The virgins’ hall was a short distance from the main hall, and at Aethelthryth’s suggestion, Kite left her bags and staff in the corner opposite the door. As she made her way back to the centre of the village, she spotted Saryth in a clearing, talking to the young man who had identified them - or rather, had not identified them - to the Ealdor. Both were wearing worried expressions.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting down next to Saryth, who edged up the tree trunk to make room for her.

“I think I know where Aeryn is,” he said, which didn’t fit his expression at all.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I am,” said Cynefrid heavily. “There is a curse on Oeric’s family, and it is my uncle’s doing.”

Kite blinked, taken aback. “A curse?”

“It must be a curse,” he said. “Oeric - the Ealdor - is ill, as you saw. He has been for months, and he weakens daily. Leofric lies in a sleep like death. He will not awaken. Aethelric had an accident, and broke his back. And it is still winter, even though it should be summer. What else could it be?”

“Why should Oeric be cursed on your account?” she asked, trying to make sense out of the tangle of unfamiliar names.

“He gave me refuge from my uncle, who took over in Nordrnaess after my father died.”

Politics, then. Its own curse, never mind the misfortune that had befallen the ruling family of Aescesdun. “So - what about Aeryn?” Kite prompted.

“Well, I don’t know if it is Aeryn,” Saryth said. “But - Cynefrid, tell her about the stranger.”

“Oh, yes.” Cynefrid looked up again, his expression still gloomy. “They found him a few weeks ago. He has dark skin, but bright hair, they said. Like an avatar of summer.”

Curse or not, that definitely sounded like Aeryn. Kite put her head in her hands and sighed. “Nothing’s ever simple, is it?”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind,” she said hastily. “Cynefrid, I think the stranger may be a friend of ours.”

“I feared you would say that.” He looked genuinely stricken.

“What are they holding him for?”

“For...” he swallowed, not meeting her gaze, “he is to be the sacred offering for the summer equinox.”

“What?” Kite started, horrified.

“I’m sorry!” Cynefrid jumped up, as though he couldn’t bear to remain seated. He paced across the clearing and turned back again. “It’s a barbaric custom to me, too. We don’t do it in the north any more. But when times are like this, a sacrifice is necessary. If not for your friend, it would be the Ealdor. Or one of his family. So when the stranger came...” he trailed off.

Kite picked her words carefully. “What would it take for Oeric to release our friend? What would we have to give to stop him being the sacred offering?”

“I... I’m not sure. I’m sorry.” Cynefrid had turned round again, so they couldn’t see his face.

“Could we see the twins?” Saryth asked. Kite scanned back across the conversation. Oh, the other two names... one in a coma and one with a broken back?

“I’d have to ask the Ealdor.”

“Please?” Saryth persisted. “We may be able to help. The Ealdor too.” The chances were small, at least for the twins, but Kite didn’t say anything. It was the logical thing to do.

Cynefrid sighed. “Come on, then,” he said, and set off back to the main hall without waiting. Saryth jumped up after him, and Kite followed on, catching Saryth’s tunic to hold him back a little.

“Are you all right with this?” she asked, keeping her voice low. She still didn’t have a handle on what was going on.

“Of course,” Saryth said, and smiled.

In the main hall, the Ealdor was still seated in his chair like a single still point in what had become a hive of activity. Opposite him, on the near side of the firepit, two older men were engaged in a game which looked something like chess. Each contestant had a crowd of onlookers who occasionally offered suggestions but were mostly arguing with each other about the next move. Several women, Aethylthryth among them, were seated on the other side of the fire, grinding something in a large mortar. Further down the hall someone was playing a stringed instrument on the other side of the firepit, a bright, cheerful, simple tune, and Kite could see the shapes of children and hear high-pitched laughter. An hour ago, when she and Saryth had been interrogated by the Ealdor, the whole hall had been holding its breath. Now it was a home, although despite the general good cheer there was still tension in the atmosphere, an aura of subdued worry.

Cynefrid went up to the Ealdor and spoke to him briefly, too quietly for Kite to hear, which wasn’t reassuring. Oeric listened without any discernible change in expression. Then he turned to Kite and Saryth. He might have been old and infirm, but his strength of will was palpable. “You may be able to help us, you say?”

“It’s possible,” Kite said.

“And what would you ask for this service?”

“You are holding a friend of ours captive.” She mentally crossed her fingers.

“Hmm. The offering. If we were to release him to you, another would be required.” Aethelthryth looked round sharply at that. “My grandsons are more important than I am,” Oeric went on. “Cynefrid will take you to them. Heal them first. Then we can discuss your friend.”

That wasn’t exactly an agreement, but it was clear arguing would get them nowhere. And there was no point bargaining without knowing what they were offering. Kite bowed, and followed Cynefrid from the main hall.

He led them uphill to a smaller hut, its doorframe just as intricately decorated as the others, but when he opened the door the inside was dark, the only light coming from a banked fire in the middle. She could just about make out a sleeping platform at one end, with drapes either side. Stools were arranged around the firepit.

“Leofric’s in here,” Cynefrid said, and ushered them inside.

“He’s sleeping?” Kite asked.

“Always.”

After a few moments, her vision adjusted to the gloom, and she could vaguely make out the small form of a sleeping child under a mound of furs. She knelt down next to the boy. His breathing was slow and shallow, but steady, his calm face too thin. She touched his forehead, but he was neither fevered nor cold. His skin was smooth and dry. She put two fingers to his throat, making Cynefrid start in concern, and felt the steady rhythm of a healthy heart. Finally, she put her hand back on his forehead and closed her eyes, to better concentrate on any surrounding magic.

She hadn’t expected a real curse, real magic, to be involved. It’s so easy to blame the unknown for anything unusual, especially when it’s bad fortune. But Cynefrid had been right.

“Saryth, give me your hand,” she said, and tugged him down next to her, placing his hand on the boy’s forehead where hers had been. “Concentrate on his sleeping,” she said, and he shut his eye obediently. “What do you feel?”

“Something... heavy?” he said tentatively, fumbling for the words. It was a good way of describing it.

“That’s right,” she said. “I don’t think it’s natural.”

“Can you do anything about it?” Cynefrid said from behind, and there was a new hope in his voice which only made Kite feel worse.

“I don’t think so. I’m sorry.” The words fell like lead balloons and she could almost hear Cynefrid’s renewed grief in his silence.

“It’s too strong,” Saryth said, apologetic, but -

“That’s not quite it,” Kite said as she stood up. “The spell is tied to the fabric of the world, like a gate. That’s what gives it strength. Like bracing a support on the ground.”

“What if Drogo were killed?” Cynefrid asked.

“Drogo?” Another name?

“The sorcerer,” Saryth said, standing up and stepping back from the bed.

“Oh. If Drogo were dead, then it might be broken. It depends how he set it up.” ‘It depends’ is no use to anyone, is it?

“And Aethelric?” Cynefrid persisted. Kite had long since lost track of who was who, but before she could ask, Saryth nudged her.

“Kite,” he said, and she followed his gaze. At the foot of the sleeping platform, on the other side of the drape, a kind of nest of furs had been arranged around a seated child. A child who had been absolutely silent while they examined his twin brother. He stared at them with a wary interest.

“Are you witches?”

“I suppose so,” Kite said. “May we examine you?”

Aethelric allowed the examination, while Saryth and Cynefrid looked on. It was a odd experience, to examine someone so like the bespelled Leofric and so unlike him at the same time. Aethelric moved when she prodded his arm, blinked in surprise at her hand on his brow, and turned his head to watch her when she looked at his back. The twins shared red hair and freckles, oval faces and fine features, but on Aethelric, animated by intelligence and interest, they looked completely different. This is what Leofric would look like if he were awake, of course. Kite tried to be quick and gentle, but it wasn’t a difficult task. She already knew what she was looking for. Cynefrid had been right both times.

“Can you do anything for my brother?” Aethelric asked when she had finished, sitting back on her heels beside him.

“I’m sorry, no,” Kite said, trying to keep her voice level. “Nor for you. Your spine is broken. It may have been caused by magic, but the break is entirely natural.” She could feel tears coming, not so much for Aethelric or his brother as her own inadequacy, her people’s inadequacy. “I’m sorry!” she said. “I just - I don’t know enough to repair nerves.”

Aethelric’s expression didn’t change, suggesting he hadn’t expected much. “Thank you for trying,” he said, as if by rote, and she was probably only the latest in a long line of people to whom he’d said that. Then he frowned in puzzlement. “Why is it so important to you that you help us?”

“Because if we can’t help you, your grandfather won’t release our friend,” Kite said. “And he’s important because without him, the sun won’t shine.”

“He’s a holy man?” Aethelric asked.

“More important than that. He is... the part of the sun that shines.” She didn’t miss Saryth’s start of surprise, but they’d told Oeric the truth, so why not his grandson?

“But if he’s the sun,” Cynefrid said, “then...”

“Not in this world,” Kite said hurriedly. There was still a sun over Aescesdun, for all that it was winter-weak. “A different one.”

Aethelric frowned in thought. “Without a sun, what will happen to that world? Would it be always night? Will it - will it die?”

“That’s right.”

“So he is a sacrifice for this other world?” he persisted.

“In a way,” Kite said. It was a weird way to think of it, but it wasn’t wholly wrong.

“What?” Saryth sounded shocked.

“If your friend is a sun,” Aethelric said, “then he will not keep his body when he returns. We are our bodies,” and he put a hand to his chest, “this is who I am. So he will lose who he is.” Saryth gaped at him, and Kite closed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to think about the implications when Saryth had first suggested Aeryn was the sun, but Aethelric was right. He must have been thinking about this sort of a thing a lot since... since it all happened.

“And my grandfather sacrificing him won’t do anything, will it?” the boy went on. “Not for the summer, or my brother, or me.”

“Not for his world, either,” Kite said.

“If you are witches, can’t you just take him? By magic or something?”

“I was hoping to avoid that,” Kite said, and didn’t miss the worried look Cynefrid gave her. Aethelric clenched his hands on his lap, seemingly out of questions for the time being.

“Kite,” Saryth said slowly, “if the sleeping is tied to this world, what would happen if we took Leofric to a different world?”

Kite blinked. That solution hadn’t even occurred to her. Could it work? The only other spells she knew about which were tied to a world’s essence were gates, and they could not be moved without negating their function and purpose. Moving a gate was a nonsense proposition; they stood between worlds because that was what they were. But Leofric’s curse was not a gate, and Leofric certainly could be moved. Would it shift the curse entirely, or just weaken it? Either way...

“He might wake up,” she said slowly.

“Then -” Aethelric started, looking hopeful for the first time.

“But if he came back, he would sleep again,” Kite said, more sure of that than of his waking up in the first place. Aethelric’s face fell.

“If only you could change us over,” he said, “so I slept and Leofric could wake up.”

Kite frowned. There had been nothing so very specific about the spell, and they were twins, which would help. “That may be possible,” she said, and Aethelric brightened again.

“But Aethelric,” Cynefrid said, kneeling down by the boy’s nest, “that will leave you asleep.”

“But if Leofric is awake, he’ll be whole,” Aethelric said. “And I’ll wake up when Drogo is killed. Leofric hasn’t eaten properly for weeks. He won’t live much longer.” Kite agreed with his assessment. Leofric had been worryingly gaunt under the furs. As for killing the sorcerer, though, that was different. I must make sure they know that’s not a guaranteed solution.

“I need to talk to my mother,” Aethelric went on, taking control of the situation from the stunned adults. “But will you do this for us? For your friend’s life?”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” Kite said, not missing Saryth’s twitch at that.

“You don’t approve?” she asked him later, as they made their way back to the centre of the village. Cynefrid had stayed behind, at Aethelric’s request. Saryth scowled in thought.

“It’s not whether I approve or not,” he said. “The whole situation feels funny. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Kite admitted. But try as she might, she couldn’t put her finger on what was niggling at her. She kept recalling Aethelric’s expression as they left, an oddly intense mix of hope and fear. There was something Cynefrid had said that was important, but replaying their conversation in the hut wasn’t helping. And what did Aethelric want to talk to him about without them there? Am I just being overly suspicious?

Cynefrid caught them up a few minutes later, looking weary and sad, which was about normal from what Kite had seen of him thus far. Understandably. She still couldn’t help feeling wary of him, even as he walked them back to the main hall and explained the plan to Oeric in an admirably simple, clear manner. Her worry wasn’t eased by Oeric’s calm acceptance of their suggestion.

“What does this magic require?” he asked.

“Just a little time for us to prepare,” Kite said.

“Then tonight we will celebrate in honour of my grandson,” Oeric said. “You will do the magic tomorrow morning.”

Thus dismissed, Kite and Saryth went to sit on the tree trunk, staying out of the sudden whirl of activity prompted by Oeric’s words. Kite saw Aethylthryth hurrying to the twins’ hut and remembered what Aethelric had said about talking to his mother. She came back out a short while later, her face drawn with fresh grief, and Kite looked away, feeling guilty for the unintentional intrusion of observation.

Something is definitely wrong.