The sun emerged from behind a cloud, and cast a vast, bird-winged shadow behind the man. Rosa’s questions died on a parched throat. She’d seen him before. The dance on the autumn path. In Malachi’s bedchamber. How had she forgotten?

“Are you ready to come with me?” asked the Raven. “There’s so little here for you now. Immolation is not a kind way to pass, even for an eternal. I can spirit you away from the fire, and from the Dark rushing close behind. But you have to ask.”

“Why?” she gasped.

He offered a low, formal bow. “Because that’s how it must be.”

Rosa closed her eyes, overcome by shame. Kas. What would she say if she met him in the mists of Otherworld? Could she confess how badly she’d failed him? How she’d been used?

“No.”

The Raven tilted his head. “A shame. I commend the day to you. Looks like it’ll be a warm one.”

He vanished like a shadow in sunlight. Rosa let her eyes fall closed and retreated into the red. Where she belonged.

“I’m sorry, high proctor,” said Lilyana. “I didn’t know where else to go. They’ll be watching my father’s house. King’s Gate is sealed . . . The docks are thick with soldiers. I . . .”

She broke off. Sevaka glanced across the foundry’s loading yard, embarrassed less by Lilyana’s distress, and more at the part she’d played in causing it. Was there anything more useless than courage found too late?

Courage. That was a joke. Only her grip on the sword stopped her from shaking. Braxov had it together more than she did. Even Sidara’s watchful composure put her to shame.

Elzar locked the slatted iron gate and set a hand on Lilyana’s shoulder. “Hush, lady. You’ve chosen the best from a series of poor choices. You shall have shelter however long I can offer it.”

“Why’s it so quiet?” Constans’ brow furrowed in thought. “Where is everyone?”

The boy was right, Sevaka realised. She’d been to the foundry on naval business many times, and it had never been less than a hive of activity. Now, the chainways were still, the forges silent. The interior, normally so brightly lit by hissing magic, was pitch dark. Even the air felt different. No longer thick and suffocating, it held the sharp acidic tang of cooling metal.

“I sent them home. Better that way.”

“Then you know what’s happening?” asked Lilyana.

“Some of it. Enough to be worried.”

“We won’t impose upon you for long,” said Sevaka. “My old ship – the Triumphal – lies at anchor. If I can get word to them . . .”

Elzar shook his head. “You needn’t worry about me, young lady. My fate was decided some time ago.” He stared briefly over her shoulder and bundled the children towards the inner door. “Inside. Quickly.”