‘He’s here, somewhere,’ another voice called out from the crowd, stepping forwards. A woman this time, shaven-haired as well. It took a moment for Drem to recognize her.

Tyna, Ulf’s wife, whom Drem had seen that morning, terrified for her husband’s safety.

‘Show him,’ Gulla said to the acolytes spread about the clearing, bloodied lips spread in a sanguine smile.

More and more acolytes started to push their hoods back, more shaven heads, but they were faces that Drem recognized. Fear seized him, then, a paralysis that threatened to incapacitate him, for they were mostly faces he’d known for the last five years, neighbours, townsfolk, some he’d even considered friends.

Is everything and everyone a lie?

‘It seems that half the town of Kergard is here,’ Drem wheezed, finding it hard to breathe.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: BLEDA

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

BLEDA

Bleda sat before the window in his chamber, the shutters rattling with the wind and beating rain. Behind him a few embers glowed on his hearth, all but burned out. He was restless, had been for some days now, and couldn’t sleep. He knew the root of it, though it had taken him a while to admit it to himself.

I am worried about Riv.

For as long as he could remember, all he had thought about was the Sirak. About his kin, his dead brother and sister, his pride-battered mother. Arcona, the Grass Sea, nursing his grudges, he and Jin feeding each other’s flames of hatred, their spite-filled mocking of all things Drassil, their disgust at any who were weak enough to show emotion, their bitter dreams of justice or vengeance, whatever name you gave it.

But now I am worried about something – someone – else. Riv. My friend.

It was a new feeling, having a friend. Caring about someone who had not come from the Clans. Especially when that someone was as wild and emotionally unfettered as an unbroken colt.

But she was his friend, he could as much deny it as deny that water was wet, or the sky was blue. She had done something unprecedented that day when she’d given him his bow. She’d forged a bond with him somehow, across the abyss of his pain and scorn.

So, she is my friend. I care about her welfare.

And that was why he’d rushed after her when he’d seen her carried from the weapons-field, almost a ten-night gone, why he’d hammered on her barrack doors, only to be told to go away, that she was unwell and could not have visitors.

Every day he had returned, everyday been told the same thing, whether by her mam or sister. Sometimes a different White-Wing. Even by the bull-muscled Vald once. He’d called Bleda back as he had turned to leave.