“There can be no hope of redemption while you harbour traitors!” shouted Makrov. “I know these were once your friends, your family, but they have renounced Lumestra’s light, and the light of the Council! Their deeds have left us all with empty bellies! They bring punishment down upon you out of selfishness, and out of pride!”

There should have been something by now, Kurkas decided. Some rumble of discontent. Some protest. Had the tumult of recent days broken the folk of Eskavord so completely?

Makrov braced his hands against the balustrade and leaned out into the rain. “But I understand loyalty. I do. I served in the Republic’s army. I stood the line on the border. I know that swords drawn together are the highest loyalty. So I’ll make this offer: whoever brings me Calenne Trelan or Revekah Halvor will receive clemency for themselves, and all their kin! They’ll earn exemption from rationing, and the gratitude of the Council! I know I ask much. I know this is a sacrifice. But the Republic was built on sacrifice!”

Beneath the balcony, one soldier dipped his head to another’s ear. A finger pointed across the crowd. Shoulders hunched, they made their way into the marketplace, parting onlookers with sharp gestures and the flats of swords.

“This was a mistake,” muttered Halvor.

“Let’s not make a scene,” Kurkas replied.

The soldiers drew nearer.

Kurkas blotted out Makrov’s diatribe and swept his gaze around the marketplace. The ring of soldiers was tight, but not unbroken. Through the gap, beyond the fountain and an empty wagon, an alleyway beckoned. A potential escape, for someone light enough on their feet. If she could get through the crowd. If the soldiers didn’t block her retreat in time.

If a lot of things.

“Hold, you!”

Gloved fingers tightened around the shoulder of a woman a dozen paces in front of Kurkas. The soldier spun her around and ripped her hood back. “Thought it was you!”

The woman struck the challenger in the gut. Golden hair spilled free as she made to run. The second soldier reeled her in and cuffed her about the head.

“Hands off, northwealder pig!”

The second soldier clapped his hand over her mouth. He snatched it back with a cry and cuffed her again. She collapsed into the first soldier’s waiting arms, eyes glassy.

Halvor stiffened. Kurkas gripped her wrist in warning. “No scene, remember?”

Makrov’s invective faded. Brow furrowed, he stared down at the interruption.

“What is this?”

The first soldier straightened. “Wolf’s-head, my lord. Snagged a wagon of provisions meant for Cragwatch just yesterday. Killed two of my company and wounded a third.”

“You know her?” murmured Kurkas.

“Elbi Semmer,” Halvor replied through gritted teeth. “She’s a phoenix. One of mine.”