‘Why?’ Aphra said, instead. Not accusing, or judging.

‘Because . . .’ Riv’s voice caught in her throat at the memory of Israfil’s words. She took a deep breath, controlling the emotion that was stealing her voice. ‘He told me I was weak because I have no father,’ Riv said, and then the rest spilt out in a torrent of whispers, Aphra listening in her calm way.

When Riv finished, Aphra sat there nodding, eyes staring into nowhere. Looking at her sister, Riv saw a few strands of grey in her hair, was surprised at that. Her sister always seemed so strong and capable. Fierce and wise, never-changing.

She’s getting old.

‘He was testing you,’ Aphra said.

‘What?’

‘Many of us are fatherless, and motherless. We are born of warriors, Riv, and warriors die – that is the way of it. Our da was a White-Wing, he fought and died in service of the holy war. It is just a part of our life.’ She was silent a moment, her eyes distant.

‘What was our father like?’ Riv asked. She had never known him, a White-Wing like her mam, but slain on a campaign, soon after Riv was born.

Aphra looked down at her, stroked Riv’s hair. ‘A warrior.’ She shrugged. ‘A White-Wing, he gave his all for the cause, died for it.’

‘I know that,’ Riv said, ‘have heard it a thousand times. But what was he like?’

‘Ah, Riven ap Lorin,’ Aphra said, using Riv’s full name for once. ‘He was like you: wild, like the north wind.’

Riv liked that, though she thought that quality might not have helped her warrior trial today.

‘So it’s our father’s fault I punched the Lord Protector, then.’

‘I don’t think that will be an acceptable excuse to Israfil.’ Aphra smiled. ‘Though I wouldn’t worry,’ she added with a shake of her head. ‘Israfil did not mean what he said.’

‘Then why did he say it?’ Riv growled.

‘Think,’ Aphra said, poking Riv in the temple. ‘The warrior trial is not just about skill of arms, Riv. Think about it. It is all a test to deem if we are fit to face the Kadoshim in battle. For that you need blade-prowess, of course, because the Kadoshim are strong, yes, fierce and deadly, that too. But they also have dread-cunning, and will exploit any weakness. Imagine you were in a shield wall and the right insults wormed their way into your head and heart – what if the rage took you then, and you leaped from the wall in a red-murder haze? The wall would be shattered, and your sword-kin would die.’

Riv thought about that awhile, and whatever way she looked at it there was no getting away from the sense of it.

‘That smacks of truth,’ she conceded, ‘but it doesn’t mean it is the truth.’

‘This time it is,’ Aphra said. ‘A similar thing happened to me, on my warrior trial.’