“All my friends are important.” He turned to face her once more. A little of the warmth returned to his voice, but it couldn’t wholly hide the darkness rippling beneath. But Calenne sensed that whatever threat it held was not levied at her. “But it’s selfish of me to dwell on my own loss when yours is the greater. You have my deepest condolences, Miss Trelan.”

Calenne opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. In the space of minutes, her emotions had spiralled from abject terror, to pity. Now they settled on familiar guilt. But this, at least, she could conceal.

“Thank you,” she said, dully.

Akadra’s eyes narrowed. “If you are not wed, you remain Trelan. You should be at Branghall.”

Even now, there was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity.

She shot him as defiant a look as she could manage. “I escaped.”

“The enchantment is supposed to be without flaw.”

“So are many things. But they’re not. You’re the Council’s champion. You of all people should know that.”

“Indeed.” A hint of a grin, as soon gone as glimpsed, flickered across his lips. “It’s no concern of mine. But I must impose upon you for that introduction. Events will unfold better if your brother has reason to think kindly of me.”

Calenne wondered what Akadra referred to. She decided that she didn’t care. “I’m not going back to Branghall.”

“I must insist.” There was a hardness beneath the words, but no threat. “All I ask is that you offer witness to the small service I provided. A few kind words, if you can stir yourself to them, and no more. After that, you may go wherever you wish.”

Suspicion crowded in. He couldn’t mean that, could he? “Truly?”

“You have my word.”

He did mean it. That was almost as concerning as the alternative. Calenne’s world was built on a handful of ironclad certainties. That Trelans did not leave Branghall was chief among them. And yet here was Viktor Akadra, the Council’s champion, offering to shatter that certainty like it was nothing. He could be lying, but what did that lie get him that he could not take by force?

And she did owe Josiri a farewell. Unbearable though he was, he was still her brother. Although the question remained whether he’d be as sanguine to see her leave as the Black Knight seemingly was. She shook the complication aside. It wasn’t Josiri’s choice, but hers.

As for Viktor Akadra? More than ever, it seemed the man was not the monster. All those nightmares. A girl’s imagining. No more real than the hollow voice that whispered in her thoughts while she slept, or the boggart that dwelled beneath her bed.