If you reach for the stars, you just might land on a decently sized hill.

Thirrin and King Grishmak reached the entranceway and swept out of the Blood Place, followed by their escorts and Oskan. The massive double doors slammed shut after them with a deep boom. Oskan woke from his reverie with a shock – the slamming doors had only just missed him. Swinging round furiously he glared at the studded and hinged woodwork with such fierce intensity that suddenly they burst open again, crashing back against the walls inside the palace and splintering deeply.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude,” he bellowed over the heads of the courtiers cowering just inside the entrance. “Your doors seem to be slammed shut in a draught. I’d get that fixed if I were you.

Healers make the most dreadful enemies, Scion of the House of Strong-in-the-Arm. The knowledge that saves lives can be used to do exactly the opposite. Especially when they have the blood of the Wise Ones in their veins.

I know you’ll probably think it superstitious nonsense, Maggie, but I’m going to ask Oskan to perform…” Thirrin shrugged her shoulders as she struggled to find the right word, “something…a ceremony of some sort before we go into the trees. Something that’ll help the people believe they’re protected in some way.”

“On the contrary, Madam, I agree with the idea,” Maggiore answered and smiled. “It’s wise to use everything you can to keep the citizens calm. I’ll be there chanting whatever you want and waving around as much incense as you think necessary.

In all that enormous excitement of fighting spirit, only Oskan noticed that the terrible warlike figure of Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Drinker of Blood was still wearing his fluffy slippers and that Primplepuss the kitten was peeping out of his shirt collar to see what all the noise was about.

She’d invited Oskan to the Yule Feast. Or rather, she’d sent a royal command ordering his presence on the twenty-first day of Icemas.