‘Good.’ Israfil nodded and heaved a long sigh. Bleda felt his neck flush red.

And then horns were ringing and the open doorway of the keep was full of figures, a handful of giants entering first, axes and war-hammers slung across their backs, ringmail shirts gleaming. Jin hissed as the giants moved to one side, revealing a stern-faced man, head shaved apart from a long dark warrior braid curling across his shoulder, an iron-grey beard upon his chin. He wore a fine sky-blue deel, edged in gold thread, belted with soft-tooled leather, his breeches bound tight from ankle to knee, and baggy above. His eyes locked with Jin’s and his stern face softened, eyes creasing in the hint of a smile.

‘Father,’ Jin whispered, half rising.

‘Stay, child,’ Kol murmured from behind them and Jin sat back down.

And then everything else in the room faded for Bleda.

His mother, Erdene, Queen of the Sirak, strode through the doorway.

She was older, with lines in her brown, weathered face that had not been there the last time he’d seen her, streaks of grey in her thick-bound warrior braid. A white scar stood out across her shaven head.

She looked as fine a Sirak lord as he had ever seen, dressed in a richly woven white deel tunic, fox fur trimming its collar and hems, a thick leather belt dressed with chains of silver and gold about her waist, and his heart thumped with pride to see her march towards him. He felt his face shifting, mouth stretching into a smile.

Her eyes looked into his, saw his smile, but he received nothing in return, only her cold-face, flat and impassionate. He gritted his teeth together and with an act of will wiped all emotion from his face.

Behind Uldin and Erdene walked a small retinue from their courts. Bleda saw an old face staring at him.

Old Ellac!

Bleda’s heart leaped a little with joy at another familiar face. The old warrior stared straight at Bleda, though he too showed no spark of emotion.

‘Welcome to Drassil,’ Israfil said as they were all shown to seats around the table. Food was brought and drinks were poured as Israfil continued his greeting, speaking of the journey from Arcona and the new peace in the Land of the Faithful. His voice became a blur of sound that Bleda did not hear, all his attention focused on his mother, and on maintaining the required facade of indifference.