He was trapped. Lost in a maze of his own fears. He needed counsel. But to whom could he turn? Not Calenne, who was no longer at Branghall. Besides, he’d lied to her too long. He’d find more well-deserved acrimony than wisdom. And as for Anastacia? The memory of their last argument was still too near.

That left Revekah, but without Anastacia to open the hallowgate, Revekah was denied him.

Josiri’s gaze fell on the ward-brooch. No. That wasn’t true.

After all, taking the brooch didn’t mean agreeing to Akadra’s terms, did it?

His fingers closed around the silver.

Calenne awoke from the first good night’s sleep she’d had in years. The bed was soft, the blankets warm and the scents of the old loft room unchanged in years away. That curious combination of rose petals and wood smoke drifted up from the hearth downstairs. The fragrance of childhood. Of bedclothes clutched tight to ward off the chill of Wanetithe nights and rain rattling at the windowpane.

Calenne lay there for what seemed for ever and yet no time at all, striving to rouse memories. Fragments of light and shadow from a life lived long ago. She abandoned them reluctantly, feeling diminished for the loss, and at last emerged from beneath the covers to start the day.

Elda was busy at the kitchen hearth. “Sleep well?”

“Like a serathi on a cloud.”

She snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t know about that.”

Calenne stifled a smile and sat at the table. Her foster-mother’s iconoclasm had changed little with the years. The past had left its mark in other ways. Black hair had faded to grey. Furrows of merriment and disappointment ran deeper than ever, her eyes haunted by private resentment. It had shocked Calenne to see her thus the previous night, but now Elda’s appearance seemed natural. Time had changed them both, and not necessarily for the better. Yesterday’s welcome had been ready enough, but Calenne couldn’t help but wonder if it had been offered from duty, rather than affection.

Elda drew away from the hearth and slid a brimming bowl of oatmeal before her. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Always.”

A steaming mug of bark tea joined the bowl. Movement in the street outside caught Calenne’s eye. A gold-robed proctor, sun-stave tapping the cobbles and two simarka trotting obediently at her heels. Calenne suppressed a shudder. She’d seldom seen the constructs up close, but distance did nothing to quell her fear of the beasts – a fear she’d never quite been able to explain. She supposed prey never could explain such fear. It was just there.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” she said.

Elda pulled up a chair. “This is still your home. And you’re still my daughter . . . even if you’re a deal taller than last I saw you. Fifteen years. But see how you’ve grown with it.”