Feeling older than ever, Revekah stared across a battlefield of which she no longer felt a part. The centre was a ragged mess of corpses and stray horses; the space between the redoubts choked with panicked men and women. To the west, the walls of the crumbling farm swarmed with Hadari. Kurkas’ swan banner was nowhere to be seen. Gold glinted on the northern heights. The ruin of kraikons smouldered where Akadra’s shield wall had died. And the owl-banner of Kai Saran still flew.

Clutching her shoulder, she stumbled south towards the forest. One foot in front of the other beneath Lumestra’s unremitting gaze. The dull, throbbing pain of her wound grew with every lurching step. Her vision swam. But still Revekah forged on across the corpsehaunted plain.

She barely made it beneath the eaves before darkness took her.

Vorn spun through the air, arms and legs thrashing. He struck one of the stone dancers with a fleshy thud and lay still, his head lolling awkwardly.

Anastacia stood motionless in the circle. She held the blade of Vorn’s dagger between finger and thumb. Her shawl’s hood lay flat across her shoulders. Black smoke curled up from porcelain eye sockets.

“What . . . What are you?”

Crovan stared at her, his eyes wide and his face suddenly pale. Drenn, her own expression only fractionally less shocked, ceased struggling against his grip.

They weren’t alone. Anastacia had the attention of everyone in Maiden’s Hollow. Not that she seemed pleased. Sloped shoulders and tilted head conveyed the sneer her frozen lips could not express.

[[Maybe I’m the one who turned these fools . . .]] She flicked the nearest dancer. The clink of stone on stone was unmistakeable. [[ . . . into statues. They chose the wrong side. How about the rest of you?]]

“Shoot her!” snapped Crovan, his voice still strained by disbelief. “Someone . . .”

Josiri’s shoulder took him in the gut. The dell exploded with vying voices as they fell.

Josiri blotted it out, concentrated on Crovan. He struck the other man in the face, felt something give under his hand. Crovan thrashed, sending them rolling away into the briars. Shards of daylight spiralled above. Brambles tugged at Josiri’s clothes. A tree-root cracked against his spine. And then Crovan was astride him, face bloodied. Madness gleamed in his eyes, and a dagger in his hand.

“Shouldn’t have come back, Josiri.”

A blur of motion. A hollow thud and gasped exhalation. Crovan and Gavamor rolled away, the older man pounding at the younger with a vigour Josiri hadn’t suspected he’d possessed.

Drenn leaned over, blotting out branch-webbed sky. Her hand reached for Josiri’s. “Can’t lie there all day, your grace.”

Josiri clasped her hand and lurched upright. A few paces distant, Gavamor had Crovan pinned amid the thorns, a knife at his throat.

On the slopes, Crovan’s and Drenn’s followers regarded each other with uneasy eyes and drawn blades.