The Crystal Heart by Sophie Masson Page B

‘Do you mind if I turn in for the night?’
    â€˜Of course not,’ I said, jumping up. ‘I’m sorry – I’ve kept you up far too late.’
    â€˜Not at all,’ she said, smiling. ‘I have enjoyed this evening so much. Thank you – thank you for everything.’
    â€˜There is no need to thank me,’ I said. ‘I am honoured that I have been able to help you, and that you did not find my stories too ridiculous.’
    â€˜I loved them,’ she said simply, meeting my eyes. A heartbeat of silence before she said, ‘Good night, Kasper.’
    â€˜Good night, Izolda,’ I echoed. ‘See you in the morning.’
    â€˜Yes. Sleep well.’ She disappeared behind the tattered screen, and after a few moments, I heard her soft, even breathing.
    But I could not settle. As I sat by the fire, feeding it from time to time with extra wood, I kept turning over everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours that had turned my life and my world upside down. And I did not regret one moment of them.
    What I did regret was how I had blindly accepted the official story of the prisoner in the Tower. I’d never thought to question why the Prince would have simply ended the war there and then, just because a helpful witch had been captured. It made no real sense when you came to look at it. But losing his beloved daughter – being afraid for her safety – that was quite another thing. That did make sense, in a terrible kind of way.
    But why would the Supreme Council risk putting to death such a valuable prisoner – an action that would surely have brought the Prince out against us again? And why would Commander Los, a hero admired and loved by all of Krainos, be part of such a monstrous plot – the lie that had kept us in ignorance for ten long years?

Kasper
    Every morning, after a simple breakfast, we set out into the woods so I could teach Izolda its ways. The first few days she was anxious and wary, and we only went a short distance from the house. I never left her side, for I knew she needed to be gently eased into her new-found freedom. She started at the slightest sound. Once, when we were gathering mushrooms, she froze in utter fear when a hedgehog scuttled out from under some leaf litter and hurried past.
    â€˜It’s all right, Izolda,’ I said, wanting to put a comforting arm around her but not daring to. ‘It’s just a little hedgehog. He’s harmless – unless, of course, you’re a beetle.’
    She gave a tentative smile. ‘I’m sorry, Kasper. I feel ashamed. I’m such a fool. I’ve only ever seen them in books, you see – and he came out so suddenly …’
    â€˜They do that,’ I agreed. ‘One of them startled me just like that once – only I was just about to take a pot shot at adeer, and I missed. I cursed that little walking pincushion, I can tell you!’
    â€˜I can imagine,’ she said, no longer looking anxious, and continued to gather the mushrooms.
    After that I tried to anticipate anything that might frighten her. I taught her how to recognise the tracks of wild animals, to find edible roots and herbs, and to identify the plants that are useful in other ways: the soap herb that grows under hazel trees, the bark and leaves that can be boiled up for medicine. Nettles were plentiful in the area, so I taught Izolda how to pick them without getting stung. I showed her how to extract honey from a hive, how to recognise the right sorts of mushrooms and avoid the bad ones. I taught her how to make a simple trap, too. But on the seventh day, when she found a pigeon caught in one of her traps, she insisted on taking it back to the cottage and nursing it to health. I had no choice but to agree, though at first I could not help thinking what a nice roast that plump little bird would have made.
    I would have spared her the skinning and gutting of