‘What are you doing?’ I said, gesturing to the rest of her equipment. I wondered if she had her little brother’s interest in experiments.

‘Obviously you’re not an angler.’

‘Obviously,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to enlighten me?’

She shrugged. ‘This is a rod, with a line on it. End of the line has a hook. Hook has bait. This time of year I use worms.’

‘Worms? As in, the live animal?’

‘They start that way,’ she said. She took a sip of wine. ‘Fish seem to like them.’

‘And that’s the whole endeavour, is it? To catch fish to eat?’

‘I take some home, yes, but if they’re too small or I have enough, I throw them back.’

‘You throw them back?’ I stared in horror at the water; just how many fish had survived such an ordeal only to face it once again?

‘They don’t seem to mind,’ she said.

I sputtered, somewhere between laughter and shock. I wasn’t sure what to make of such a statement.

‘Some people like hunting,’ she said, ‘and some like sewing. Me? I like angling, that’s all.’

Perhaps I could see the appeal. It was quiet this far up the river, peaceful. It gave one a reason to sit and be still, without risking boredom. It wasn’t so different, in that respect, from the practising of instruments. The soft gurgling and muttering of the river saved us from silence. Even late in the year there was a sense of life about the place – insects and birds, all manner of winged things. It smelled richly of soil and fresh water and natural comings and goings.

As it happened, I could recall seeing Harriet make her way out of town and up the river on a number of occasions since arriving in Drekenford. Largely that had been on sunny days, though I had seen her risk the trip when it was overcast. Just what she was carrying had piqued my curiosity, but not enough to follow her. Until today.

‘What does Olesca make of your pastime? Does he enjoy the fish?’

‘My night-sister’s fiancé eats enough for ten men,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘I believe he favours trout.’

‘Do you not favour him?’ I said. I felt confident I understood her more subtle meaning, but also that I could push the matter fairly bluntly with someone of such temperament.

She plucked the line of the rod, as one might a harp string. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t. But I don’t begrudge her the right to choose.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘He is a beauty, no mistake. Have you heard him sing?’

I considered mentioning hearing him sing as I emerged from the forest, but thought better of it. Instead, I explained how overwhelmed my night-brother had been at the Eder’s dinner party.

‘Overwhelmed is right enough,’ she said. ‘In all aspects. It’s easy to misjudge a man so small, so delicate-looking, but he’s entirely in control of my night-sister.’