“Send for me?” she replied icily. “Does everyone think me a soldier in the making?”

Viktor raised a hand in objection and opened his mouth to speak. Then he plainly thought better of both and let the hand fall. Kurkas grinned.

“My apologies. A poor turn of phrase. I didn’t manage much sleep.”

Calenne noted the circles beneath bloodshot eyes. The reason for his malaise was hardly mysterious. Even if it arose from misplaced concern.

“Can I assume that you didn’t retire after escorting me home?”

He nodded. “You can indeed. Captain? I hope you’re not smirking just because I can’t see you.”

“No, sah!” Kurkas roared. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

The grin remained firmly in place. Calenne would have told Viktor, save for her certainty that he already knew.

Viktor shook his head. “Then kindly attend to your duties. I want to be underway by evening.”

“Right away, sir!” Kurkas threw Calenne a sloppy salute. He thrust his hand in his pocket and withdrew.

Viktor rubbed his brow. “I can’t find her. I rode for miles, and walked for many more, but she’s gone and I know not where.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was. I promised Anastacia she’d be free. Instead I changed only the nature of her prison. Better that I’d done nothing at all.”

“You did what you thought was right.”

“As I always do. My father claims I’m arrogant. It may be he isn’t wrong.” He stared past her towards Branghall. “This time my arrogance has cost another dearly.”

“Out of the best intentions,” said Calenne, wondering why she bothered. Anastacia was a demon, and demons deserved whatever fate delivered. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say as much. “And intentions always matter.”

“Let us hope so,” said Viktor. “Because I must speak to your brother again, and now my good intentions are all I have to offer. Would you find him for me? I have wayfarers watching the roads, but a sister’s instincts might prove keener than their eyes.”

Calenne doubted her instincts were much use to anyone – especially where Josiri was concerned – but found herself nodding. “On one condition: get some rest, Viktor. Good intentions and arrogance are no substitute for a few hours’ sleep.”

He bowed. “As you wish, Lady Trelan.”

She winced at the hated name, though she recognised that Viktor meant only respect. She could leave the Southshires at any time, but the Trelan name would remain with her . . .

“I’ll return before noon,” she said. “Successful or otherwise, I expect to find you sleeping.”

Revekah came to propped against a tree; cold, weary and soaked to the skin. Mist curled around her. Memories crashed back. The weeping woman with the hollow voice. The face. Not a cyraeth, but nothing good.