Then she was being yanked by the collar, dragged upwards, a great blast of air beating about her. The flames in the pit hissed and crackled, leaping high.

Riv found herself suspended in the air, Kol’s fist bunched in her cloak, feet dangling. Vald hung suspended from Kol’s other hand.

Now that is an impressive feat of strength, knowing Vald’s bulk.

‘We’ve enemies enough to fight, without starting on one another,’ Kol said, throwing them both to the ground. He looked from Riv to Vald, then shook his head.

‘You should eat something,’ he said to Riv. ‘Aphra, you’ve kept the fledglings waiting on us too long – they’re starving on their feet. And hunger frays tempers, you know. And you,’ he said, looking to Vald, who was grunting under the weight of his bulk as he struggled to one knee. ‘Perhaps you should consider exercising the humility and honour that befits a White-Wing.’

Vald wobbled to his feet.

‘And maybe try eating a little less.’

Laughter rippled around the room, Kol joining in at his own joke.

Riv avoided looking at her sister, knowing the stern glare she’d receive, and made her way to the food bench.

‘My thanks,’ Riv said to Kol as she sat at the table with a bowl of hot venison stew, fried onions and mushrooms bobbing in the fat-glistening gravy.

Kol drank from his wine cup, only to find it empty and Riv leaned close to fill it for him. He reached out to take the wine skin from her. As he did so, his hand closed around Riv’s, big and warm, heat pulsing from it. Riv’s instinct was to jerk her hand away, but she resisted, instead looked at him. The ghost of a smile twitched his lips, his eyes sparkling with mirth, and he winked at her, a flicker in the firelight.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said.

Then his hand was gone and he was taking the wine skin and pouring his cup full. Riv went back to her venison stew, not sure what exactly had just happened.

Riv murmured a command and dug her heels into her mount, moving from canter to gallop in the space of a few heartbeats as she leaned forwards, her spear gripped tight, shaft tucked between her arm and torso. Wind whipped her face and dragged tears from her eyes. She wanted to yell for the joy of it, the thundering hooves beating a shuddering time, echoed by the rhythm of her heart.

Her target seemed a long way away, everything around her slow, moving at quarter time. To one side of her, White-Wings were training in the shield wall, on the other side giants were shaking the ground in individual sparring. Closer, she glimpsed Jost, a blur attacking a training mannequin; even with his broken arm still bound he was fast and deadly.