“Speak to the demon,” she said. “Though it pains me to say so, she knows Josiri better than I and cares for him far more. If anyone can give you the keys to his trust, it is she.”

Viktor rose. “Then I’ll take my leave. Thank you for your insight.”

She nodded silently, only now considering whether she’d spoken of more than she should.

He waited a moment longer, and then departed in a swirling of black velvet. Calenne was wondering whether or not she should have gone with him when Elda returned.

“That one’s confused.” The old woman set her back to the chimney and folded her arms. “Caught between what he is, and what he wants to be.”

Between the monster and the man, Calenne supposed. “You heard?”

“Most of it. Do you believe him?”

Calenne decided to spare herself Elda’s scorn. “Would it be so bad if the Empire conquered the Southshires?”

Elda grunted. “Katya insisted the shadowthorns lack for souls. That’s why they fight so fearlessly, because they’ve nothing to lose to the Raven.”

Calenne had heard Branghall’s servants repeat the claim over the years. “Is it true?”

“’Course not. It’s an excuse to keep hate burning. Otherwise we might just realise that we’re more alike than not. We’re all one. Just specks of Dark waiting for release . . .”

“By Lumestra?” Calenne asked slyly.

“You know better than that.” Elda scowled, though not unkindly. “Lumestra, Ashana – the rest of that sorry bunch. What they took from us matters more than what they gave. Tied us to the soil and set us at each other’s throats. We were meant for more than this, Calenne. Katya never saw the truth of that. I do hope fifteen years at Branghall hasn’t blinded you to it.”

There was so much resentment in Elda’s dark eyes. So much loss. Tangible almost to the point of physicality. Part of Calenne felt drawn to it, kin as it was to her own disappointments. But the rest of her sensed the danger of wallowing in a past that couldn’t be changed.

“So it doesn’t matter if we’re conquered?”

“In the end, nothing matters. The Dark takes all.” Elda chuckled to herself. “And won’t that be a day full of sorry faces?”

Calenne scowled. She’d heard variants of that fatalistic declaration when a girl. Somehow, it had all seemed more comforting then. Now she just felt small. Insignificant. “You’re a fine help.”

“You want help, see a priest. If you want truth? You know where I am.”