The sky was deepening its hue, remote in its unchanging laws, its crawling progression that looked down with blind eyes and gave no thought to wounded souls and their hopeless longing for peace. If self-pity was a depthless pool then she skirted its muddy, slippery bank on hands and knees, round and round. Awareness made no difference. Knowledge was useless. She held innocence in her womb and felt like a thief.

Ville spoke. ‘A cairn it shall be, then. You two are not the only ones longing for home.’

She saw her brother nod, but he said nothing, and she felt the silence that followed Ville’s words harden about them all. Submission without a word of thanks made plain the surrender, and that could only sting. Rifts were forming and widening and soon, she knew, they would not be able to cross them. She shook herself, straightening in the saddle. ‘Thank you both,’ she said. ‘We are in a broken place, my brother and me. Even Rint’s vengeance stretches too far behind us, while poor Raskan draws so close we might as well be carrying him on our backs.’

Ville’s eyes were wide when she glanced at him.

Galak cleared his throat and spat to one side. ‘That’s a taste I am well rid of. My thanks, Feren.’

Abruptly, Rint shuddered, sobbed, and began weeping.

They all reined in. ‘That’s it for today,’ Feren said, her voice harsh. She slipped down from the saddle and went over to help her brother dismount. He had curled in around his torment and it was a struggle to get him down from his horse. Both Ville and Galak arrived to help.

Rint sank to the ground. He kept shaking his head, even as sobs racked him. Feren gestured Ville and Galak away and then held her brother tight. ‘We’re a useless pair,’ she muttered softly to Rint. ‘Let’s blame our parents and be done with it.’

A final sob broke, ended in a ragged laugh.

They stayed clenched together, and he stilled in her arms.

‘I hate him,’ he said with sudden vehemence.

Feren glanced over at Ville and Galak. They stood over their packs, staring, frozen by Rint’s words.

‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Who do you hate, Rint?’

‘Draconus. For what he’s done to us. For this cursed journey!’

‘He is behind us now,’ she said. ‘We are going home, Rint.’

But he shook his head, pulling himself loose from her arms and rising to his feet. ‘It’s not enough, Feren. He will return. He will take his place at Mother Dark’s side. This user of children, this abuser of love. Evil is at its boldest when it walks an unerring path.’

‘He has enemies enough at court—’