No, thought Malachi. Everything was far from all right. His eyes slipped from Rosa’s face to her left forearm, and he realised they were worse even than he’d thought. The wooden haft was flush with the upper side of her arm. The blunted tip projected an inch or two below. There was no blood.

Keys jangled beyond the door. “My lord?”

Malachi swallowed. “No problem here. Be about your business.”

The rattle of keys fell silent. The footsteps tracked away.

“Doesn’t . . . Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not as much as it should. Believe me now?”

He threw a hand against the wall to steady himself. Rosa slid the knife free of her flesh and tossed it to him. Malachi made the catch with a shudder of revulsion. A thin, glistening layer of silvery-black fluid evaporated from the blade.

“What happened to you?” he whispered.

“I told you. I’m cursed. The kernclaw cursed me.”

Malachi’s ears pricked up at the new information. “Kernclaw?”

“He killed Kasamor.”

“No. Wait. You said that brigands killed Kasamor.”

“I lied.”

“Why in Lumestra’s name would you do such a thing?”

“Because I was worried Kas had ties with the vranakin. I didn’t want to shame his memory.”

Malachi blinked. Kasamor had lived a life in the light, bright with honour. He’d not associate with thieves and murderers. “And he had magic, this kernclaw?”

She nodded. “He arrived in a storm of crow’s wings. He was fast. So fast.”

Malachi stared at her, familiar indecision coursing through his veins. What if Rosa had died on the road and what stood before him was some demon, or a cyraeth spirit come free of Otherworld to torment him? And if she wasn’t, and he turned away when his friend needed him most?

And he’d already lost too many friends of late.

He glanced again at the paper knife. The blade was dry, and seemingly clean. “I have to go. If I’m to have any chance of getting you out of here, I need to be at council.”

“I already told you, I deserve this.”

“This once, I don’t care what you think, Roslava Orova. If the Parliament of Crows had Kasamor killed, it was for a reason. Which means there’s still a chance to deliver him justice, and I can’t do it without you.” He took a deep breath. “As to what has become of you, if there’s an answer to be found we will find it.”

He stared at her, daring her to argue. To his relief and surprise, she didn’t.

“Yes, my Lord Reveque.”

The sardonic tone undermined her contrite expression, but it was a start.

“I really must go,” he said. “But promise me you’ll make no more renditions of that charming trick with the knife? Let that part of it remain between us. Please.”

“Yes, my Lord Reveque.”