Marek sighed, overcome by contentment not known in years. With good fortune, it would be morning before Lady Ebigail checked on her daughter. He’d be aboard ship by then, bound for the anonymity of the Outer Isles.

As he reached the basement door, a new shape appeared at his side – one hooded and framed by raven feathers.

A gloved hand caught the door as it closed.

The firestone lanterns of Abbeyfields smouldered low. Hearthguard were at their posts and the children in their beds – or at least, so Malachi fervently hoped. Josiri glanced at the clock for the dozenth time since dinner.

“She’s late.”

“She is.” Malachi took a swig of brandy and gripped the glass tighter.

“She’s not coming.”

Lily’s fingers closed over Malachi’s wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. He shot her a grateful look and received a slender smile in exchange.

“You don’t know Rosa. She promised. She always keeps her word.”

Josiri scowled into his drink. “Then why are you so on edge?”

Malachi fell silent, his thoughts returning to Elzar’s revelations. Viktor was a witch, and no amount of reason could dislodge the uneasiness worming through his gut. Viktor was a witch. No other man was as entangled with Malachi’s life. His family. He’d been alone with Sidara and Constans. Malachi hated how completely his world had been set adrift. But that was the power of superstition.

“Malachi?” Lily’s insistence dragged him out of reverie. “Malachi? She’s here.”

He rose as Braxov ushered Rosa into the sitting room and noted that Josiri did the same. Good. Some manners still held sway in the Southshires.

“Thank you for braving the curfew, Rosa. Can I offer you a drink?”

She gave a stiff shake of the head. “I shouldn’t be here at all.”

“Ridiculous,” Malachi replied. “Whatever happens with Viktor, we can’t let it divide us.”

“This isn’t about Viktor. Mistress Tassandra’s dead.”

“What? How?”

Unreality crowded out sorrow. Tassandra had been bullish as ever the previous day – larger than life. But a day was an increasingly long time in Tressia. Events turned on their head in hours.

“Murdered in the Essamere chapterhouse, four of my brothers and sisters alongside.”

Malachi grimaced. “The Crowmarket?”

“Who else?” She gripped the back of a chair. “This is a warning.”

Lily gathered her skirts. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check on the children. And that the hearthguard aren’t asleep at their posts.”

Now it was Malachi’s turn to offer a reassuring squeeze of the hand. “Take Braxov with you.”

She nodded and drifted from the room.

Rosa turned towards the door. “I must go. I came only out of courtesy.”

Malachi caught her arm. “Rosa, please.”

“I have duties.”

“So you said before.” He took a deep breath. “I could command you to stay.”

“You must do as you think best, my lord councillor.”