Lily rose in a swish of skirts and fixed Josiri with a cold stare. “You’ve no idea how my husband has sacrificed – how he’s fought. I don’t expect gratitude, but you might show respect!”

“Lily, please. Josiri’s . . .”

“. . . behaving like a poor guest.” Josiri’s posture softened. He ran a hand through his tangled blond hair. “I apologise without reservation. It’s easy to fall back onto firm habits, and history has tempered mine hard as steel. Still, that’s no excuse.”

He approached the leaded window and stared across the dusk-shrouded garden. Lily scowled and reclaimed her seat as Malachi sipped from his brimming glass and gathered his thoughts.

He couldn’t say what he’d expected of Josiri Trelan – a man he’d never met save through the dry distance of written report – but the dishevelled individual whose outsize garb more suited a beggar than a nobleman was certainly not it. He’d hoped they’d meet, of course, once common sense prevailed at council. In his folly, he’d expected confluence of mind and opinion. Brotherhood born of common cause. Soft words of thanks dismissed with dignified grace.

The reality was sadly lacking, as reality so often was. He’d have been blind not to recognise the resentment and worry underlying Josiri’s every word and gesture. How well Malachi knew those feelings. And yet he worried only over one friend – maybe two, given Rosa’s part in unfolding events. Josiri had family, loved ones . . . even an entire people at risk.

“You’re with friends,” he said at last. “Apologies are unnecessary.”

Josiri gave a wry snort. “If I’ve learned one thing of late, it’s that apologies are more necessary between friends than elsewhere.”

Lily’s scowl receded into thoughtfulness. “Actions are better.”

“I agree, but what would you have me do?” He spoke without turning.

Malachi shook his head. “She’s talking to me. My dear wife defends me, Josiri, but her appraisal of my efforts is eerily similar to your own. I think too much, and act too little. I rely on Viktor’s support where I should have learned to stand alone. Now he – and you – rely on me. I shall not be found wanting.”

“Thank you—” Josiri broke off. When he spoke again, it was with quiet mirth. “You should know that there’s a mass of water-slime making its way up the garden path. I think there’s a child at the heart of it.”

Lily growled. The sitting room door slammed behind her. Malachi joined Josiri at the window. Constans indeed looked more nightmare than child, with thick green weed trailing behind like some vile bridal train. White teeth hinted at a broad grin beneath the mud.

“You don’t have children, do you?” asked Malachi.

“My life’s complicated enough.”

“They have a way of simplifying matters. I’d die for Constans and Sidara. Without hesitation.”