I snatched a glance at moon and stars as he hustled me across the courtyard. The open space made me dizzy. I sucked in a breath of air, but all I could smell was my own filthy body. No sign of the other guards; no sign of an executioner. Maybe Slammer had requested the privilege of doing it all by himself. He was pushing me ahead of him now, into some kind of outhouse – I had a sudden image of myself being hauled up on a rope like a pig for the slaughter – and then there was the bright light of two lamps, and a man sitting at a table looking at me, and the shock of realising that maybe Slammer had been telling the truth.

‘Thank you,’ the man said, rising to his feet. ‘Leave us now.’

‘Woman’s a miscreant,’ Slammer protested. ‘Not safe –’

‘Nonetheless.’

‘Against the rules,’ Slammer muttered.

The man – long-legged, dressed in a fine hooded cloak – suddenly had a little jingling bag in his hand. He counted out some coins. ‘I doubt that I’ll be in any danger,’ he said, ‘but you’re welcome to stay just outside the door. We’ll call you when we’re done here.’ The bag was put away, still jingling, and Slammer went out and closed the door behind him.

‘Sit down, please,’ said my visitor, as if we were a pair of high-born folk meeting for a little chat.

I sat down on a bench; I was still shivering. The tall man seated himself opposite me and slipped back his hood. This was a person of striking beauty, and almost certainly fey or half-fey. I had seen enough of his kind, in my old life of long ago, to recognise the signs: the widely spaced eyes, the broad brow, the proud, chiselled features. His manner suggested privilege, certainly, but it was lacking in the arrogance of men like Mathuin of Laois. Facing him across the table, I was sharply aware of my lice-ridden, scabby body in its ragged apology for clothing. What in Morrigan’s name was this elegant creature doing here? He could hardly be my executioner.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he asked, lifting his brows as if at some private joke.

So he was going to play games too. I had never seen him in my life before. ‘I don’t know you, and I don’t know why you’re here.’ After a moment, because he had not called me Slut, I added, ‘My lord.’

The stranger sat there examining me for a while. I made sure I looked him in the eye. If I was pathetic and wretched, draggled and filthy, that was not from any fault of mine. I was damned if I’d leave this place looking beaten, even if that was the way I felt.

‘Your case was up to be heard today, yes?’