A whisper of wings, a silhouette blotting out the grey of dawn, and then Kol was alighting inside the wain, sitting down so that he was hidden from view from outside the wain, his great wings wrapping around him. He stared at Riv, his dark eyes fixing her, golden hair shimmering in the first glow of the sun.

‘Disobeying orders and sneaking into Oriens. Fighting guards. Let’s go back a little. Fighting on the weapons-field. Further. Fighting in the feast-hall, kicking your friend in the stones. Back further. You punch Israfil, the Lord Protector of the Ben-Elim, Overseer of the Land of the Faithful, in the face.’ His lips twitched at the last. ‘It would seem you have anger issues, Riv.’ He shook his head. ‘What am I to do with you?’

A silence settled between them, just his stare.

‘Was that a rhetorical question?’ she eventually asked, uncomfortable, ‘or do you want me to answer?’

Kol snorted a laugh at that. He laughed a lot, judging by the creases at his eyes.

‘I can only help you so much – like today in the market square. You must help yourself.’

‘Why do you care?’ Riv grunted. She knew it was churlish as soon as she said it, but she seemed to be doing a lot of things like that lately. Acting, speaking, doing, before thinking.

‘I like you, Riv.’ Kol shrugged. ‘You have spirit. I can see your mam in you, and your sister, and that is no insult. But keep on like this and you’ll never make the White-Wings.’

‘I know,’ said Riv with a frustrated sigh. ‘And that is my greatest, my only wish.’

‘Then let me help you make it come true,’ he whispered.

‘You would help me?’

‘Yes. If I can. But you must help yourself, too. Start by stopping your brawling. It won’t do. It’s spoiling your looks.’ He smiled then, a flash of white teeth and Riv felt herself blushing. Starlight highlighted the arch of his eyebrows and cheekbones, making the scar that ran from forehead to chin a dark valley. Somehow it made his face more handsome, different from the Ben-Elim’s perfection. And fierce. She was glad the sun hadn’t risen so far that Kol could see her blush. He reached a hand out, fingers brushing the cut on her lip. Riv fought the instinct to pull away, would have, if not for the wain’s board behind her head. Something about his touch sent a shiver through her.

‘You are so different from Israfil,’ she whispered, scared by his touch, the smile in his eyes, enjoying it, too.

‘He is too serious,’ Kol whispered, fingertips still brushing her cut lip. ‘This life of flesh, there is so much more to it than his constant frowning and his fixation with the Lore.’

Riv smiled, snorted a shocked laugh.

‘I thought the Lore was everything,’ she said.