A double line of soldiery waited among the bustling crowds coming and going from King’s Gate. A full company of the 7th, but not arrayed as an honour guard, as Viktor might have expected. Drawn weapons were held ready, not shouldered in respect – a detail that explained why the milling citizenry gave them as wide a berth as the roadway’s confines permitted. The knot of grey-garbed provosts struck a further jarring tone, as did the pair of kraikons hunched beneath the gateway.

But none of this, unexpected as it was, troubled Viktor half as much as the woman who stood at stiff attention a dozen paces before the blockade. The stranger who wore the face of a friend.

Viktor brought the convoy to a halt with a closed fist.

Josiri straightened in his saddle. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor replied. “I’ll attend to it.”

“Shared recklessness, remember? That promise goes both ways.”

“Reckless deeds could not be further from my thoughts.”

“And from theirs? I’ve spent my adult life a prisoner, Viktor. I know a cage when I see one.”

Viktor grimaced. So Josiri read the situation the same. It had to be Makrov’s doing. A swift herald could have overtaken them on a different road. But why? To shake Josiri free of the haven Viktor had arranged? It made no sense. If anything, the protection of the Akadra family name was stronger within the city walls, where there were hearthguard aplenty to back words with steel.

“Very well,” he said. “But please let me do the talking.”

Josiri nodded. With a twitch of reins, they walked their steeds closer, the crowds parting before them. The woman on the roadway didn’t advance. She didn’t smile – didn’t even offer a word of greeting.

“Rosa,” said Viktor. “It’s been too long.”

“Lord Akadra.”

She looked older. No, that wasn’t right. What Viktor perceived was not an aging of the body. It went deeper: a hollowness of spirit, conveyed more by his shadow than any ephemeral perception.

“Josiri, I present Lady Roslava Orova, Knight of Essamere and my friend. Rosa, this is Josiri Akadra.” He ignored the twitch of Josiri’s brow and pressed on. “My brother by right of law, and of adoption.”

Josiri inclined his head.

Rosa offered a rigid bow. “By right of law?”

“Of marriage, to his sister Calenne.”

Her expression grew bleaker still, sparking fresh unease. “And the Lady Calenne? She is not with you? Some . . . misfortune, perhaps?”

“The Hadari took her from us in the hour of victory.” The words did not come easily, but they came. “It’s my hope Lumestra will return her to us.”

“I’m sure.” Rosa spoke flatly. “A tragedy, so soon after her betrothed perished on the road. But people die so easily within your orbit, Lord Akadra.”

Enough was enough. Viktor swung down from his saddle. “Rosa, what is this?”