Hadewaye looked around before following him. ‘This place still has the same feeling it did when we were last here.’

‘You mean that feeling like you might die at any moment?’ Alveye asked, riding up next to him.

‘I mean empty—and sad.’

Tatum led the group off the road. ‘Should we have Blackmane tell you a story to cheer you up?’

Blackmane had moved to the back of the group to keep watch since they were forced to ride single file. ‘I’m busy making sure we don’t die.’

‘I thought we would pass some villages,’ Hadewaye went on. ‘Where are all the regular, non-violent, “just trying to get by with their one goat and a handful of chickens” people?’

‘Probably killed for their goat and chickens,’ Tatum said over his shoulder.

Alveye looked around. ‘When we were last here, at the end of the famine, I’d have agreed with you. But there’s plenty of game, nuts, and berries in the forests now. Wastelanders can hunt and gather until their heart’s content. There’s no need to steal from families.’

Hadewaye threw his hands up. ‘What families? I haven’t seen one child since we departed Chadora two days ago. Does no one else find that unsettling?’

Blackmane had to agree. A land stripped of its children was disconcerting.

‘Save your questions for someone with answers,’ Tatum said, moving into a trot.

The group fell silent.

It was nearing dusk when Hampstead Keep finally appeared before them. It was a simply designed, sturdy castle, secure with its high walls and generous moat. A handful of guards watched their approach from up high.

‘Everyone happy to proceed?’ Tatum asked.

They were riding side by side now. All it would take was one of them to say no or signal that something felt off, and they would abort.

‘So far,’ Alveye sang, watching their surroundings on the ground.

‘Wall,’ Hadewaye said. ‘Western turret.’

Blackmane’s gaze shifted to the location specified, eyes narrowing on a woman standing on one of the embrasures. ‘What in Belenus’s name…?’

‘Do you think she means to jump?’ Hadewaye asked, concern lacing his voice.

Her eyes were skyward, arms outstretched like a bird, hair blowing forwards over her face, and dress billowing in the wind. She looked like she was about to take flight. It was a miracle she had not fallen to her death already. Then her arms fell to her sides suddenly, and she looked down at the ground—straight at him.

‘Problem?’ Tatum asked.

Blackmane’s eyes went to the commander, who was now many paces in front of him. That was when he realised that his horse had stopped—or he had stopped it. He nudged the mare forwards as the gate lowered before them, focusing his attention ahead.

They crossed the drawbridge and entered the outer bailey, looking around at the small houses and healthy livestock grazing nearby. The gate to the inner bailey sat open, and standing in the middle of the path up ahead was a tall and proud-looking nobleman—presumably the new Earl of Hereford.