“Tell me,” Rosa went on. “What did the kernclaw mean about you interfering in Crowmarket business?”

He cursed. He’d hoped she’d not caught that. But he couldn’t lie to her. Not after all she’d done last night. And she was better placed to survive any consequences than he.

“Someone’s stealing kraikons from the foundry – melting them down for their metal. Late yesterday, I ordered the constabulary to make a sweep of the dockside. I didn’t expect they’d find anything, but reckoned it’d at least make the Crowmarket more circumspect.”

She gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “And this was their response?”

“What else could it be?”

Rosa turned away without speaking.

“Rosa? What is it?”

“Nothing. Or at least nothing I can prove.” She sighed. “I don’t even know that I believe it myself. You don’t need my confusion muddying your own concerns.”

So her dour mood wasn’t about last night, or not entirely. “Tell me. I can help.”

“As you helped last night?” She straightened, a scowl haunting her features. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. If I find proof, I’ll speak of it.”

Malachi frowned, but Rosa hadn’t put enough of her riddle on display for him to unpick. “I don’t understand.”

“Good.” She faced him, her eyes hard. “I have to go. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll be nothing but. Lily has borrowed hearthguards from half the family. The estate will be thick with uniforms until her worries fade. I am to go nowhere without at least four blades at my side.”

“Except here, with me.”

“Lily believes you’re worth a good sight more than four blades.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry for you. Whatever it is you intend, stay safe. And remember that I’m here, should you need me. Or rather, I’ll be at council.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“The vranakin are bold, but they’ll not trouble me in broad daylight, and certainly not while in session at the palace. Though I’ve often wished they would.”

“That’s not funny, Malachi.”

“No, I suppose not.” He sighed. “In any case, I’ve work to do. I’d no chance to tell you last night, but Ebigail’s sunk us even deeper into the mire. She’s forced through a decree to round up any poor southwealder bastard who accepts Viktor’s offer of clemency. She says it’s only so that their innocence can be proven at trial . . .”

“But you don’t believe her?”

He recalled the glee on Ebigail’s face when she’d aired the proposal. “Not when she’s sent Makrov and a whole regiment south to ensure their ‘cooperation’.”

“I thought there weren’t any troops to spare?”