‘Bleda,’ a voice said, and they looked up together, saw Israfil standing in an open doorway.

‘Come in,’ Israfil said, and Bleda’s cold-face slipped back over his smile, like a mask. He rose and entered the Lord Protector’s chamber. The door closed, voices muffled. Riv could only stand being able to hear their voices but not the words for so long. Then she stood and crept oh so quietly across the flagstoned floor to the closed door.

‘. . . proud of you, Bleda,’ Israfil was saying. ‘You fought for us. For the people of the Faithful. I wanted to give you my gratitude, not just for the act that you did. Stopping the foul deed that could well have freed Asroth from his prison, but also for the principle of what you did. Of making a stand. Of fighting for us. A selfless act against our common enemy. I knew my faith in you was well placed, just as I know that you will make a fine leader of your people. We will accomplish great things together, when you are lord of the Arcona.’

‘The Sirak, you mean.’

‘The Sirak and Cheren will become one, when you and Jin are wed. One people, working with us, driving the Kadoshim from the land.’

‘The Kadoshim, they are terrible,’ Bleda said. ‘I could see their hatred, taste it.’

‘They are,’ Israfil agreed.

‘But I do not think I stopped them . . .’

There was a pause.

‘What do you mean?’ Israfil said.

‘I think they wanted Asroth’s hand. Or part of him.’

Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond the entrance chamber and Riv ran to her seat, only to hear the footsteps pass the door and fade. She thought about going back to eavesdrop at Israfil’s door again, but then it opened and Bleda came out.

‘Riv,’ Israfil said sternly, and she rose and entered the chamber, giving Bleda a little smile as they passed each other. He didn’t acknowledge her, looked distracted.

‘Close the door behind you,’ Israfil said, walking away to stand before an open window, his chamber looking out over Drassil and the plain beyond.

‘Sit,’ Israfil said, gesturing to a chair, his back to her.

Riv did, nervously, wood scraping on stone.

‘I am worried for you,’ Israfil said, turning to face her.

She didn’t say anything, had done so many things of late that she wasn’t sure what Israfil was referring to, and didn’t want to incriminate herself any further.

‘Fighting, with White-Wings, while on a mission.’

Kol has told him.

She dipped her head with a sigh. ‘I am very sorry, Lord Protector,’ she said.