“I should be getting home.” He strained to be heard over the hubbub. “I promised Lilyana I’d not make a night of this.”

Across the table, Kasamor leaned back in his chair. Eyes widened in mock affront. “What? You’d leave me to celebrate alone?”

Rosa snorted and fixed him with a cold stare. “Thanks.”

Kasamor waved an airy hand in dismissal. “I love you as a sister, but there’s a bond between men that you couldn’t begin to understand. Especially when that bond is tempered in battle, as was ours.” Matter settled, he raised his tankard for a generous swallow.

Rosa’s expression didn’t flicker. “I see. When did you last stand your place in the line, Malachi?”

Long enough ago to know he’d no place there. Malachi winced. How had he ended up the villain? Not that it was a surprise. United, they four were the closest of friends. Divided by absence – as they were that evening by perennial lateness – and conversation turned inevitably to contest.

“I fight with words these days.”

“And I fight with steel.” Rosa leaned low across the table. “In fact, I recall my sword saving Lord Kiradin’s hide at Tarvallion. And at Tregga’s Dike.”

Kasamor bristled. “And Lord Kiradin remembers someone’s effusive thanks after that bloody business on Fellhallow’s southern edge. Might it have been you, oh storied Reaper of the Ravonn?”

“Hah! My point precisely. You and I have shared a score of battlefields. Malachi hasn’t so much as held a sword in ten years.” She cracked a sour smile. “Tell me again how our bond is the lesser.”

Knight of the Republic though Rosa was, she wielded her wits every bit as skilfully as her sword. She’d one day serve the Republic well on the Grand Council – if she could bear to forgo the green surcoat of the Essamere chapterhouse and her chamfered armour for a velvet gown. That she’d abandoned the former for the subtleties of civilian garb was a rare honour. She seemed softer without steel, but Malachi wasn’t fooled. He knew just how many Hadari she’d sent into the mists. And besides, even now the sword-belt remained. No amount of reason could have persuaded her to strut about unarmed.

Kasamor would never reach council rank. He’d a tendency to speak without thinking, strong drink or no. It was part of his charm. But on this one occasion, Kasamor held his tongue and glowered at Rosa. She arched a knowing eyebrow.

Malachi stifled a grin. The lines of battle were shifting. The kind thing would be to deflect Rosa’s ire. Then again, Kasamor’s escape would only hasten Malachi’s own turn as underdog. So he glugged a mouthful of ale, wiped his lips, and stoked the fires.

“You mustn’t mind him,” he said. “Kasamor’s worried he’ll not resist your charms if I leave you alone.”