‘Sometimes the heart leads us down a path that the head would avoid,’ her mam said. ‘That is why a warrior must learn to master their emotions. Self-control can save your life, whereas lack of control . . . It can make it feel as if nothing exists except the now. And that the future –’ she shrugged – ‘fades in the mind.’

Riv could understand that, remembering how Israfil’s goading during her warrior trial had led her anger to explode. It had controlled her, no, consumed her. One moment she’d been aware of the consequences, the next, she had not cared.

I gave no thought to the future at all.

‘But we are not beasts,’ her mam said, ‘which is why we train so hard. Discipline, of body and mind, regimentation, endurance, it all teaches control, which leads to purity.’ She gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘But that’s all very well for me to say, sitting in the safety and calm of our feast-hall, a cup of wine in my hand, my beautiful daughter by my side. I’m glad you feel compassion for Estel and Adonai. You have a big heart, Riv. And an . . . emotional one.’

Riv smiled ruefully.

My temper. Always, my temper.

‘Am I ever going to become a White-Wing, Mam?’

‘Of course you are,’ Dalmae said firmly, cupping Riv’s cheek with her palm. It was cool to the touch, hard-skinned from decades of weapons-work. ‘Next time, just refrain from punching the Lord Protector in the face.’

‘Good advice,’ Riv muttered. Her mam smiled and poured her another cup of wine.

The barrack doors creaked open, a cold wind swirling through, raising goosebumps on Riv’s arms. Aphra strode through the doors, her unit captains behind her. They marched to the fire-pit, all eyes upon them.

‘Make sure your kit-bags are packed and your weapons polished,’ Aphra said. ‘We’re marching out at dawn.’

‘Why?’ Riv called out before she could rein in her tongue.

Aphra stared at Riv a long moment, silence settling in the hall.

‘We’re going to Oriens, a town on the east road, about a ten-night’s march. Israfil has received strange reports. Screams heard by travellers on the road. No word from there since.’ Aphra looked around the whole hall, her gaze finally coming back to rest upon Riv and her mam.

‘Israfil fears the Kadoshim are behind it.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: DREM

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DREM

Hildith, Ulf and their riders were arriving as Drem stepped into the yard, through the huge hole in the building’s side. It had exploded outwards, splintered wood sprayed about the yard, littering the ground, spiking up through the snow, like the skeleton of a leviathan in a white sea.

Except for the blood.

Droplets speckled the ground, no death wound, but injuries, nevertheless.

Is the bear wounded? From Surl as the hound put up a fight? Or is it Fritha’s blood, spilt as it crushed her in its jaws?