“And how do you feel about that? Angry? Angry enough to fight? Good! Now put your weapons away and give his grace the escort he deserves.”

Vorn at last found his tongue. “We take orders from the Wolf King, not you.”

Revekah rolled her eyes. “Then let’s go and see him. All of us.”

He grimaced, then stalked off down the road. The other wolf’s-heads hesitated, then dribbled away to a respectful distance. Watchful, but not threatening. At least for now.

Josiri let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t I cede the duchy to you? You’re much better at this.”

She shook her head. “No one needs to see my withered old face staring down at them from on high. What in Lumestra’s name are you doing, riding about like that? Never mind what Makrov’ll do if he gets word – Viktor Akadra’s back in the Southshires . . .”

The name soured Josiri’s mood still further. “I know. It’s why I’ve come to find Crovan.”

She grunted. “Picked a hell of a time. The Wolf King’s holding court to every member of the Vagabond Council he could reach.”

For the first time that day, Josiri allowed himself to smile. Lumestra was with him. If Crovan had assembled everyone, there was still a chance to send both Akadra and the Hadari packing.

“Then lead the way, captain,” he said. “It’s time for everything to change.”

“Can’t be done, not in the time you want.”

Bran Yorvin scratched at his greying hair and gazed at Viktor with the expression of a master craftsman well-used to holding his ground in the face of strident clients. But Viktor had spent too long around soldiers. He’d learned that what was said to be possible was merely the start of the bargaining process.

“I need it tonight.”

“It’s samite porcelain, you can’t rush it. Three days, firing to cooling. Anything less, and it’ll crack.” Yorvin glanced at his labouring apprentices. “Look, the lads have the bulk of the commission underway, and I’ll manage the rest myself. It’ll be a beauty, but beauty takes time.”

Viktor said nothing. Sometimes, silence was a weapon more formidable than any. Yorvin’s brow twitched. Not much. Just enough to confirm Viktor’s suspicions, awoken by the pieces on display. Vases and figurines finer than anything a provincial potter could fashion.

“Viktor?” Calenne stepped between them. “I agreed to help, but that doesn’t extend to watching you lose your temper over the impossible.”

“You’ve never seen me lose my temper. It’s not something you forget.”

She shuddered. “I’m sure. But if Master Yorvin says it can’t be done . . . Not everything succumbs to council demands, or generous coin.”

Yorvin cleared his throat. “I can have it finished for the day after tomorrow.”