Makrov raised his voice and flung a hand in Semmer’s direction. “You see? They’re still among you, inviting punishment! Stealing from those who defend you against the eastern barbarians!”

A scuffle broke out. A soldier staggered away, a hand cupped to his face.

“I fought the Hadari!” shrieked Semmer. “Where were you? Where were any of you?”

Makrov gestured. Three more soldiers started out across the crowd. “Where are the stolen supplies?”

“Gone,” spat Semmer. “Gone to feed the hungry.”

“And your compatriots?” Makrov shook his head and leaned low over the balcony, elbows propped on the balustrade. “Give me their names, and where they can be found. Your sin will be forgiven. You’ll go free.”

She spat. “I’ll tell you nothing.”

“That too I doubt. Take her away!”

The soldiers dragged Semmer from the marketplace. She fought and kicked at every step, her heels splashing through the filthy puddles.

“Help me!” she shouted at the crowd. A few glanced away. Most gave no reaction at all. “We fought for you! Why won’t you help me?”

Then she was gone, dragged into the streets beyond. Makrov resumed his tyrant’s sermon, though Kurkas spared it little attention. His one good eye he spared for the woman at his side, her manner rigid as a serpent coiled to spring. It was easier that way. Easier than reconciling his own thoughts. He’d celebrated victory at Zanya as much as his ravaged body had allowed. But this? This made him want to scream.

At last, Makrov tired of hearing his own voice. With a last heartfelt cry of Praise Lumestra – one almost nobody echoed – he withdrew from the balcony.

Yanda lingered a moment longer, her eyes sweeping the crowd. Before Kurkas had a chance to look away, her eyes found him. Recognition was as mutual as it was instant – the sidelong glance she shot Halvor as unexpected as the tight, respectful nod that followed.

Kurkas braced himself for the accusation and the call to alarm. Neither came. Yanda simply turned her back and passed inside.

“She knows,” muttered Halvor as the crowds began to thin.

“Yes, but I don’t think she’ll say anything,” Kurkas replied. “We’re not all like Makrov.”

She stared across at the reeve’s manor. “Enough are. Enough that killing him won’t change a thing.”

“Might make you feel better.”

“You’re an odd one, Kurkas. Even for a northwealder, you’re odd.”

He stared gloomily across the thinning crowd. “I’ll take that as a compliment, under the circumstances.”

He hitched his crutch closer and hobbled for the alleyway. The cold and wet had seeped into his bones. Branghall seemed a long way off. Two paces distant, he turned back the way he’d come. Halvor hadn’t followed. She stood in the empty marketplace like a child cut adrift from her parents in the rain.

“Can’t you feel it?” she said.