At the other end of the stone bench, Halvor tilted a half-empty bottle for a refill. Her hand shook as she poured, as much wine trickling down the cracks between paving slabs as finding its way into Kurkas’ goblet. She’d deteriorated so much as evening had worn away. Tried to hide it, of course. But the weakness stood revealed in the tightness of her features.

Kurkas could only guess what it cost her to keep Malatriant at bay. But what could he say? She knew that he knew. Words would only get in the way.

“Expensive way to water the weeds,” he said instead.

“Josiri,” Halvor said loftily, “can send me the bill.”

He laughed and stared at the empty bottles lining the bench. Faded ink on the tags proclaimed them a good fifty years older than Kurkas himself. Halvor could have laboured a lifetime and not replaced even one.

Kurkas took a mouthful. It wasn’t unpleasant, but he couldn’t see what the fuss was about. Maybe wine was another of those things the nobility only pretended to enjoy. Like honour, responsibility. All that good stuff.

“Don’t make me do this, Halvor.”

“There’s no other way.”

“Of course there’s another bloody way,” he snapped. “We’ve ammunition enough.”

“And how’s that better? Pain’s still pain. How many will die?”

“As many as it takes.”

She drained her goblet and set it down. “It won’t work. It has to be something that lasts, that deepens. Something that can’t be outrun or suppressed. It has to hurt, and it has to keep hurting.”

“Then I’ll lead a charge out the main gate. Take fire with me. Set ’em all burning.” Kurkas hated the petulance in his voice. He felt like a child.

Halvor gave a wheezing chuckle. “Didn’t you say this lot couldn’t fight their way out of an orphanage?”

“Is there an orphanage in Eskavord?”

“No.” She abandoned her goblet and swigged from the bottle. “It burned down.”

“You can come with, if it makes you feel any better. Just try not to show the rest of us up.”

Dry lips cracked a wry smile. “Look at me. I can barely stand.”

“You can still kick my arse.”

“No.”

“Prove it.”

“Stop, Kurkas. Just . . . stop.”

He stopped.

Halvor let the bottle drop. “Anastacia set a light burning in my soul, but it’s fading, and she’s getting stronger. When she takes me again, I don’t know that I’ll want to come back.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a stranger in your own skin. It’s suffocating, but there’s also peace.” She took another swig. “Never had much peace. But I’ve lived free. If I get to choose, I’ll die free too.”