“It did not.” She made no attempt to keep bitterness hidden. “In the opinion of the high and mighty Knight-Captain of Essamere, my options are as follows. Flee to Branghall. Stay quiet as a dutiful figurehead should. Or face execution. He accused me of being a child. And he’s right. I’ve been trapped behind glass for so long. What do I know of the world, or of battle?”

Anliss spat. “Bugger’s scared.”

“Likely the case,” her brother agreed. He unstoppered a water skin and took a swig. No. Not a water skin, not if the bitter scent were to be believed. “No offence, lady, but you Tressians set too much stock in personal glory, and not enough in the greater good.”

Anliss nodded. “It’s the one thing you and the Hadari have in common. It’s not enough to know that songs’ll be written of your deeds. You want to hear them too.”

“And I suppose it’s different for Thrakkians, is it?” In her frustration Calenne forgot that either twin could have snapped her in half without effort.

“Only a fool speaks for all.” Armund thumped his substantial chest. “But for myself? I’d like to drag Ardothan off our father’s throne and cut off his head. It’s the only thing to do with serpents. But if I can’t have that? I mean my life to amount to something, and my death to amount to more. There’ll be songs, even if I don’t get to hear them this side of Astor’s forge and the halls of Skanandra. Brenæ af Brenæ, yr Væga af væga.”

“Fire from fire, and death from death?” Anliss glared at him. “You won’t hear a word in Skanandra. You’ll be drunk.”

He laughed. “And you won’t?”

Calenne shook her head, unable to contain a smile. The Thrakkian afterlife appealed more than cold bones in the ground until the light of Third Dawn. Better an eternal revel among friends and family, glimpsing the world through mirrors and forge-fires. Even if you’d no family left to celebrate. Even if your legacy – such as it was – had soured to failure.

“Who’s Ardothan?” she asked.

“Our brother,” said Anliss, “and more’s the pity. He has his lies, his army and our throne. The Wolf King promised to help us set things right, though I imagine he’s changed his mind now. Family. No greater curse ever sprung from the flame.”

“Oh, thank you, dear sister,” said Armund.

“I know what you mean,” said Calenne. “I’ve spent my life hating my mother. And here I am, repeating her mistakes. I don’t even know how I came to be here. I look at who I was even a month ago, and I don’t recognise her. And I doubt she’d recognise me.”