They had crossed a short span and now ascended the lesser bridge over the Citadel’s moat. At Orfantal’s confession, Gripp Galas reined in and turned his horse to block the way.

‘That beast was on its last legs,’ he said.

‘You did not see its last struggles, sir,’ Orfantal replied.

‘True, I did not. But if you had not sacrificed your mount in the manner you did, you would not be here now.’

Orfantal nodded. ‘My spirit would be free, and back on the grounds of House Korlas, and it would play in the ruins with the ghost of Wreneck, from before he decided to not like me any more. I would have a friend again, and that horse would be alive now, with a few memories of the boy it carried, a boy who was not cruel to it.’

Gripp looked down, seemed to study the cobbles for a long moment, and then he sighed and swung his mount round.

They continued on, beneath the arch of the gatehouse, watched by black-skinned Houseblades in the livery of House Purake.

Lady Hish Tulla spoke. ‘Take him inside, Gripp. I will meet you later in the Grand Hall.’

‘Milady?’

‘Go on, Gripp. Give me a few moments, I beg you.’

The old man nodded. ‘Come along, hostage, and I will see you home.’

* * *

Hish Tulla watched them ride across the courtyard, still fighting the sob that threatened to tear loose from deep inside her. A boy’s innocent words had left her broken. The flimsy frame of her self-control, so hastily resurrected in the wake of her comforting embrace of Lord Andarist, weathering his grief on their knees at the foot of the hearthstone, had collapsed once again.

By day’s end she would be leading her company of Houseblades back to her keep. With the shattering of traditions, she was no longer confident that Sukul Ankhadu was safe, although she knew enough of Castellan Rancept’s talents to hope he could mitigate any possible threat, at least for the moment. But this decision strained her resolve from another direction now, one unexpected and almost unbearably precious. She thought of the man accompanying Orfantal into the Citadel, and felt once again a quickening of her breath.

She was not as old as her experience reputed, while Gripp Galas had seen a century, if not more. There would be amusement and not a little scorn behind their backs, once it became known that Lady Hish Tulla, for so long believed to be unattainable, had given her love to Lord Anomander’s manservant. On better days, in times past, she would be proof against their mockery, but there was a new frailty in her now, exposed and raw.