He would need to talk with the witches.

Tyrion added some more twigs to the fire. The night was cool and there were beasts about. He had made camp in a hollow which would put their fire out of sight. In the darkness, he did not fear that woodsmoke rising skywards would give them away, although perhaps the scent of it would if their enemies got close. They needed warm food and comfort more than that slight risk at the moment, he decided.

The Everqueen looked at home here. Her face was smudged with soot. She had dressed the birds she had shot earlier and was cooking them on an improvised spit, baking tubers in the same fire. He was glad she had turned out to be competent at this. He was not sure he was going to be able to get her all the way out of the forest. His side was paining him already and he did not know how long they would have to flee.

They sat in silence as the pigeons cooked, then ate quietly, stripping the birds right down to the bones. Afterwards they sat down by the fire. Alarielle stared into it.

‘I used to love doing this when I was a child,’ she said. The sound of her voice was surprising in the night.

‘Doing what?’ Tyrion asked.

‘Staring into the fire I could see all sorts of things in it: castles, clouds, gods, elementals, daemons. I used to tell myself all sorts of stories.’

‘I would have thought there was always someone there to do that for you.’

‘You don’t like me, do you, Prince Tyrion?’ There was truth in that, but now did not seem like a time to say it.

‘I don’t know you.’

‘And yet you still don’t like me – why is that?’

Tyrion sighed. ‘Does it trouble you so much that one person does not like you? I would have thought the adoration of all the rest made up for it.’

‘Is that what bothers you? The way the people worship me?’

‘Perhaps worship is too strong a word.’

‘No, it is not, and the truth is that it bothers me too.’

Tyrion looked at her sharply. ‘Why?’

‘Because it was not always so. I was once an elf maid like any other. Now people treat me as a living goddess. Even you, in your strange, sullen way.’

Tyrion felt that was unfair. Her words stung. He was not used to being talked to like this either. ‘Perhaps because you are a goddess.’

‘It was not my choice.’

‘Poor child.’

She smiled, and something in her smile made Tyrion feel ashamed of himself. ‘No. Really. It was not my choice. And I would much rather my mother was alive than I was possessed by this thing.’

‘Possessed? That is an interesting choice of words.’

‘It is an accurate one, Prince Tyrion. I share my body with something else. I am not even sure what that something is.’

‘It is the spirit of the earth goddess. Even I know that.’

‘You may know the words, Prince Tyrion, but I very much doubt you can have any inkling of what they mean.’

‘I have met the Phoenix King.’

‘I have not. Do I remind you of him?’

‘No.