She patted him on the shoulder. “Good lad. And if she rips me bloody, you’ll be able to tell everyone you were right, won’t you?”

Tarn blanched. “I . . .”

“A joke, lad. Nothing’ll happen to me.” She thumped her chest. “Too leathery to be worth eating.”

Revekah waited for a little colour to return to Tarn’s cheeks before heading down the slope. Cool air sucked at her lungs and set her joints creaking. She swallowed and pressed on. It was too easy to feel the burden of lost years in the Forbidden Places, and the paucity of those ahead. She skirted the water’s edge, the sorrowful sound louder in her ears with every cautious step. Mud sucked at her boots. Skeins of mist clung to her arms like grasping fingers. The sunken statue, the feathers of its sole remaining wing streaked with weed-fronds, passed away to her right.

There she was. Sitting on a rock where mud-sunk steps led away into still waters. That same mud clung to the hem of her black dress and the dangling threads of her hooded shawl. Her arms were clasped tight across a narrow chest.

Revekah sighed her relief. Otherworld take Tarn and his jumpiness.

Lost in her own private, mournful world, the woman rocked back and forth as Revekah approached. Now she was closer, Revekah noted an oddly hollow – almost metallic – note to the keening. But mist played merry hell with the ears. Wouldn’t be anything more than that.

“Too nice a day for tears,” she said amiably. “Want to talk about it?”

Revekah laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

[[Don’t touch me!]]

A vicelike grip closed around her wrist. The mists spun. Her back struck the water, filthy spray fountaining around her. Revekah glimpsed black eyes, swirling like smoke beneath a mask of white and gold.

Waters closed over her head.

Calenne awoke to the tramp of boots on cobbles below her window. A claggy mouth and thin purplish pre-dawn light warned of insufficient sleep. With a groan, she pulled the pillow over her head and clutched it tight to her ears.

After dressing, she headed outside. Even the thought of breakfast so early made her nauseous. She followed the marching column of blue tabards through the winding streets and out towards the east gate. The streets were otherwise deserted. Too early for most, perhaps. Or were they staying inside to avoid being drawn into whatever was afoot?

As she walked, Calenne became aware of other footfalls in the road behind. Kraikons loomed over houses in parallel streets. She knew that simarka wouldn’t be far away but decided that as long as she couldn’t see them, it wasn’t a problem.