‘It’s forgotten,’ she said easily. Vald gave her a huge grin, relief rolling off him in waves, and offered her the warrior grip, which technically was reserved for those who had passed their warrior trial. Riv appreciated the gesture and took his arm.

A noise drew their attention, the blowing of horns.

The three of them looked at one another.

‘Too early for prayers,’ Vald said.

‘It’s the Lore-Giving,’ Bleda said.

‘Aye,’ Riv agreed. People were beginning to leave the weapons-field, heading towards Drassil’s Great Hall.

‘Come on,’ Riv said, and with a shrug of her shoulders she led them off the field.

The last time this happened a half-breed Kadoshim tried to slay Israfil before every eye in Drassil.

She quickened her pace.

As they followed the crowds hurrying through Drassil’s wide streets Riv saw her sister, Aphra. She hurried over to her.

Because the two women she’d seen on the road, that night with Bleda, had been her sister and Fia, and since then Fia had disappeared from their barrack, had not been seen at Drassil. Aphra had been difficult to pin down every time Riv had approached her.

They stood in the midst of the crowds hastening to the Lore-Giving summons, a rock amidst a fast-flowing river.

Aphra blinked. ‘There’s no time for this.’ She scowled, waving a hand at the air. ‘The summons.’

Riv grabbed her arm, holding her fast. ‘I saw you,’ she said in a low voice, urgently, ‘on the road with Fia. Where is she?’

A flash of concern, then anger.

Aphra tugged free of her grip and strode on with the fast-flowing crowd, leaving Riv wondering what it was her sister was hiding.

The Great Hall thrummed with murmured conversation, full to the brim with Drassil’s residents. The tiered steps were not enough to contain everyone, crowds standing pressed close together in stairwells around the room. In the chamber’s heights Ben-Elim flew in lazy circles. They raised horns to their lips as a door opened and Israfil, the Lord Protector, strode into the room, a procession of Ben-Elim behind him. Golden-haired Kol was first amongst them, a score more, spread in two wide columns, and between them walked two figures. One Ben-Elim, one a woman in the training livery of a White-Wing.

Israfil stopped on the dais, standing before the figures of Asroth and Meical, giant guards looming behind him.

‘Faith, Strength and Purity,’ Israfil said, shouting passionately, far from the monotone recitation that was the normal way of speaking Elyon’s Lore. His eyes were blazing, wings twitching with pent-up anger.

‘For that is the Way of Elyon,’ Riv muttered along with the rest of the chamber, though she was unsettled by Israfil’s demeanour.

‘A crime has been committed, here at Drassil,’ Israfil’s voice boomed, a hush falling over the chamber.