This wedding would be his last responsibility to the Enes family. His days of being a hostage were coming to an end. He felt like a crow lost in a flock of songbirds, beleaguered by gentle songs and shamed by his own croaking call. The Duravs had given themselves to the sword, had made their lives traditions of violence and habits of killing, and though Cryl had yet to end someone else’s life, he knew that should the necessity arise he would not hesitate.

He thought back to Captain Scara Bandaris and his troop, and the miserable, snarling pack of Jheleck children they had been escorting. He had felt comfortable in their presence. Understanding the mind of a soldier was a simple task; even meeting the feral eyes of those savage pups had proved an exercise in recognition, despite the shiver that ran up the back of his neck.

The Enes family now felt alien to him, and his ties to it were stretching, pulling apart, fraying like rotted tendons. He was ready to draw a blade and slash through the last of them. I am done with flighty young women and sad old men. I am done with foul-tempered artists who see too much. Done with giggling maids who flash bared flesh my way at every opportunity, as if I am but a slave to temptation. I leave Osserc to such legendary prowess – if Scara’s tales are of any worth on that account.

Spinnock, where are you now? I would ride at your side, and feel at home.

He might even join Scara’s troop. The Greater House of Durav was dying. It might already be dead, slipping into the shadow of their cousins, the Hend, who were surely on the rise. Cryl had been isolating himself and besides, he had no loyal retainer to bring rumours to him – rumours and opinions none would dare utter to Cryl himself. But he suspected that his station was low, his prospects few. In any case, even the thought of prowling the Citadel, like a cur hunting noble blood, disgusted him.

The river slid past before his eyes. If he surrendered, here and now, and offered up a prayer to the river god, his plea would be modest. Swallow up the turmoil in my skull. Pull it all away and send it down to the dark mud, the furred snags and slimy boulders. Take this all away, I beg you.

A single slash of the sword and love dies.

He heard horses behind him. Riding at a heavy canter. Turning away from the river, his prayer unspoken and no surrender yielded to the bank – his knees free of stains – he made his way back on to the road.