‘He’s good at that, I’ve heard,’ Riv said. ‘And what about these acts of bravery, the Kadoshim you slew?’

‘That happened later. In the great chamber. With my bow.’ A brief flicker of a smile.

He does love that bow.

‘So let me get this right. You were attacked by a Kadoshim, and you felt scared—’

‘Terrified,’ Bleda corrected.

‘Terrified. And then, soon after, you killed Kadoshim and their servants in the Great Hall. And wrestled some man-beast thing that chewed your shoulder to pulp.’

‘Aye. And then Alcyon saved me. Again.’

‘Bleda, that is the definition of courage. Or so Balur One-Eye has told me, and if you want to argue with him, well, that doesn’t make you brave, that makes you stupid.’

‘What do you mean?’ Bleda said.

‘You cannot be truly brave unless you feel truly afraid. That’s what courage is. Doing it anyway, even though you’re scared. Sorry, terrified. And you did. You chose to fight. To step into that furnace of blood and madness and pain, and fight. Despite your fear.’

She watched him, saw his face shift in ways she’d never seen it move before as her words settled into him. He sighed at the end, a relief.

‘My mother said something like that to me, a long time ago. I’d forgotten, until you said those words.’

He has fine eyes, she thought. Almond-shaped, a deep brown.

‘You fight all the time,’ he said to her. ‘Is that what you feel?’

She thought about that, her frown deepening.

I don’t ever remember feeling scared. Mostly just angry. No. Only ever angry.

And even more so recently.

‘Tell me of your mother, your home,’ Riv asked him, avoiding answering his question.

‘My mother,’ he said, leaning back, a slight frown creasing his forehead. ‘She is strong, brave, wise. A respected leader of the Sirak.’

‘I know that already, tell me something different about her.’

Bleda thought about that a moment.

‘Her laugh,’ he said. ‘When she laughs, really laughs, she snorts like a pig. My brother, Altan, he could always make her laugh, with just a look, a raised eyebrow. And once my mother started laughing – like a pig – then we would all be laughing.’ Riv was amazed to see a smile spread across his face, deep and genuine, muscles relaxing. He looked at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It is like a gift, a forgotten memory. Ah, to be Sirak again, to live free, travelling with the seasons, dismantling and rolling the gers, herding flocks of goats, hunting with my father, with hawk and spear. The freedom of the Grass Sea . . .’

I believe in the Way of Elyon with all my heart, and pray every day for his Lore to spread throughout the Banished Lands, to bring peace and harmony, but, listening to Bleda . . . She sighed. Life does not sound so bad, the Sirak don’t seem in any great need of saving or protecting.