“A mistake,” said Viktor. “Nothing more.”

He glanced at Melanna and wondered why he lied. Perhaps because the princessa was as much his saviour as Josiri. Shading his hand against the sun, he stared east across the bridge and a trio of Essamere uniforms riding closer, Rosa at their head. Good. Someone he could trust.

The nearest thrall twitched. Not by much. A spasm of the hand. Malatriant was almost done licking her wounds.

Viktor snagged the bridle of Josiri’s steed, masterless since his fall, and drew the beast to Anastacia’s side.

“Take him. He’ll live if his wounds are tended.”

She swung into the saddle. With the aid of a contrite Melanna, Viktor eased Josiri into her arms.

[[You’re staying?]]

“I can’t leave without Calenne.”

“Then Essamere stands with you.” Rosa walked her horse to a halt alongside. Her eyes darted warily from one thrall to the next. “We’ve lost too much coming this far. We’ll not abandon you now. I’ll not abandon you.”

“You must. Has the army arrived?”

“Should have the town halfway surrounded by now.”

Viktor closed his eyes, part of him wishing the answer had been something other. Friendship had saved him, but now he had no choice other than to cast it away. He was almost glad Josiri had one foot in the mists.

Viktor waited beneath the fountain long after the last rider departed. The firestone lantern in his hand held the Dark at bay, though he no longer feared its coming. He barely felt his shadow squirming behind the cage he’d made for it. His shadow, and the Dark he’d taken from Josiri and Calenne.

Only when lightening skies to the north showed that his allies were beyond the town wall did he pick his way through the streets. Weary feet traced a route learned in happier days, when invasion and betrayal were all he had to fear, and his standing in the Council all he had to lose.

Part way along his journey, the thralls finally awoke. Viktor wasn’t entirely sure when it happened, for they made no move to stop him. They simply watched with cold, dead eyes. Indeed, the only act of resistance came as he approached the weather-beaten apothecary’s cottage that had been Elda’s house and Calenne’s home. A double line of men and women waited outside the door, a barricade of flesh and bone.

Was Calenne still within? Viktor was certain he’d felt a flicker of her presence when Malatriant entwined him – a glimpse of her sitting at the kitchen table, motionless and alone, the Dark thick about her. And it made a strange kind of sense – one last shard of Elda Savka wanting to keep close the child she’d raised. But all was a gamble now.

“I suppose you think you’ve won?”