twice as thick as mine and his neck is huge.

He stands behind me and speaks quietly, close to my ear so that I can feel his breath. “Take your shirt off.”

I do as he says. Slowly, but I do it.

The third man, the dark-haired one, gets up and walks around to look at my back. He takes hold of my arm, and it’s all I can do not to pull away. His fingers are clammy, weak. He turns my hand over, looking at the scars on my wrists. “You can heal well. And quickly?”

I’m not sure what to say.

“Let’s go outside and see,” the Hunter says. Again I feel his breath on my neck.

The Hunter speaks to Celia. She nods and walks over to the area where we practice self-defense.

“Show me what he can do,” the Hunter says.

Celia and I do a bit of sparring.

The Hunter says to stop and calls Celia over to him for a quiet word in her ear.

Celia comes back to me and I can see she’s serious. We fight. She beats me; I let her get too close. I’ve got a bloody nose and a swollen eye.

Now I am summoned over. The dark-haired man wants to see me heal. I do it, slowly.

I think that’s going to be it, but the Hunter speaks with Celia and then turns to me and says, “Do the outer circuit.”

I do a fair pace. No point in killing myself.

When I get back the Hunter makes Celia and me fight again. But Celia is armed with a knife this time. She wins again. I have a cut on my arm. I have to heal that for the dark-haired man.

“Do the outer circuit again.” The dark-haired man says it this time.

I do as I’m told. I don’t push too hard, because I’m fairly sure I’ll be beaten up again at the end of it.

Correct. And Celia wins again. She’s obviously been told not to hold back. I get stabbed in the thigh. Deep. I’m pissed off now. I heal and . . .

“Do the outer circuit again.”

I do it but I’m not thinking about the run, just thinking about that little dark-haired man standing there, smiling.

This time when I get back the Hunter is smiling too.

I have a bad feeling.

I have to fight Celia again. I’ve just done the circuit three times and been beaten up three times already today. I do my best to keep out of Celia’s reach, and I even land a kick, but when I’m backed up near the Hunter he pushes me into Celia and it’s all over. I’m on the ground. The Hunter comes over and kicks me hard in the ribs. And again. His boots are like breeze blocks.

“Get up. Do the outer circuit.”

I know that a few ribs are broken. He does too, I suppose.

I heal them and get up slowly.

Then he hits me and knocks me to the ground again. More kicks. More broken ribs. I stay down.

“I said, get up and do the outer circuit.”

I can heal but it’s not as strong. My ability is being used up. I get to my feet slowly. Then I set off, slowly again.

I tell myself to relax on the run. Forget about them. Pretend they don’t exist. I do the circuit, but my ribs are only just healed by the time I get back.

The dark-haired man comes over and looks at my chest. The bruising has gone.

Then the Hunter comes over, carrying a sort of truncheon. I look at Celia, but she is looking down.

When he’s finished I’m just left there on the ground. The truncheon was strange. I don’t think anything’s broken, but I’m feeling odd.

The dark-haired man stands over me. “Can you heal?” he asks me. “Can you get up?”

Yeah, I can get up. I get to my knees but then everything swirls around and it’s nice to lie down.

When I open my eyes again Celia is crouched beside me.

I ask her, “Have they gone?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll just rest here.”

“Yes.”

Early evening and I’m fully healed. I’m having extra helpings of stew and bread. Celia is quiet, watching me eat.

I say, “Typical White Witches, that lot. Kind, gentle, healing natures.”

Celia doesn’t reply.

“I wouldn’t have minded, but I didn’t even spit at them.”

Celia still doesn’t reply so I try a different approach. “I can’t be that important; the Council Leader didn’t bother to come.”

“Do you know who the blond man is?”

I shrug.

“He’s Soul O’Brien. He’s recently been appointed as the deputy Council Leader.”

I nod. Interesting, Annalise’s uncle is moving up in the world. “Who was the Hunter?”

Celia gives a short laugh. And I stop eating to look up at her.

“I thought you knew. That was Clay.”

“Oh!” The leader of the Hunters came to check me out. “And the dark-haired guy? Who’s he?”

“He said his name was Mr. Wallend. I’ve never seen him before.”

I finish my stew and wipe the bowl out with the last of the bread. Then I push my bowl away, saying, “I thought I’d let you win all the fights, so you didn’t look too bad in front of them.”

“Very considerate.”

“They can’t have been too impressed, though. With me, I mean. If I can’t even beat you I’m not going to match up to Marcus.”

“Perhaps.”

“And I didn’t even try to hit Clay.”

“A wise decision.”

I think so too, but still if I’d known it was him . . .

“What?” Celia asks.

I don’t know . . . I don’t know how I feel about Clay except to say, “He killed Saba—Marcus’s mother, my grandmother.”

Celia nods. “Yes, and Saba killed Clay’s mother.”

I nod.

“Your mother . . .” Celia says this and hesitates. I don’t look at her, can’t risk breaking whatever tightrope of confession she is balanced on. “Your mother saved Clay’s life once. He was badly hurt by a Black Witch, his shoulder was being eaten by poison. Your mother was the only person able to heal him. He would have died without her help.”

I still don’t look at Celia. There’s nothing to say to that.

“Your mother had an exceptional Gift for healing. Truly exceptional.”

“My gran told me.” Though she never told me that story.

“They are interested in your ability to heal yourself.”

“And?” I look at Celia now.

“I think you’re healed enough to do the washing up now.”

The months after my assessment pass; the routine is the same as ever. Autumn comes, the nights get longer and it’s good. Winter. Snow. Winds. I’m stronger than ever. I don’t mind the rain. The frost is beautiful. My feet are tough as hide.

The snow melts, though a few pockets remain in a few hollows. The sun has some warmth in it, but I have to really stay still to soak it into my skin.

My seventeenth birthday is months away, not years.

Celia never talks about my birthday. I ask her often, but she doesn’t tell me anything.

I’m inside one day, making bread. Celia is writing at the kitchen table.

I try again, with a well-worn question. “On my birthday, will I be given three gifts?”

Celia doesn’t answer.

“If you want me to kill Marcus I’ll need my Gift.”

She carries on writing.

“Will my gran give me three gifts?”

I know they wouldn’t let me near her, not in a million years.

Celia looks up, opens her mouth as if to answer but closes it again.

“What?”

She puts the pen down. “Your gran.”

“What?”

“She died a month ago.”

What? A month ago! “And you forgot to mention it until now?”

They can tell me nothing or anything, and how do I know if any of it is true?

I throw the dough on the floor.

“I’m not supposed to mention it at all.”

So Celia’s being considerate, and for all I know that is another lie. And Gran is dead. That’s true for sure. They will have killed her or made her commit suicide, and everyone else can be killed as well if they want.

“And Arran?”

She blanks me.

I kick the chair over, pick it up, and slam it down.