“Don’t look so worried. There’s a section to the north that’s barely hanging together. It’s only the enchantment keeping anything out.”

At least the brightening sky offered hope. It was too easy to lose track of time within the gloom. Seemed the sun always shone on Branghall.

“Looks like we’re nearly there.”

Halvor nodded and propped herself against a birch tree, head resting against her forearm. The hike through the forest had done little to bring colour to her cheeks, and her chest shuddered with every breath. Not for the first time, Kurkas wondered if it would have been kinder to leave her with Elda. Whatever ailed her was taking its toll.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

He snorted. “Anything to get out of Eskavord. That place is a suffocating mess.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Why are you helping me? If Makrov finds out it won’t end well.”

He sank against an oak and breathed deep of the soft, sweet air. “I’m not afraid of Makrov.”

“Maybe you should be. Weak men given licence are always more dangerous than the strong.”

“Could be.”

He fell silent, knowing he’d given no answer worth the breath, but not really knowing how to supply a better.

“I’m sorry about your arm, and your eye.”

Halvor uttered the apology with such deliberate, genuine warmth that Kurkas couldn’t help but smile. “A soldier’s fate. If it wasn’t you, it’d have been someone else. And if it wasn’t me, it’d have been you. A wound or two always draws interest. Especially if the lads are impressionable.”

The familiar scowl returned to weary eyes. “Do you take nothing seriously?”

“Life’s too short for that, Halvor.” He shrugged. “Better to die with a smile than live with a frown.”

“Life’s too short for anything nowadays. I thought Katya and I would change the world, and now see me.” She shook her head. “Shouldn’t be far. Just over the next rise. You mind taking a look? See if Makrov’s got anyone patrolling the perimeter? I need to catch my breath.”

Kurkas rolled his good eye and stood straight once more. “That’s right, leave the back-and-forth to the cripple. Just don’t fall asleep on me again. You hear me, Captain Halvor?”

“I hear you, Captain Kurkas.”

Branghall’s clock chimed noon. Makrov peered in the tarnished mirror and straightened his circlet of office. In Yanda’s opinion, the stylised sun-disc on his brow lent an altogether cheerier air than merited, just as the rich scarlet robes lent his presence a weightier authority than deserved. As for the three robed serenes he’d handpicked from Eskavord’s choir to serve as his attendants? Their downcast gazes suggested boredom more than respect. Or perhaps it was disgust.

“Are the crowds ready?” intoned Makrov.