I did as I was told. My legs got me as far as the stool, where I sat, shivering. The last time Mathuin had questioned me, I had been publicly mocked and humiliated. I had been scorned and spat upon and worse. And then I’d been thrown into the lockup. I did not want questions now. I had told the truth, and it had hurt more than anyone could understand. I had been brave. Somewhere, deep down, I felt proud that I had spoken up. But I did not want to go back there, I did not want to go back to that day when Mathuin had made me the lowest of the low, when he had stripped away the last of my dignity, when he had shown me that sometimes all a person’s courage is not enough.

‘You did fine.’ Grim was crouched beside me again, holding the cup. ‘Take a sip or two. Should steady you a bit. Nearly over.’

I took the cup, but it shook so violently in my hand that Grim took it back. He held it for me while I drank. ‘I don’t think I can . . .’ I whispered.

‘Do it together, right?’ said Grim. ‘Team, aren’t we?’

I attempted a smile. Up by the long table Master Bress was speaking to Mathuin in hushed tones. Trying to convince him, perhaps, that it might be better if he did not ask his own questions. And failing, since Master Bress now turned toward the prince and said, ‘Lord Mathuin wishes to question Mistress Blackthorn himself, my lord, as in the matters she has raised it is only her word against his. I believe that should be allowed. I have advised him to moderate his language.’

It felt like a bad dream. I stood up, moved forward again. Grim walked beside me.

‘Bonehead!’ exclaimed Mathuin, as if he had not noticed my companion before. ‘You useless lump of horse shit, you’re still alive!’

‘If that’s your idea of moderating your language,’ said Oran, ‘you’ll be out of here before I can count to ten. If you have questions, ask them. With at least a modicum of courtesy.’