Wheezing with laughter, Issi threw herself out of the chestnut tree and landed in the water lilies with a satisfying splash.

Havoc leapt in after her with an even bigger splash, swamping the riverbank. Issi swam under the lioness’ belly and made a grab at her tail, but Havoc twisted round and ducked beneath her, eliciting bubbly underwater squeals. Still play-fighting, they burst out together in a spluttering spray.

Breathless and spent, Issi scrambled on to a rock, and Havoc did the same, shaking the water from her fur and slumping down beside her.

It was a hot night, pulsing with the voices of crickets and frogs. Issi lay on her back, gazing at the Moon between the chestnut tree’s branches. She still couldn’t believe how quickly things had changed. A while ago, she’d been sitting under this tree with her head in her hands, so lonely and miserable that she couldn’t summon the will to move. Then Havoc had come bounding out of the reeds, rubbing against her and making happy little groany owmp owmp noises.

Putting out her hand, Issi touched the lioness’ rough, leathery pad. Thank you for coming to find me, she told Havoc silently.

She must have slept, because when she opened her eyes, the night was turning grey, and Havoc was back from a hunt, hauling a dead buck by its neck over the ground.

Once, Issi had seen a pride of lions feeding on a boar. She’d felt a twinge of envy as she’d watched the orderly little family at its meal: the male lion eating first, followed by the lionesses, and then the cubs. They’d been so at ease with each other, so close. Issi had never known her own parents. Hylas had been the only family she’d ever had.

Pushing that thought away, Issi woke up a fire and waited respectfully for Havoc to eat her fill. After a while, she was rewarded with an affectionate nudge from the lioness’ big, bloody muzzle: Go on, it’s your turn.

Issi hacked chunks of venison and set them to roast, then cracked the thighbones and guzzled the delicious, fatty marrow. After this she got fed up with waiting, and gobbled the meat half-raw, till she was as full and filthy as Havoc. She gave a contented burp. It felt so good to be part of a pride.

Sparrows chattered in the chestnut tree, and a thrush began its morning song. The forest was waking up. In the strengthening light, Issi watched Havoc’s pelt turn from its nighttime silver to daytime tawny. She loved the lioness’ enormous paws and the leathery smell of her pads, she loved the deep black fur inside her ears. Most of all, she loved Havoc’s huge, slanted, dark-rimmed eyes of that beautiful red-gold, like sunlight through autumn leaves.

Thank you for coming to find me, Issi told her again.

Havoc hauled herself to her feet and waded into the shallows to lap the water. Then she ambled over to the chestnut tree, rose on her hind legs, and started scratching deep grooves in its trunk. As she flexed her claws in and out, her muscles rippled beneath her pelt, and she slitted her eyes with pleasure.

Issi knew better than to disturb her, so she scrambled up the other side of the trunk, picked a handful of chestnuts, and sat on a branch with her legs dangling, splitting open the prickly fruit and munching the nuts. She wondered what Hylas was doing now. With a stab of jealousy, she wondered if Pirra had found him, and they were together again.

On her way down the tree, she came upon one of Havoc’s claw-sheaths embedded in the bark, like a fingernail. This pleased Issi immensely: it was almost as good as an actual claw, and it felt like an excellent omen. With a flake of flint, she drilled a hole in the claw sheath, then made a string from nettle stems and hung the sheath around her neck. There: the best, most powerful amulet she could ever have. This had to be a good sign.

The Sun rose higher and the heat intensified. The crickets’ song grew louder and faster, and the birds lapsed into stunned silence. Issi felt the slight pressure behind her ears that told her a storm was coming.

Havoc lay on her side, rumbling in her sleep. Issi snuggled against her and dozed, luxuriating in the amazing, unfamiliar feeling of being utterly safe.

Drowsily, she chided herself for having been so miserable. So what if Hylas was friends with that girl? Maybe they would have a fight, and Pirra would go back to Keftiu and never bother them again. Issi didn’t want anything bad to happen to her; she just wanted to be with Hylas, the way it used to be, with no one in the way.

But all that was a problem for the future. The main thing was to find him. And with Havoc to guide her, surely that would only be a matter of time?

To Issi’s surprise, Havoc woke well before noon. The lioness seemed alert and keen to be off, uttering eager little whines as she snuffed the air. It looked as if she’d caught an exciting scent. Could it be Hylas?

Certainly, the lioness seemed very sure of where she was going, skirting the mountainside at a brisk trot that had Issi struggling to keep up. But whenever she dropped too far behind, Havoc paused and waited for her, which strengthened Issi’s belief that Havoc might be leading her to her brother.

The morning grew even hotter and more airless. To the east, Issi saw grape-coloured clouds. She heard the crazy laughter of a green woodpecker. She noticed that the swallows were flying lower than usual, and the bees were staying close to their nests. Definitely a storm on the way, she thought. But she wasn’t worried, she was used to storms; and Havoc was keeping to the mountain’s lower slopes, where there were caves for shelter – so there’d be little danger from the lightning that stalked the peaks.

Havoc stood halfway up the slope, waiting for her. The lioness blended so perfectly with the long gold grass that it was hard even for Issi to make her out.

As Issi drew near, Havoc turned north-east, towards a spur that jutted from the mountain’s roots. Issi hesitated. Not that way, Havoc, that leads to Lapithos!

But Havoc had picked up her pace, as if she was nearing her goal. Warily, Issi followed, keeping to the long grass and the tall purple sword-thistles.

As she climbed higher, the view opened up, and she saw the rebels’ camp down on the ridge. To the east, on the plain, she saw a vast swathe of red dust moving towards them like a tide. Her belly turned over. That must be the Crows. When they reached the rebels, the battle would begin. By the look of it, that would be today.

Havoc had vanished into the grass. Hurrying after her, Issi’s heart began to race. What if she found Hylas on the other side of this spur?

As she reached its crest, she heard someone not far below: someone who, like her, seemed to be heading for Lapithos. Whipping out her knife, she dropped to a crouch. If it was Crows …

A clump of thistles blocked her view, she couldn’t see who was coming; but on the other side of the spur, she saw Lapithos. With a twinge of fear, she took in its dark-red walls, its watchtowers with their slitted windows like sleepless eyes. She saw the fluttering crests of the guards’ helmets on top of the walls. The gates stood slightly open: at any moment, Crow warriors might come pouring out of them – or were the gates about to be flung wide to admit whoever was coming?

They were drawing closer, she could hear the grass rustling not ten paces away. It didn’t sound like Crows: she caught no creak of armour. Her heart thudded in her chest. Could it be Hylas?

The disappointment was so crushing she felt as if she’d been punched. It wasn’t Hylas she saw moving swiftly yet stealthily towards Lapithos.

It was the wisewoman and Pirra.