‘Really?’ Riv asked, wanting it to be true. It was a far better option in her head than the Lord Protector secretly being a wicked, malice-filled bastard. ‘The Lord Protector?’

‘No, it was Kol that sword-schooled me.’ Her eyes took on a faraway look. ‘But he said some hard things to me. Things that were close enough to truth; if you looked at what he said in a shift of light you could almost think, maybe . . .’

‘Aye,’ Riv agreed, a hiss of breath.

‘But they were not the truth,’ Aphra said, shaking her head. ‘Kol spoke to me afterwards, and told me it was only a test.’

‘Will the Lord Protector tell me the same, then?’

‘Well, I’m thinking, no,’ Aphra said. ‘I controlled my anger, unlike you, and still passed my trials, remember, where you have failed. You will have to take them again, so the Lord Protector will not want you knowing. I shouldn’t have told you.’ She looked sternly at Riv. ‘Don’t tell a soul, not even Mam.’

‘I won’t,’ Riv grunted, almost insulted, as if she would ever betray her sister’s trust.

‘And then there’s the matter of punching the Lord Protector in the face,’ Aphra continued.

Riv hung her head and put her face in her hands.

‘An apology may be the wisest step,’ Aphra said.

Riv’s gut instinct was to snarl NEVER. Israfil’s words were still a sharp knife in her soul, but, if it had all been a test . . .

It does make sense, and is something the Ben-Elim would do: testing every aspect of a warrior, mental as well as physical.

‘It was a great honour, the Lord Protector choosing you to fight, to test. He must see greatness in you,’ Aphra said. ‘As do I.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Riv. Shame I didn’t live up to it. ‘I’ll apologize, then,’ Riv said grudgingly.

‘Good,’ Aphra said, taking Riv’s arm and tugging her to her feet. ‘Now let’s go and find Mam. She’s searching for you all over Drassil.’

Riv stood, feeling some of her hurt and anger drain away.

‘When do you think the next warrior trials will be held?’ she asked her sister.

‘A few moons, most likely. As soon as there are enough recruits reaching their name-days to make a shield wall.’

Maybe still this year, then, Riv thought, before Midwinter’s Day.

‘Before then you’re going to have to do something about that temper of yours, though. It seems to be getting worse, not better, and that’s not the kind of quality the Ben-Elim want in their White-Wings. Discipline, control,’ Aphra said, putting an arm around Riv’s shoulder and steering her up the stairs towards the open entrance.

‘Aye,’ Riv agreed, knowing that was a truth harder in the doing than the saying.

I’ve never been the calmest, never as calm as Aphra, but she’s right, it is getting worse.